Shit.

  Hissing shriek of iron grating against stone – and stone only a few inches from his head! - was becoming almost depressingly familiar!

  It took him a moment to realize the soft rumble of laughter was coming from him! Not that he bothered to stop! It did make one feel alive.

  He bobbed abruptly showing his helm, with its nice shoot me now crest, above the boulder he was hiding behind, then dropped again after it baited out another pair of two accurate arrows, then spun sideways, coming out of cover with bow already mostly drawn – the opposite hillside was crawling with green cloaks and bow staves, a target rich environment if the bastards would just stay out in the open where he could get them! There. He released the shaft and bit back an oath as it struck several handspans from the exposed lower limb.

  But neither the look, the shot nor the oath delayed him much. He darted down the hillside, batting a too close shaft from the air before finding another bit of cover, and cursing softly as an unseen arrow dinged off his back plates.

  Gods but did he love his new armor!

  "Close Milord." Decurion Amon called out, laughter suspiciously empty from the Pahadi's voice. And as a man he'd known for the better part of 15 years, it stood out like a vestal at an orgy.

  "I have been practicing." he retorted, already dreading the joke he could feel coming.

  "Of course Milord. It's just.-" he rolled out from behind his own rock and launched an arrow, cursing slightly as a return shot banged off his left pauldron. But an answering cry of pain told how that story ended. They might not hit as often, but between tier and buffs, when they did, it didn’t just bounce off!

  "It's just, we've been fighting. Good that you're finally trying it."

  "Ass. I'll have you know-" He duck ran to another boulder downhill, moving his helm from side to side to make his voice bounce and echo. "-I've been clearing hell rifts while you enjoy these picturesque heights!"

  "You weren't clearing them with a bow." he fired back as Ethan missed another shot. The bastard ducked! He paused for a half second, then darted out for a second glance. “They’re already running.” He offered.

  Green cloaked leather armored figures with bows and short spears were trickling back up the hillside, moving from stone to stone and putting out a truly withering volume of arrows in the process. Not terribly productive arrows, as even those that hit mostly pinged off grey cloaked plate armored forms of the chasing Pahadi.

  Mostly. Here or there, an arrow slipped past protective plates or tiered leather and made an impression on full flesh. Even there a high body stat and a tier advantage saw his men pull arrows out and keep charging.

  “What did you expect Milord? They’ll not fight us in melee if they can help it. They learned that lesson the hard way.”

  “Pity. Prefer a stupid enemy.” Ethan offered as he darted around the last few boulders down and jumped over a trickling little stream in a picturesque, narrow valley bottom that deserved more attention than he could afford to give it now. Then he was rushing upward and launched another shot. It wasn’t an easy thing to do, to shoot while running and he hadn’t much mastered the trick of it.

  A few around him had, and were launching the occasional shaft upwards with pardonable accuracy. It was doable, if difficult. From this end at least. Running while shooting backwards was an eaven more difficult task. And if his own men weren’t hitting much in the former, their opponents were becoming less and less accurate as they focused on the later.

  Not that they had to hit. Then again, that favored the Alfwinians as well. They just had to be reasonably close. A man who ducked away from an arrow wasn’t running!

  The hillside opposite was steeper than it looked. Always was. His thighs knew it immediately, burning in that familiar way that reminded him he was still mortal, buffs or no. The grey boulders here were larger, more scattered, better cover than what they'd come down through. Which had served the rangers well enough on the way down.

  Now it worked against them.

  A shaft flickered past his cheek close enough to feel the wind of it. He didn't flinch. Judgement not indifference. It wasn’t going to hit. Another step, another boulder, another glance upward at the green cloaks still filtering backward through the rocks.

  They were good. He'd give them that. Experienced. No panicked scramble, no wasted shots. Every man covering his neighbor's retreat with short, fast shots from those compact tendon-backed bow staves.

  They had a far better rate of fire. The war bows the rangers carried were built exactly for the rapid movements and more rapid engagements of the Great Forrest. Quick to draw, quick to lose, deadly enough at range against lightly armored men or reasonably sized beasts.

  Against plate?

  He heard another shaft ring off Amon's pauldron to his left and the Pahadi didn't even break stride.

  "Getting thinner!" Amon called out, meaning the return fire.

  He was right. The volume was dropping as the Rangers moved from covering fire and slow retreat to mostly retreating. The time was here. He felt the flow of the battle shift. Resistance was crumbling as experience fought with fear. The moment when even skilled men started making mistakes. When the taste of escape overwhelmed sense.

  "Spears!" He bellowed.

