Queenmaker 20-21

Chapter Twenty

The plan had been very simple.

I had left much of my army buttoned up in Damansara. It was the closest thing to a modern professional army on the surface of this new world, and so they’d had no trouble holding the city, a problem made easier by Cuthbert’s reluctance to risk massive casualties taking the walls and forcing the city to surrender. When Cuthbert had lifted the siege, they’d given him all the time he needed to get moving, then deployed and followed him at a safe distance. I doubted Cuthbert had realised he was being shadowed. My troops knew how to hide. They also knew how to pick their moment.

“Hold the line,” I snapped. We were the anvil – my army was the hammer. “Let them break against us.”

The enemy line started to come apart as their commanders realised they’d put themselves in a killing ground. They were too close to the wall to break contact and too far away to take the city before the trap closed … really, it was already too late.  Chaos and confusion reigned supreme. I saw a trumpeter sounding the retreat, then get cut down by an aristocrat desperately trying to rally the lines. The dumb bastard hadn’t realised – not yet – that the trap had already closed. It hadn’t come off perfectly – I’d hoped to trap the enemy army in a cauldron and force them to surrender – but it had come off well enough. Their discipline shattered completely as the aristos galloped away, surrounded by their bodyguards, leaving the common soldiers to their fate. The mercenaries retreated in somewhat better order. I didn’t blame them. They knew what would happen to them if they fell into my hands.

I couldn’t stop the troops from lynching them, even if I wanted to try, I reminded myself. It went against the grain to let my men slaughter helpless prisoners, but …  If they have any sense, they’ll keep running until they cross the border and never come back.

“They’re breaking,” Alonzo observed. He spat. “Cuthbert didn’t stay to surrender?”

I shook my head. The warlord knew better than to surrender. There was no way Helen would leave him with any power and influence, even if she let him keep his life. A lesser aristo might be ransomed, or traded, but not a warlord. Helen wanted Cuthbert dead and I couldn’t blame her. But that meant we’d have to track him down and bring him to justice.

Unless he flees too, I thought. It wasn’t impossible, but it struck me as unlikely. Cuthbert was going to lose his lands, his troops, and just about everything else that had made him a threat to his monarch. He didn’t even have a bloodline that would make him a suitable puppet king for one of our neighbours. If he’s smart, he’ll pack up as much loot as he can carry and fun for his life. If …

I glanced at Horst. “When there’s a gap in the line, deploy a company of mobile infantry to harry the retreat,” I ordered. “Take prisoners, if possible, but keep them on the run.”

Horst nodded, curtly. “Aye, sir.”

Alonzo coughed.  “You think he can recover from this?”

“I don’t want to give him the chance,” I said. Personally, I suspected Cuthbert was thoroughly screwed. His vassals were quite likely to turn on him in the hope Helen would leave them with something, if they grovelled at her feet. It would take time to raise another army – if he could – and I had no intention of letting him have the time. “Better to put an end to it now, rather than let him come back again.”

My thoughts darkened as the last of the fighting died away. It had been foolish, to say the least, not to convince the Germans they’d been defeated on the battlefield in the First World War. Or to let Saddam survive in 1991. Or any other campaign that had been called off before it could secure a lasting victory, or failing to win the peace after winning the war. If Reconstruction hadn’t failed so badly … I was grimly determined that mistake wasn’t going to be repeated here. By the time I was done, the local aristocracy’s power base would be minimal and the commoners would be in control. They’d be loyal to their queen, not to their feudal master.

“Get the prisoners sorted out,” I ordered. “Separate the aristos from the commoners; get the wounded to the medics … ah, the chirurgeons. Remind the men not to loot – we’ll recover anything obviously stolen, and try to get it back to its rightful owners, but otherwise the common soldiers are to keep their property.”

Alonzo gave me an odd look. “Don’t you think they’ll try to bribe their way out?”

“We won’t be keeping the commoners very long,” I said. We didn’t have the supplies to keep them as prisoners, and I wasn’t going to cut their throats to keep from having to feed them. “They can go back to their homes, after swearing an oath never to take up arms against us again. The aristos, on the other hand … we’ll send them to the capital. The queen will deal with them.”

And any captured mercenaries will die, I thought coldly. They won’t live long enough to beg for mercy.

