The coin flipped, the world shifted, twisted, then snapped back into place.

  A very wet, warm green place.

  A century of armsmen, mostly tower shields and shorter spears, but with a smaller core that had dragged their 16-foot sarissas through the snow, stood around him on a pedestal of packed snow, its four-foot-tall edges cut unnaturally smooth and its center sporting white frocked evergreens and bare-limbed birch and aspen.

  "Hold!" Ethan barked in the split second of change. Eyes darting out into a primordial jungle rising around and above them. Sporadic shafts of sunlight slipped between leaves so far overhead that they dwarfed even the canopy of the Great Forest. Trunks a hundred feet wide were draped in vines thicker than a man was tall.

  Ferns, bushes and leafy plants of unknown origins closed off sightlines in every direction while the very air was perfumed with odors from a thousand flowers fighting an eternal war with untold tons of damp, rotting vegetation.

  Men gagged behind him and he couldn't blame them.

  This was going to be good training. He could tell already.

  Bzzzzt-thwack! Ethan pulled his armored hand from the face of his shield, doubtfully staring at the smashed and dripping carapace of what was probably a mosquito. If one that could be mistaken for a hummingbird.

  Good training indeed.

  He ignored the soft cursing of the men behind him, but could not do the same for the already melting snow beneath them. "Off the snow, even decades first." He barked, waiting as half the men jumped down, bouncing on the mulch like ground cover.

  It wasn't earth either. Ethan mused, his eyes caught on a cliff-like edge not thirty feet away. A ledge and unending greenery that gave the distance a blurred, surreal edge. Too far to see clearly, but too dense to judge how far that was.

  He hopped down carefully with the second half of the men, mind racing as he glanced about.

  He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and despite the warning, he wasn’t ready for it. Screams of surprise, rage and anger rang out alongside the sound of flesh and scales striking a line of shields as what looked like a vine, suddenly wasn’t.

  The snake tail slammed into a line of men and bowled three of them over, and sprawling several feet back, before withdrawing upwards at a fairly slow pace as a head large enough to swallow a man dropped down in time. Coiling slowly as it considered its prey, then darting forward, as fast as, well, a striking snake.

  On the slower side of one, actually, and right into four braced sarissas. A hissing squeal grated at Ethan's ears as the head recoiled slightly and drew the fully penetrated spears with it. But that was all the farther it got. A young-looking Labori snagged a coiled rope from the supply sled and flung it out and over the scaly neck.

  Ethan made a mental note to look into him later. That was a smart and fast reaction.

  The Hastati, despite their initial surprise, weren’t slow on the uptake either and a decade of men to either side were soon pulling the struggling snake to the ground where spears, long and short, were thrust through eyes, nostrils and its opened, hissing mouth.

  Until it stopped hissing. An ambush rift then. Not a great option when it came to survival, but it would teach the green troops to pay attention. Not an insignificant skill to learn.

  He shrugged his shoulders awkwardly, feeling sweat already breaking free, from his fur face wrappings to the heavy cloak on his back. Might as well deal with that first then. Before someone collapsed from heat stroke.

  "Odd Decades and Labori, strip your furs. Evens on watch. Grab a mouthful of snow as you go." He acted as he spoke, tossing the 8-foot spear into his shield hand and using the freed hand to untie the already thawing knots fixing the heavy fur cloak to his shoulders. Pulling them free, he caught the garment as it fell, giving it a quick, but vigorous shake to shed as much snow as possible before handing it to a waiting Labori.

  Wet clothes on the way out wouldn't be a death sentence anymore, but they wouldn't be pleasant either!

  Cloaks, mittens and fur or cloth face wraps were removed with frantic haste, given a good shake, then passed to the 20 non-armsmen to be folded and placed onto one of the sleds. A good start, Ethan mused as the men switched places; already breathing easier without the coverings and with a gulp of snow and water.

  But they might have to do more.

  He drew a hand under his armored skirt and across his fur-lined leather trousers and compared it to the smear the bug had left on his shield.