  Behind him the four men who'd been carrying bundled spears while their brothers shot came forward at a run. Moving up through the line with the easy discipline of men who'd done exactly this in a dozen rifts. Shafts changed hands without breaking stride. Bows were cased and spear hafts took their place. The familiar weight of a proper weapon settling into practiced, willing hands.

  Ethan lightly hefted the 6-foot piece of hardwood with its foot-long, leaf-bladed tip. Heavy and reliable.

  Far better than the blasted bow!

  He raised it and let the Golden Order pulse outward. “Human rules!” Felt it settle on twenty men like a second skin, sharpening eyes, steadying hands, lending that fraction of extra stamina ease muscles already burning with the climb.

  “Mass Charge!” He bellowed, letting the Skill trigger, and with 20-odd ranks in it from his Hastati and Lancer days, it gave him a 100% increase in momentum. The world shifted into streaks of grey and green. With a familiar mental clamp, he forced himself not to twitch. No unneeded movements. Sprinting up pre-picked clean paths with certain footing as he was moving too fast to trust anything else!

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  They went upward like the mountain itself launched them! A last flurry of point-blank arrows slammed into them. Ethan’s free hand slapped a potential eye shot aside, but ignored the line of fire that traced the outside of his thigh where his flapping pturgis failed to keep it fully covered.

  Then there was no more time, and speed, armor and the sheer weight of skills did what it always did to lightly armored troops.

  Destroyed them!

  The thrust was powerful and direct smashing through the blocking bowstave and only a slight twist of his wrist kept the blow from piercing the man front to back. Instead, the flat of the blade struck like a bat and broke bones.

  The sounds of combat quickly quieted and Ethan shook his head in frustrated admiration at the man in front of him. One arm broken, and arrow in his left leg and struggling to raise his helm in surrender with the other.

  Walking wounded. A glance around showed more of the same.

  A rearguard of those who couldn’t have made it out anyway. Had to respect good troops.

  Dammit.

  “Sound Off!” The call came out as Amon did his job. Checking the litany of minor wounds off, nothing major this time, at least among his own troops. Bandaging their new prisoners took considerably longer and ensured they wouldn’t be able to chase down their comrades.

  Not that he begrudged them that.

  He sighed, leaning back against a boulder, then flinched as something got in the way. He looked down and swore. The shaft hadn’t grazed him. It had pierced through the outer fleshy bits of his thigh.

  He reached down and snapped the shaft off behind the exposed head. Owww!

  He took a few breaths to let the feel of the shaft flexing inside him go away, then carefully drew out the rest of it. A dab to each side with a bit of Blakes wound cream and a quick heavy wrap with a bit of cloth and he was ready to go again.

  “Pturgis are flapping a bit high their Milord.”

  “Thanks Amon, wouldn’t have noticed without your inspiried eye.”

  “Not a problem, it’s our job to help you older folks find your way. Do you need a bit of help with the ties?”

  Ethan froze, then turned to stare at the irrepressible Decurion. “Old am I? Need help tying up my own armor?”

  He just grinned back.

  Ethan snorted, taking a moment to look around. Six prisoners and another 2 dead, despite their care. From what had to be nearly 40 men in that ‘hunting’ party. The good baron was pushing harder. Trying to get a look at whatever else he was hiding.

  And considering just how much Ethan was hiding, he was wise to do so!

  A pity that.

  This would be so much easier if the good Baron Clovis was a bit more of a fool.

  Ah well, you played the hand you were dealt.

  He’d seen enough here. Had his fun too. And while Amon wasn’t saying much, yet. He really didn’t need Ethan’s help with this.

  Not yet.

  But he’d needed to see it. Get a feel for the fighting and the terrain.

  He gave the windswept rocky hills a long, searching look. Breathing in the crisp air and giving a select few hidden valleys a considering look.

  It had potential. He nodded softly, letting his plans solidify a bit further.

  It had potential indeed.

  ___

  The evening sun turned the lake into a rippled mirror of gold as it expanded out before them. A bit of cool evening breeze blew Ethan’s cloak towards the water as he leaned back in a comfortable wooden armchair and sipped at a damn decent vintage.

  "I’m impressed, James, Miro. Between you two and Sigismund, Promise is coming along quite nicely."

  Ethan glanced up as a very familiar back delivered a fresh pitcher of wine to the table, then sashayed back into the busy tavern. He let his eyes linger for a moment on those familiar hips before pulling them back with a regretful grimace. Nothing good came from down that road.

  "Thank you My Lord. I'll admit it's kept us busy, but I also have to admit I've enjoyed the challenge."

  "Challenge is it?" Miro asked, raising an eyebrow slyly. "Is that what you said last week? Something about the pleasure of battling it out with one's wits against the unarmed?"