I put the thought out of my head as I walked down to the battlefield to visit the wounded. It was a gruesome sight – magical healers could work wonders; chirurgeons were little better than sawbones from the civil war – but I had no choice. Soldiers needed to see their commanding officers cared about them or morale would fall straight into the crapper. We’d won a great victory, true, but what did that matter to a man who’d lost his leg and was all too aware he was going to wind up a helpless cripple, begging on the streets? I had taken the first steps towards creating jobs and careers for wounded men, rather than abandoning them to their fates, yet … it wasn’t going to be enough. We really needed more magical healers.

And the money to pay them, my thoughts added darkly. Magicians were far from cheap. Even a simple painkilling potion was expensive … I wished, not for the first time, I knew how to make morphine from scratch. Hell, if I’d known I’d be coming here, I’d have spent years swotting up on everything from basic machinery to primitive medicine. If I had a modern doctor with me …

I chose not to dwell on the prospects as we moved from wounded man to wounded men. The chirurgeons were already triaging, trying to save the men who could be saved while leaving the fatally-wounded to die. The local womenfolk were flooding into the makeshift tent and doing what they could to assist, but there were just too many wounded. A chirurgeon hurried up to me to give a report; I dismissed him before he had a chance to open his mouth. I’d get the figures later, when the crisis had died down. Right now, it was more important to save those who could be saved.

It was hard not to feel sick, as I spoke to a handful of wounded men to offer what little comfort I could. The medical tent was a nightmare. It was worse than anything I’d ever seen back home, where there were doctors who knew what they were doing … I swallowed hard as I saw a chirurgeon perform a hasty amputation, then looked away as I realised a young man had been unmanned. His screams grew louder and louder until a chirurgeon gave him a sleeping potion. I doubted the poor bastard would feel any better in the morning.

“We’ll do what we can for your wounded,” Alonzo said. I heard what he didn’t say and smiled bitterly. “But what about the rest of your men?”

I forced myself to think as we stepped out of the tent and headed back into the city. Alonzo and his people would be grateful, of course, but they wouldn’t be sorry to see us go. We weren’t an occupying army, yet we could easily become one at the drop of a hat. Hell, our mere presence would drain food stockpiles and provide fertile ground for incidents, once the thankfulness wore off. We had won the battle only an hour or two ago and we had already outstayed our welcome.

“We’ll resupply, then get on the march tomorrow,” I said. I would sooner have been underway before nightfall, but my men needed a rest and a chance to be feted as heroes. They wouldn’t be paying for their drinks tonight. I just hoped there wouldn’t be any clashes between them and the locals. I’d made it clear, time and time again, that I expected them to treat the civilians well, but alcohol and horny young men was a very bad combination indeed. “Make sure you rebuild your defences. We could still lose.”

Alonzo gave me an odd look, then shrugged. I wondered what he was thinking. Houdon had been independent, technically, but that independence hadn’t lasted long once Cuthbert decided he wanted the city. Defeating the warlords would make the monarchy stronger, strong enough to impose its will on the free cities. Letting Houdon rebuild its defences would go a long way towards building trust between crown and people, although there were limits. Cuthbert had been desperate. A royal commander with a secure supply line and more time could have taken the city, after starving the population into surrender.

Fallon joined us, looking tired. “We got a message from First Company,” she said. “The warlord and his lifeguards” – bodyguards, I mentally translated – “collected men and horses from a village garrison, then continued to flee.”

I frowned. “How many men?”

“The scouts spotted at least twenty,” Fallon said. “The CO reported the runaways also swapped horses. He couldn’t find any new steeds himself.”

“Ouch,” I said, mildly. There were limits to how far – and how fast – horses could gallop before they had to rest.  Cuthbert was going to draw ahead of my men, and stay ahead, unless he got very unlucky. My men couldn’t keep up the pursuit indefinitely. “As long as he stays on the run …”

Alonzo chucked, harshly. “Was he planning for his own defeat?”

“All possibilities must be prepared for,” I said, mildly.