  He sighed. Then set his shield and spear down, reaching beneath his pturgis to pull loose stubborn leather ties, followed by another set at his ankles and tucked into the mid-calf length leather sock-like boots. The thick gambeson beneath his scale-encrusted chest piece would have to stay. Despite the sweat that was already soaking into the padded garment.

  And all the while he tried not to smile as curses and slapping sounds rang out around the clearing. The men making the acquaintance of the flying locals with all the pleasure he'd expected. In under a half hour they were back in regular disciplined ranks. Their loads, physical and heat-related, significantly lightened.

  "Centurion?" Ethan offered softly, standing now at the ledge and seeing something far different than he'd expected. A wall of bark extended down below them, the hundred-foot-wide 'trunks' revealed to be nothing more than branches. Branches that held the not-ground they stood on in the cleft between three of them. Over a hundred feet of clearing, just a bit of dirt trapped in the V of a branch.

  Incredible.

  "At least we don't have to toss dice to pick a direction My Lord." Sigismund offered with a soldier's optimism, nodding towards the start of a trail or game path, if a 30-foot-wide beaten path could be described as either, that led down towards the ‘trunk.’

  And despite seeing it, he still couldn’t accept the sheer scale. He took a deep breath and pushed it aside. Rift magic. Painting on the walls of reality. Beautiful and worth a look, but unimportant to the warriors on the ground.

  You dealt with the snake you had, not the ‘trunk’ you couldn’t comprehend, he mused wryly.

  "There is that. Don't let the men forget 'up.'" He offered, slapping his gauntlet to the other man’s before walking forward, already barking orders. Quickly chivying the men into two decade units, then those units into a column. Sleds, now with solid wooden wheels assembled to their frames, and sarissas to the middle with a broken wall of shields to either side.

  The column moved off, marching down the branch road and surrounded on every side by twigs bigger than trees, vines, flowers, mushrooms and life of ten thousand species and kinds surrounded them on both sides and overhead.

  Much of it violent!

  Five men lunged forward together, shields braced and slamming together into a massive beetle the size of a charger with a single large horn for a nose. They didn't win the exchange, being thrown back to the ground in a clanging pile, but they did stop its charge, and that was a death sentence as their companions swarmed it under. The scene was repeated to all sides with ambulatory vines, snakes, lizards and rats, each far larger than any such creature had a right to be.

  But oversized opponents were nothing new to the Band, and under the example and shouted instructions of the veterans, the newer recruits soon learned the ropes. If one man can't block a blow, then let ten men share it. If one spear isn't enough, then use 20! Discipline, teamwork and the wisdom to find weaknesses were human strengths! And they used and abused them at every turn.

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  "Thrust!" Ethan bellowed, pulsing out the golden light of his buffs as 80 men struggled against a tide of ants. Each the size of a large dog, the damn things seemed endless. But the lines were formed and where men were struck back or rolled under, the next rank would step forward to take their place. A wave of thrusts slid home, eyes and mouth were the best targets, but no few men struck at the gaps between the three segmented insects, separating head from body or body from bulbous ass. It wasn't quick, it certainly wasn't clean, but it was certain.

  They slaughtered them, stacking beasts up in piles. And if the sled-carts behind them now bore a few wounded, the dead were blessedly rare. Decent armor, though the recruits were far more poorly equipped than the veterans, and stats turned many a killing blow or bite into merely a debilitating blow. It was only the poor bastards that were pulled from the formations and physically ripped limb from limb who died here.

  Ethan absently slapped another massive fist-sized fly from the air as he barked out an order, hinging the right end of the line a third of the way in and swinging it forward even as the middle stepped back, allowing spears to strike from two sides.

  Then a few more orders shifted them again, breaking the tide into smaller, more manageable chunks with careful maneuvering and the shock of properly timed charges.

  He let the middle feign a slow retreat, then countercharged the reserves from either side into the new middles over extended flanks, collapsing on and slaughtering nearly a hundred bugs in under 20 seconds, then reforming and shifting to do it again. Using their instincts and lack of sapience against them again and again.

