‘Khlgb†’, ‘Seh†ny’, ‘Healen’, ‘An†lsan’, ‘Ve†enan’, ‘Canpenten’ Stephan gazed at the six words Grace had tried to write in the dirt while checking the others’ classes. He tried to correct her spelling, but just ended up smearing her writing in the process, so instead he wrote down his own, proper versions beneath for everyone’s benefit.
“Artisan,” Grace said after inspecting the youth before her, then checked his specialization. “Veteran—”
‘Blacksml†h’ she drew in the freshly dug earth.
“Blacksmith,” Stephan said aloud, and wrote the correct spelling beside her attempt.
“I hate to interrupt, Steve,” Muriel said as she cut in line in front of twenty-odd youths who still didn’t know their classes. “But you forgot something during your speech outside.”
Stephan frowned, trying to remember what. Addressing a gathering of five hundred strangers wasn’t as easy as he made it seem, and it was much more terrifying than he had expected. Sure, he had spoken with dozens of soldiers, motivating and shouting orders, but for some reason the expecting, undisciplined crowd was another beast entirely.
“What?”
“The baron. You were supposed to see what kind of ruler he was, right?”
Stephan made an O with his mouth.
“I got carried away with the Saintess and how to have everyone love her.” He lowered his head. “I forgot.”
“It’s all right, I forgot too,” Grace blurted.
Muriel’s sharp gaze flickered between the two. The way she was looking at them was enough to tell them she hadn’t forgotten anything. “In that case, you will have to reach the decision on your own, or go out and talk with people to see what kind of baron they had.”
Stephan was about to ask her if she could do it, when he had an even better idea.
“We can have Don and Hugh do it,” he kept the excitement out of his voice as he found more and more ways to keep the two old men busy without endangering them. And without letting them know that he considered men in their late thirties old.
“What do you think?” he turned towards the two, who were standing there, proudly looking at their children. “Are you feeling up to talking with everyone around here and finding out what crimes the baron has committed?”
The two fathers nodded solemnly. “You can count on us.”
They left right away while Stephan and Grace continued checking which class just about every youth of Eldirc’s Fort had gotten. The town, due to a rename, so far had a pair of Artisans - a carpenter and a blacksmith, four Sentries, a Healer, a Priest, and seven Knights, including Alfred and Miles.
Assuming the gods’ support didn’t taper out, he could build a force to conquer a kingdom by the time he controlled the equivalent of its single county.
Arms and armor are the biggest problem now.
“What’s your name,” he asked the blacksmith.
“Hugh, m’lord.”
“Just Steve, Hugh.” Stephan made no comment regarding the name, even if he added ‘the seventh’ as he memorized it. “Now, I will need you to make something for me. It’s boring and may seem silly, but it will help us a lot.”
He turned toward the line. “If there’s someone who works or worked with cloth and leather, step forward. We may need your services greatly, depending on your class.”
Soon, Stephan had a veteran seamstress, Lilly, and a veteran leatherworker, Jill, join the conversation with Hugh, where he explained the concept of lamellar armor.
Hugh’s job was to work with his master to make the plates and drill the holes, which Lilly would then attach to the leather armors, which Jill would alter to better fit their Knights. Stephan knew the lamellar armor’s main weakness was that if a single leather cord snapped, a row of plates would fall, exposing the wearer.
This he resolved to an extent with redundant fastening, connecting each plate not just to those in the same row, but the same column and diagonal. With things done properly and everyone working together, they could have the first suit in six days, after which a new armor should be ready every three days. Assuming ten Knights in total, they could have them all fully armored within a month.
And we will need that time just for the basic drills.
“Ken,” Stephan called the leader of the former enforcers who might end up forming the backbone of their law enforcement in the near future. “I wish to speak with the steward or whoever was in charge of the baron’s treasury.”
Stephan nearly said he needed Dorian, which made him think of something interesting. What if all or just some of the titles came into being because Paladin mixed up the names of people? Marshal, for example, is a name…
It was a fun thought, but it vanished the next moment as Ken trotted towards the manor to make himself useful.
Meanwhile, Tia confirmed that she was a Priest, and took up Stephan’s job of teaching Grace how to read and write while he was considering what they could do with all the Knights they had. Even in everyday life, men and women with abilities beyond those of normal humans would come in handy.
While the class granted skills related to combat, horseback riding, and the effective usage of armor, the attributes it enhanced were more than useful in everyday life. Higher strength, endurance, vitality, and agility gave an extreme advantage to everyone who wanted to do just about anything with their body, whether they were fighting monsters, carrying lumber, or building houses and walls.
“I don’t know this one,” Tia said, and Stephan looked at the ground.
‘Rahgen’
Stephan gazed at the word, his skin crawling. He raised his gaze to look at the confused young man, and only then did he notice that Muriel had gone pale.
“Boss is dead?” she whispered. There were no tears in her eyes, but the shock was genuine.
Stephan knew it would happen. Of course he did; it was inevitable, but getting a confirmation like that, straight from the gods, made his head spin. Still, to think she had less time to live than Bernard, even if she looked more miserable than the young Knight.
She must have killed herself. He took a deep breath as the realization hit, and then he was calm. This isn’t normal.
The speed with which he centered himself seemed impossible, and it reminded him of one man. The only person he met who could process shocks and terrors in a blink.
“What’s your name?” Stephan asked.
“Tim, m’lord,” the youth, Tim, was uneasy, lowering his gaze, glancing left and right.
“Your full name, Tim, and stop with the m’lording,” Stephan said slowly and as least intimidating as possible.
“Tim Hunters, m—, ser,” he said meekly.
“Muriel, could you take Tim as your apprentice? He has a lot to learn, and at least we know what he will need to do to gain levels.”
Muriel swallowed; the calm, respectful woman who had replaced the grumpy joker was gone. She moved her head to shake it, but stopped herself.
“I’m not worthy, Sir.”
“Steve,” Stephan corrected her, “and we don’t have anyone better to teach him. Would you prefer if he wasted time figuring things out on his own, or will you help him?”
“Of course I’ll help him,” there was a bite to her tone. Too faint for the rest to notice, but Stephan caught and recognized it. The desperate panic of someone thrown head first into something too big for them to handle.
“You’ll be a splendid teacher. And history will remember you as the Ranger’s mentor.” Stephan realized he was involuntarily lying as soon as the words passed his lips. It was all a lie. The only one who would remember her would be him; no one else.
“Is the Ranger important?” Tim asked, and while Muriel stepped back from the pain the question caused, Stephan answered simply.
“No more important than anyone else, but it is a unique class. That means for you to get it, another person had to die first, and she was important.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Stephan interrupted Tim’s blather. “You’re not at fault and her death has nothing to do with you, save that it freed a class and you inherited it. Muriel will explain more.”
After another Knight, Stephan helped identify an Artisan as a herbalist, then a Tracker, who also joined Muriel.
“M’lord,” Ken returned with another man, and Stephan didn’t bother to correct him. “This is Daniel, the steward.”
Daniel didn’t resemble a bandit, brigand, or soldier one bit. He was a pudgy man with gray hair, deep wrinkles, and a worried brow which couldn’t escape its perpetual frown.
“You wanted to see me, m’lord,” he bowed deeply.
“Yes, I did. I need to know about what we have in terms of money and goods. Do we have a cache of raw iron or steel? Hides, food, animals, everything.”
For some reason, spare wagon wheels came to mind. Suddenly, the things he had never thought about became important.
Maybe I should have taken a more active role during preparations for the siege back at Cliffort…