It was possible … it was also possible he’d set up a messenger station in the town, rather than planning for a hasty retreat. The horses he’d stationed there to ensure couriers could keep galloping for hours, swapping steeds every few miles or so, could easily be used for a flight from danger. Not that it mattered. My propaganda would make it clear Cuthbert had ran, abandoning his troops to bring his wife and family the news of his own defeat … by the time the news, and mocking songs, reached his lands, the story would have grown in the telling. People would believe he’d fled from his bed, as naked as ever he was born, to save himself from capture.  I’d make sure of it.

We kept walking, inspecting the damaged walls and trench works before making our way towards the makeshift POW camp. The common soldiers – the unwounded, at least – had already been pressed into service, helping to clear the bodies from the trenches and dig mass graves while my troops kept a careful eye on them. I felt a pang of guilt as I saw the bodies stacked up, ready to be dumped into the pit. They should be carried home, so their families could say goodbye properly, but there was no way we could keep the bodies from rotting before it was too late. We just didn’t have the magic to spare. The locals, at least, could be given to their families, although some bodies were too badly mutilated to be recognisable.

“We could always keep the men as labourers,” Alonzo mused.

I shook my head. “You’d have to let them inside the walls for that.”

My mood darkened again as we entered the stockade. The makeshift POW camp was insecure – I could have busted out easily – although the guards had made it clear they had precisely zero respect for the aristocrats and would happily break bones to keep them from escaping. The aristocratic prisoners started babbling the money they saw me, requesting private interviews or insisting – loudly – that their families would pay whatever ransom I demanded, as long as I let them keep their heads on their shoulders. I wasn’t too surprised. The brave aristos were already dead and the smart ones had fled … the ones left behind were the dregs. I doubted Cuthbert would waste time bothering to rescue them, even if he could. Their families might even refuse to pay the ransom.

“Sir,” Captain Grimes said. He was a short stubby man, an aristocrat born on the wrong side of the blanket, who’d served Helen’s father before she’d taken the throne. He had a fancy and long-winded title that, somewhat to my amusement, boiled down to gaoler. He was also loyal … I’d been assured. I suspected he wasn’t above a little corruption, but I could let that pass as long as he behaved himself elsewhere. “We have fifty-seven men of rank in the stockade. What do you want to do with them?”

“We’ll leave them here, for the moment, then take them back to face the queen when we’re done,” I said, curtly. I doubted we’d captured anyone really important – Grimes would have told me if we had – but it was worth checking. “Anyone interesting?”

“Not really.” Grimes looked as if he had bitten into something foul. “They were troop leaders, not …”

I nodded in understanding. “We’ll let Her Majesty decide their fate,” I said. “Put together a complete list of prisoners, then make sure they remain in custody until we return home.”

Alonzo nudged me. “You don’t want to let them pay the ransoms?”

“No.” I shook my head. In theory, I could grant their parole and send them home to collect the money … in practice, I suspected their families would send them right back again. Or they’d break their parole. It was supposed to be unthinkable, but I knew from experience that far too many aristos thought promises to commoners had no validity. “We don’t need the headaches it’ll cause.”

Grimes cleared his throat.  “There is another problem, sir,” he said. “We captured thirty mercenaries. What do we do with them?”

I blinked in surprise. “How did they get captured?”

“The leader did some fast talking when they were cornered, and offered a massive bribe,” Grimes said. “Their captors took everything they had, then marched the prisoners to the stockade.”

“I want a few words with their captors,” I said, darkly. I had expected any captured mercenaries to be finished off, rather than taken prisoner. “The bribes can go in the common fund.”

“Yes, sir,” Grimes said. He led us to an isolated part of the stockade, letting us see the prisoners. “What do you want done with them?”

I said nothing as I studied the captives. They’d been placed in cangues, to humiliate as much as to ensure they remained captive. They hadn’t been roughed up too badly, somewhat to my surprise, but … I cursed under my breath. They were nothing more than thugs, wearing outfits that would have made them look silly – on the battlefield – if I hadn’t known what they symbolised. Mercenaries fought for money, not for their monarch or a cause or anything remotely worthwhile. And they were the most hated people in the world. A lone mercenary who fell into commoner hands would be lucky if he was only tortured to death.

They’ll try to escape, I thought, coldly. Most monarchs would hesitate to execute mercenaries – they might need their services themselves, one day – but not Helen. She knew better than to trust anyone who fought for money. They know what we intend to do to any captured mercenaries.

