Baron Hegelstern rested his hands on the pulpit, appreciating the smooth wood while he waited. It was absent of fancy flourishes but sturdy and well-worn. His dozen vassals sat, spacing themselves by silent agreement to block off the entire first row. Their retinue filled the second row of benches, spilling across the central aisle and along both walls, effectively sectioning the church. Those standing adopted the forced nonchalance that bodyguards prefer. Their brethren sat askew, with an eye on their lord and the other scanning the villagers filling up the benches behind them.

  The villagers partitioned themselves with the central aisle, choosing to sit either with Eireann and Jabal or against them. Seeing Eireann near his other vassals confirmed a suspicion he had had the day before. However many years she had been a peat farmer, she could not hide her bearing. The baron had long studied the mannerisms of the nobility in his dream to join their ranks. Some wore their wealth, and some spoke with big words. One even appeared in public exclusively astride his horse. But common to all was an ownership of the space around them.

  Eireann owned the room, encompassing the childish lords and ladies physically spreading themselves in the front. he thought. He could imagine poring over historical pedigree records next to a warm fire. None would say “eloped with a Petravian soldier,” but he knew how to read between the lines.

  Movement from one of Lord Dent’s men interrupted his daydreams. The man gripped his sword while eyeing one of the villagers. Last year, that villager had called for a work stoppage after a fire ripped through the village. At the height of the war, the king could spare no soldiers to help put down the rebellion. Instead, he had stripped the previous Baron Hegelstern of his titles and appointed the Quartermaster General to ensure that the supply of bogling leather flowed uninterrupted.

  A year later, the Quartermaster General, newly raised to Baron Hegelstern, had to deal with half of his vassals calling for public executions of the rebel ringleaders. He made a mental note to ask his captain to speak to Lord Dent’s man. Perhaps a gentle reminder that the levies raised here did not earn the moniker “Deathsquad” just because they were from the village of Deathwater.

  Yesterday, during his tour of the village, he had thanked the veterans, his most natural allies. Others, whether through distrust of strangers in general or distaste for past Baron Hegelsterns in specific, gave him a cool reception. Therefore, many had come today to witness how the “new guy did the baroning,” as one villager had phrased it.

  Glancing at the disparate groups forming, he thought the baron’s role was not unlike that of the carpenter—sanding down the pieces so that they could join together to form a strong bond.

  He raised his hand as the benches filled, quieting the susurration of the crowd. “Thank you all for coming. Earlier today, I had Hunter Donaldson and Farmer Jabal take me out into the bog. They walked me through the fighting and the questioning of this Petravian ex-soldier. Hunter Geordy, who had been tracking the Petravian invader, joined us. His report supports Jabal’s description. While this had been a devastating attack on our people, there are no signs that the intruder will attempt another one.”

  The folks on the right side of the church grumbled at this. “Of course, I, too, know that words offer scant protection against this interloper, or even future ex-soldiers. But first, let me address a separate, yet relevant issue. The manor lord typically handles matters such as this. But, as you all know, the previous baron vacated all his titles.” The villagers on both sides chuckled at this, while his vassals frowned.

  “Various folks have presented their claims to the Wexin Manor, but none so strong that I need to honor them.” His manor lords’ frowns deepened, since they and their relatives numbered among the most significant claimants.

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  “Instead, I would like to follow our king’s fine example. I was but a merchant’s son before King Elstritch raised me to the nobility." [Detect Lies] blinked, as he was more heir to a merchant empire than some shopkeeper’s son. "First to manor lord for my service as quartermaster general. Then, to baron, for resolving the production issues here. For, let me tell you, it was not just battles that won us this war; it was keeping our men armored in bogling leather.”

  He saw many heads nod on both sides of the aisle. “And as these soldiers return to their original lives—as blacksmiths, as miners, as butchers—it will occur to them that bogling leather, while expensive, will make their work easier in every way.” Some villagers responded with approval at his appreciation of the village’s pride, but most did not grasp where he was going with this.

  “So we need someone intimately familiar with Deathwater and bogling leather as the next manor lord. Will you do me the honor of becoming the new Lord Wexin, Chief Cian?”

  The crowd erupted, jumping to its feet and whooping at the top of its lungs. This shocked his vassals, who turned to look at this display of enthusiasm, perhaps wondering why their people never greeted them this way.

  Chief Cian sat dumbfounded. “But I’m not really a chief. That’s just what people call me.”

  “True,” Baron Hegelstern said. “But a title earned deserves more respect than one inherited.” He approached the chief and extended a hand.

  The villagers congratulated the new Lord Wexin and yelled out a wishlist for how to improve the village. The lords, however, schooled their expressions.

  After allowing the common folk some time to celebrate, the baron directed Lord Wexin to the dais for the old man’s official act.

  “Eireann and Jabal, when you first arrived at the village years ago, I told you that your past is in your past and you’re welcome to stay if you don’t cause any trouble. Eireann, you’ve kept a clean house, and Jabal, I know you have been patient, regardless of how many fools tried to provoke you. I see you there, Fergo. Not so brave now that you know what Jabal's capable of, huh?” The man in question pressed himself against the back wall, as if willing his body to pass through to the other side.

  “You both have been valued members of our community. And Renalia is a darling. But it seems, Jabal, even if you’ve left your past behind, the past has not finished with you. And this village, without walls or guards, is not prepared for invaders. It pains me to say, but you cannot stay. Eireann, you and Renalia—”

  Eireann stopped Lord Wexin with a sharp shake of her head.

  Lord Wexin sighed. “We’ll give you a couple of days to wrap up your affairs and say your goodbyes. There is,” Lord Wexin paused before rushing the words out, “still outstanding debt to the Wexin Manor for Healer Rensto’s services. We’ll work something out.”

  The judgment received neither gloating nor objections, confirming for Baron Hegelstern that he picked the right person for the job. He was about to thank Lord Wexin for his considered decision when a commotion occurred at the entrance, and a hunter burst through.

  “Jabal!” the man shouted. “Renalia hasn’t come back from the bog yet!”

  “Where did she go, Malchim?” Eireann yelled back.

  “I don’t know. She said something about Donaldson’s spot.”

  Donaldson pointed. “About a two-hour hike.”

  Jabal looked between Lord Wexin and Baron Hegelstern. “Ah–”

  “Go,” the baron said.

  The man disappeared with a pop, causing gasps from the crowd. Eireann started to leave with Lexi and Donaldson, but Baron Hegelstern waved her over.

  “A quick word, good wife.” He whispered as she got close. “Sometimes, when God closes a door, He opens another. I run a postal service and am expanding to Petravia. I would pay very well for someone with your husband’s talents.”

  The hunters organized themselves into search parties and left, despite the family being banished and Eireann’s insistence that Jabal could cover more ground. He gave them permission to leave but did not think they would have stayed if he hadn’t.

  , Baron Hegelstern thought, .

  He envisioned his barony as a ladder, with folks like these serving as one rail and his management serving as the other. And today, he fixed a missing step in the form of Chief Cian. The new Lord Wexin was a step he could trust in, unlike the vassals he inherited. Those rungs were shoddily made and rotting due to neglect.

  Unfortunately, the rules of government did not permit easy removal of existing rungs. Even the king would have a hard time stripping titles away in times of peace. In any case, the replacement parts in line were no better, having originated from the same material.

  Though one rung had a backup that was a sapling, easily moldable. He could hire a contractor to secretly replace that piece. And with two solid steps, he would have a stable ladder to start his governorship.