  "Quiet you!" He mock ordered to general laughter. "Still and all, the two are not mutually exclusive."

  "Challenge or no, do you think you've managed it?"

  "It being?"

  Ethan just gave him a look.

  James shrugged somewhat awkwardly. "The details matter My Lord. Have I kept every secret and painted us exactly as we wish to be seen? No. But I'd bet my neck that I've at least shifted the color palettes in our favor."

  "Evan after the Baron?"

  James waved a hand back and forth. "That's hard to say. We won't know all that slipped there for quite some time. If ever. I've no doubt he managed to pay off someone with more hot air than brains."

  "So he knows?"

  "He does, but he also knows other things. And those other things won’t sound any less outlandish."

  Ethan stared at him blankly. Now how did that work?

  "We are in a very enviable position My Lord." Miro chimed in. "Our truth sounds far stranger than fiction. You tell me which of these stories sounds the least far-fetched. That we have a Mining core on a silver mine back in the mountains. That a fishing core has us building warships to fight any comers along the river banks? A herding core and high meadows covered in lamas? Or a fortress core hiding back away from everything?"

  Well, when she put it like that... "A silver mine would be nice now, wouldn't it? And why would you hide a fortress?" He mused, amused despite himself. "Not much good if it's not blocking a path now is it?"

  "Exactly so My Lord." James nodded along. "But don't neglect the Lamas. Good shaggy beasts they are and you can shear them like sheep. We're set to take over the clothing trade between that and the hides we are already selling!"

  Ethan shook his head softly. "You came up with 4 dumb ideas and sold them to him to hide the truth?"

  "Of course not!" Miro replied, wide-eyed and nearly choking on her wine. "Three? Four? Don’t be absurd. We came up with at least a hundred such!"

  James nodded along. "Quite right! As long as Sigismund and our mountain guards can keep his scouts from getting any firsthand accounts, then he is welcome to pick through that tank of filth for nuggets of truth."

  “And he will find them. We laced enough of them into even the lies to make sure of it!” Miro chirped cheerfully. The giggle that emerged as she began to reiterate some her favorite stories was hardly ladylike, but it was quite endearing.

  A fact Ethan doubted he was alone in thinking. Because James couldn’t keep his eyes, or his hands, off of her.

  Ethan stared at the two comedic love birds for a time, letting them get the backslapping out of their system.

  Deserved backslapping. Who was he to interrupt? Besides, it was not a battlefield he wanted to step into. Wrestling with a pig you can’t avoid the muck.

  "Good enough then, you two. I'll leave Promise in your competent hands. I've already stayed longer than I should have."

  James, suddenly serious, gave him a concerned look. "How did the Pass handle the call to arms?"

  "Not terribly. Oh, quite a few supply chains broke under the tension and we'll need to deal with missed quotas. An overabundance of some components with no room for storage till we can fill in the rest of the recipes. Annoying, but nothing that won’t be all the better for having spotted the problems now. And for all the trouble, there is also some real good that came out of it."

  "And what might that be?"

  "Guile hit the cap."

  James' face thinned slightly. Not unhappiness, not exactly, but not happiness either. The two had never gotten along all that well. James being the adult who took care of the camp, and Guile the problem child who needed the most taking care of.

  But for all his many and legitimate shortcomings, Guile’s ascension would be nothing less than a reinforced cornerstone for their settlement.

  Their first tier 4, and their best fighter at that, would provide a good bit of stability.

  Beyond just being an army of one and their best response for several types of boss monsters, he also represented a certain defense against the games of the nobility. Challenges were hardly uncommon, if more constrained by custom than he'd initially been aware form the outside.

  "Can he make the jump?" Miro asked at last.

  Ethan shrugged. "We'll have to see, won't we? But I expect he will. He's never been the type to need navel-gazing to understand the world and his place in it. I expect he'll linger for a week or two with Conner and me beating at him. Then just wake up with the needed understanding."

  "That sounds just like that meat head." James offered with a disgusted grimace. "He'll stick with his current class?"

  "He'll have to. Leo might have a new option -" He carefully didn't mention the core leveling up or the Gurhka class. Not here. "-but the rest of us have no such options." Though he could wish otherwise.

  "Are the rest of you close?"

  Ethan nodded easily. He’d hit 29 months ago. And while his skills weren’t yet maxed, it wouldn’t take that long to fix. "It's just you who've fallen behind a bit. Playing your spy games instead of fighting it out in rifts."

  James waved that away unbothered. "The job needs doing. There will be plenty of time to catch up later. I don't see us running out of rifts."

  "True." Though with the sideways, considering look Miro was offering her husband, he somehow doubted he'd remain so uninterested for long.

  ___