“Interesting,” I said. “Did they say why they tried to surrender?”

“They were surrounded,” Grimes said. “They had no choice.”

I shrugged. “Execute them.”

Grimes blinked, then nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

Alonzo looked satisfied. “They deserve no less.”

I nodded, curtly. I had no intention of slaughtering commoner prisoners, or even aristocrats, but mercenaries …? They had already been condemned to death. Even if I had tried to spare them, or ship them back to the capital, they would likely be lynched when my men worked out who the prisoners actually were. And besides, we had to make it clear we hadn’t been bluffing, when we’d outlawed mercenaries. If we let this bunch go, the warlords would have no trouble recruiting more.

It was hard not to feel a little guilty, even though I knew better. Mercenary companies had a great deal in common with street gangs – or terrorists. Their recruits were forced to cross the line – to rape or kill – before they were trusted completely, just to make sure there was no way back. By now, the men in front of me had probably committed hundreds of small atrocities, even war crimes. The rules of war had been a joke to them. They certainly couldn’t claim their protection.

If we’d hanged people who broke the rules back home, there’d be fewer people willing to break them, I told myself. The rules of war meant nothing if they weren’t enforced. Instead, we have people breaking them willy-nilly because they know we won’t hang them.

“We won,” I said, as we turned and walked back into the city. Parties were already breaking out … I saw a local girl kissing a couple of my men and hoped it wouldn’t lead to problems later on, for any of them. Back home, there had been condoms and the pill and everything else.  Here … “Tomorrow, we march.”

Alonzo smiled. I knew he was relieved.

Chapter Twenty-One

We marched out of Houdon the following morning, two hours after dawn.

It was a rather shambolic march. Too many of my men were nursing hangovers, despite stern warnings not to get too drunk and forget themselves. The grumbling was louder than normal, unsurprisingly, but I ignored it. I would have been more worried if there wasn’t any grumbling. It would have suggested trouble was brewing, real trouble. I didn’t want to have to deal with it.

Horst galloped up to me and dropped to the ground. My lips twitched in cold amusement. It was important the men saw me marching, as well as the rest of their officers. My mounted infantry weren’t precisely cavalry – horses no longer ruled the battlefield – and I had no intention of letting them develop the sort of pretensions that would blight their effectiveness, or convince the infantry to leave them in the lurch when they ran into trouble. I had studied a number of historical battles, on this world, and several had been lost – I suspected, reading between the lines – because the infantry hadn’t supported the cavalry. It might have been bad timing, or deliberate malice. I rather feared it was the latter.

“Sir, the enemy has vacated most of his garrisons,” Horst said. “The towns are welcoming us.”

They’d have welcomed Cuthbert too if he’d returned in glory, I thought, coldly. The warlord could have reached the heart of his power by now, well ahead of the news of his defeat. Was he preparing a last stand or … grabbing as much treasure as he could before making a run for it? We can’t trust anyone here, not completely.

“Tell the local headmen to keep their people under control, and to give us some space,” I ordered. There’d be revolts soon, if there weren’t already, and I didn’t want to have to waste time dealing with a succession of petty chiefs and rebel leaders. “And make sure the troops stay out of the towns and villages as much as possible.”

I glanced back at my baggage train, cursing under my breath. We were travelling light – I would have killed for a few hundred trucks, or even a magical portal – and I really didn’t want to piss off the locals. There was nothing to be gained and much to lose, if they decided we were no better than their old master. They might not be able to meet us in the field, but we could wind up in real trouble if they attacked our supply lines. We’d have to live off the land and that would win us precisely no friends at all.

“Yes, sir,” Horst said. “Was there any response from the messengers?”

“It’s too early to hear back,” I reminded him. I’d sent a bunch of couriers to various vassals, pointing out that their warlord had been defeated and it was time to reconsider their positions, but most wouldn’t have gotten the message. Not from us, at least. Cuthbert had taken or slaughtered every horse he could, on his retreat, but I would be astonished if word wasn’t already spreading. “We’ll see if they want to switch sides shortly.”