  Massing his own men in large numbers against smaller clumps of the enemy wherever possible. Avoiding, as any tactician should, fighting strength against strength.

  Until the tide stopped, not dead. Or at least not all dead, but giving up on the not-prey. The bugs didn't have egos nor some desire for total conquest; they were looking for food and even ants eventually figured out they weren't getting it here!

  “Halt! 3rd, 5th and 10th on guard detail. 2nd and 8th on clean up. The rest start setting up a camp. I want full berms and ditches.”

  Ethan looked around at the soft bush-covered clearing around them. He’d never have guessed it was all just the top of a single leaf. Rifts! He shook his head absently and began to walk around the clearing, marking the lines of future fortification to one side while Sigismund marked the other.

  Already fires were being piled and lit to the center, if with difficulty in the thick wet mulch and dripping canopy overhead. But skills and skill prevailed and soon enough large pots were up and sizzling with thinly chunked snake fat being rendered down.

  All around him, men were still cleaning up the battlefield and he saw more than a few minute monster cores and the occasional plate of carapace. But they left the ant meat strictly alone. Why bother when you had snake and, well, an entire jungle of greens?

  Hell no, cutting boards and clay pots were already being filled with finally diced shelf mushrooms twice Ethan's size, snake chunks that dwarfed him and two dozen plants that he could almost recognize.

  There was what might be a yam, being carried overhead by two sweating Labori while another carried two maybe-leaks with difficulty. Amaranth leaves from plants that had towered half again his height fought with okra bigger than his legs. Leaves from one of the smaller vines, a foot around instead of several, smelled strongly of garlic and were already being tossed into the smelting fat while shaved slices of a massive hairy root, what he thought might be ginger, quickly followed them.

  Pepper seeds, red berries the size of two doubled fists and hot enough to burn tongues, were crushed and added to the pots while oversized Jackfruits were crushed and pressed, juice and pulp providing sugars to dilute the heat.

  And all the while the scent of all that sizzling and popping was slowly driving them all frothing, or at least drooling, at the mouth mad. The food over the winter, even with the first harvest of Mushroom tree’s having come in most of a month ago, had been decidedly one note.

  Meat.

  The bits of milk, pine needle tea and smattering of mushrooms just served to emphasize the lack of variety. And here they had more species than he could count!

  And they were all there to be eaten! There was only so much they could carry back on their backs. Might as well add some more to their bellies.

  He smiled softly as he leaned over a pot for a deep breath. Sighing despite the amused and slightly annoyed looks, Army Cooks were trying to hide from him.

  He moved away with an appreciative nod. Unwilling to annoy the man who had his soon-to-be happiness in his hands, and the ability to make sure it wasn’t poisonous. Or at least his pot.

  If a man had to risk his life, Ethan mused, he could do worse than in pursuit of good food!

  Most of an hour passed in this maddening fashion before the cook stepped back with a satisfied nod and announced dinner. And Ethan was there, first in line, rank hath its privileges. Dipping a bowl in the chunky green, red and light brown heavenly smelling mixture, then regretfully as it also had its responsibilities, passing it on. Not to the soldier next in line, but to a Labori leaning on his shovel a dozen feet away.

  “It was a brave thing you did today, Goodman Nigel. Brave, quick hands and a quick mind. You will go far if you keep this up.” He patted the young rope thrower on the shoulder to a chorus of cheers. “I’ll make sure of it.”

  Ethan stepped back and looked over the men, still standing by and waiting. Then grinned. “What, you want me to serve you all? Get to it!” The cheer that spawned became truly deafening as the lines began to stream quickly past the half dozen waist-high pots.

  Ethan walked between the lines, slapping men on the shoulder and congratulating them for things done well, and offering quiet, heartfelt warnings for things done not so well. Survival depended on both.

  Still, even these lines didn’t take forever, and with a nod to Sigismund as the man blew gently on his own simmering bowl, took a step forward and accepted his own small portion of heaven. Risking burnt fingers gleefully to fish out a chunk of green half the size of his hand and, after blowing on it a few times, took a large, crunching bite.