We pressed on, passing near dozens of towns and villages … most thoroughly locked down or abandoned. I didn’t blame the residents. My troops had a better reputation than most – everyone knew I’d hanged men for rape and looting – but it would be a long time before we enjoyed the prestige of the USMC. Or even the Red Army. I gave orders to leave the habitations strictly alone, even as half my troops rested while the other half forged ahead. Better to sleep in the open, in camps hastily thrown together, than risk alienating the locals.

Fallon caught my eye, during a brief rest period. “Why isn’t he trying to stop us?”

“He’s trading space for time,” I said. It made sense, as a tactic. I suspected it was the only option Cuthbert had, unless he wanted to abandon his lands and flee. “He’ll avoid battle until he can meet us on favourable terrain, if it even exists …”

My lips twisted as I studied the makeshift map. Cuthbert didn’t seem to have worried that much about invasion, certainly not from the south. He’d dotted the land with small castles, designed more for keeping the peasants under control than harassing invaders and forcing them to either reduce the fortresses or leave troops tied down laying siege to the castles. I was surprised he’d trusted his peers not to invade, under the circumstances. A pair of strong castles in the right place could have slowed us down considerably, perhaps even long enough for Cuthbert to raise the forces to take the offensive again.

We can wipe out the tiny castle garrisons as we pass, I thought. Unless there was something special about their design, they couldn’t hope to withstand an assault by trained and experienced soldiers. And the locals can take care of any stragglers.

The thought haunted me as we kept marching, heading deeper and deeper into Cuthbert’s territories. A handful of messengers arrived from various vassals – and others from rebels who had overthrown their masters and now wanted recognition of their rights to the land they’d taken – but others remained ominously quiet. I kept my pickets out, watching and waiting for the first sign of a counteroffensive, half-expecting to encounter an enemy army at any moment. Cuthbert had shot his bolt, I thought, but I could be wrong. If he had more troops than I thought …

Horst shared my apprehensions. “Where are they?”

“Good question,” I said. I had an inkling, suddenly, of how the Germans must have felt when they’d invaded Russia. Cuthbert’s lands were far smaller, but my men were on foot or horseback. But the Germans had been under constant attack and I … was starting to wonder when the penny was going to drop. “Push out more pickets. I want the bridges secured before we head straight into his seat.”

My eyes kept returning to the map as we marched onwards, meeting very little resistance beyond a handful of scouts who fled the moment they saw our pickets. The local peasantry kept their distance, without making any attempt to help or hinder us. My nerves started to grow thin – and my officers spent too much time breaking up fights in the ranks – before we crested the hill and headed towards Cuthbert Castle. I could practically feel the dismay spreading through the ranks. The castle was going to be an utter nightmare to storm.

“Cuthbert didn’t report his improvements to the king,” I quipped. Technically, the warlords had been supposed to clear any construction works with the king before they started; practically, they hadn’t bothered to pay even lip service to a decree from a powerless monarch. “Naughty Cuthbert.”

Chuckles, some harsher than others, ran down the line as I deployed my men. Cuthbert Castle really was going to be a bitch to take. It rested on a rocky hill overlooking the city – it reminded me of Edinburgh Castle – and there was no way we could tunnel under the walls or even get close without being spotted and sniped. He hadn’t rested on his laurels either. He’d evacuated most of the city – he’d called it after himself, naturally – and started digging trenches at the bottom of the mountain. I wished for a bomber, with a heavy bunker-buster or two. A lone bomber could have turned a near-impregnable castle into a death trap.

“Sir,” Horst said. “We have movement.”

I lifted my charmed spectacles as a small party left the castle and made their way down the road towards us. There were four men in the party, carrying a large white flag. My eyes narrowed as they grew closer. They didn’t look like vassals. They looked more like mercenaries.

Horst had the same thought. “Mercenaries?”

“It looks that way,” I said. It was unlikely it was someone’s idea of a disguise. They’d be safer walking through Tel Aviv in a Nazi uniform. “Did he run out of proper messengers?”

“It could be a subtle insult,” Fallon pointed out. “If he’s refusing to send a messenger of proper rank …”

“Or to gourd us into attacking the castle without thinking,” I agreed. I’d put Cuthbert in a trap, forcing him to attack my lines or risk losing everything. He might be trying to return the favour. “Hold position. Let them come to us.”