  Bliss.

  It was almost a nutty flavor. Not the spinach it most resembled, but it still had that fibrous texture and slight bitterness. Though it was well masked with all the other flavors. Ethan let out a gasping breath as one of those flavors, and the small red flakes that carried it, set his forehead to sweating and his nose to running.

  Damn, but he’d missed this! He took another bite as he walked towards a small camp stool that had been set aside for him. They hadn’t bothered to bring more than basic tents.

  Men saluted briskly and fervently as he passed, offering words of blessing here and there, but they didn’t linger over them long. Not when they might get seconds, or thirds for that matter, if they finished what was in front of them.

  The cooks had orders to keep cooking long after when men stopped eating. They’d need food for tomorrow too. He wasn’t willing to take multi hour breaks for fires and stewing left and right. In the meantime, the men had had a winter full of privation. The least he could do was overfeed them a bit when it was available.

  But even that only took so long, and soon enough they were down for a fitful night of sleep. Being called to three separate times to stand off night-time assaults of more ants, rats and even another gargantuan snake.

  But the fortifications did their job, delaying the attacks and providing the men a solid advantage that they abused all night long.

  And the next day they did it again. Descending gradually but noticeably on the always obvious path. A path that jumped from garden-like leaf to the rough bark of a branch and even across a mess of massive vines woven, seemingly naturally, together.

  And fighting massive creatures or hordes of smaller ones at nearly every step. Mostly without issue, discipline, gear and good tactics carrying the day. But not entirely. Six men were now riding the carts, twitching and shivering with bites he could already smell from a foot away.

  Rat bites those were. And a damn stupid fucking way to go! Too busy harvesting an oversized patch of pepper berries to pay attention to the ground around them, until a horde of dog-sized rodents burst through them.

  But even that they handled with aplomb, after the initial mess at least. The men rallied and swarmed the swarm. Putting them down in a wave of crushing shields and piercing spears. Just not fast enough to keep the initial victims from a solid chewing.

  Two days and two nights of this had the men in an odd state. Well fed, entertained and growing in strength. These were about as good as it got in this life. But they also had dead comrades. Men they’d known all winter. Ethan shook his head sadly.

  It was a familiar dichotomy. And not one there was a solution to. Survivor's guilt, they called him. And he was a hypocritical, lying bastard. But even knowing that didn’t rob him of his power. Each man had to find his own way to deal. And, Ethan mused very privately as the gods didn’t like it when men trespassed on their domains, it was telling that those who didn’t rarely progressed in tiers.

  Still, another quarter of a day had passed as they pushed through the seemingly endless fights and what stood before them shattered that image at last.

  A wide, nearly circular arena where the bark of the massive branch had somehow been removed, and the wood beneath it polished to a rough shine.

  An arena with a massive furred beast that Ethan almost wanted to call a squirrel at its center. If a squirrel had six legs, four red eyes and was larger than a bull elephant. It stared at them, waiting, as they stood tall, drawn up in ranks on the last bit of bark.

  Ethan gave the men a last glance, and the harvesters behind them still hard at work stripping leaves, herbs and whatever other plants they could find. Anything that was green and edible and quite a few things that weren’t. At least not for humans directly. Their herds needed feeding too.

  The carts were already piled high with such greenery. To the extent that even the wounded were wrapped in cloaks and bedded down on piles of the stuff. It would have to be good enough. At least it would be downhill in the snow.

  "Forward March!" He bellowed. Hefting his spear easily, he started forward, Sigismund beside him.

  The men needed experience, but not at the expense of heavy casualties. The two tier 2s would handle it if needed. And for that matter, he grinned as his left foot hit the polished wood, inspiring a screech of rage and a counter charge from the monster-squirrel. His hands had been itching for a while now. He pushed off and accelerated into a jog, then a run, letting out a relieved, excited war cry of his own on the way forward, echoed by a hundred throats behind as the two sides accelerated towards an inevitable conclusion.

  Gods all bless the spring!

  ___