The group moved closer, hands open to reveal they were unarmed. I didn’t take it for granted – they could have any number of weapons in their outfits, if they didn’t have magic – but I relaxed slightly. Very slightly. It looked as if they wanted to parley.  But why not send a more suitable representative?

“Greetings,” the leader said. He had a rough voice that suggested he was from a very long way away indeed. “I am Bravo, of the Free Blade Company.”

“Charmed, I’m sure,” I said. I’d never heard of the Free Blade Company. “Where is your master?”

“In prison,” Bravo said. “We want to trade.”

I blinked. Behind me, I heard Horst gasp. Mercenaries were loyal only as long as they were paid – surprise, surprise – but it was very rare for them to turn on their masters instead of simply abandoning them. There weren’t many rules concerning their behaviour, as far as I knew, yet the few that existed were harshly enforced. The mercenary guilds would blacklist any company that betrayed its master, making it impossible for them to find new employers. Not that they could, in any case. Turning one’s coat tended to be habit-forming.

“We hold the castle,” Bravo pointed out. “We can hold it against you for quite some time.”

“Not for long,” I countered. “I could simply sit here and wait for you to starve.”

I met his eyes. “Get to the point. What do you want?”

Bravo looked back at me, evenly. “We will turn the castle and our prisoners over to you,” he said. “We will even turn over the loot we took during our … service. You can win the war without firing another shot.”

“And in exchange,” I finished, “you want safe passage out of here.”

“Yes,” Bravo said. “We’re not that far from the border. We get out and swear never to return.”

My eyes narrowed. “And what if we refuse?”

“Then we hold the castle as long as it takes,” Bravo said. “How long can you keep your army this far from your mistress?”

He placed a nasty little slant on that word, but I ignored him. The hell of it was that he had a point. Laying siege to the castle was easy enough, on the surface, but the devil was in the details. I couldn’t afford to tie my men down for long, not without real problems. The prospect of getting the castle, and the prisoners, without a fight was incredibly tempting. And yet … I looked at Bravo, wondering how many men he’d killed, or how many women he’d raped, or towns he’d burnt, or … how many atrocities, I asked myself, had he committed in the name of his paymaster?

And Helen sentenced all mercenaries within her kingdom to death, I reminded myself. Is the castle worth the risk of angering her? And many of my supporters?

“I can keep the army together long enough,” I told him. “This isn’t a warlord’s rabble.”

“No,” Bravo agreed. “You have a truly professional army.”

I ignored the compliment. “Here are my terms. You and your men will leave the castle, wearing nothing beyond loincloths. You will be placed in chains and marched to the border, where you will be shoved over. Your camp followers will be given the choice between accompanying you and making a new life for themselves here – if they choose to stay with you, we’ll send them over the border too. Your names will be noted and if we catch you within our country, again, you will be executed on the spot. Do I make myself clear?”

Another mercenary gasped. “What about our loot? And weapons?”

“Spoils of war,” I said, bluntly. The camp followers would be considered property too,  probably. I didn’t care. They were going to be freed and offered a choice … if they wanted to accompany their former owners, that was their problem. The rest of the loot would be returned to its rightful owners or added to the military funds. “Those are my terms. Take them or leave them.”

Bravo glared at me. I wondered just what he’d expected. His master had managed to get him and his company caught in a trap, with no escape route, facing an enemy quite willing to hang mercenaries without bothering with a trial. If there had been a way out, the mercenaries would have taken it and left Cuthbert to his fate … really, I wondered why they hadn’t. They could have left yesterday and been halfway home before my army reached the castle.

“You leave us with very little,” he said, bitterly.

“I leave you with your lives,” I said, sharply. I didn’t want to prolong the debate. “What’s it to be? An undignified surrender or a siege that ends with your deaths?”

The mercenaries muttered amongst themselves for a long moment, then conceded. I wasn’t surprised. They were brave, but hardly stupid. There was nothing to be gained from a futile defence, not now. As long as they were careful, they could get across the border and find a guardpost before the local commoners caught them. I sent Bravo back to arrange the surrender, then sat back and watched as the mercenaries evacuated the castle. They honoured the agreement, save for one man who put a gemstone somewhere the sun didn’t shine. We let him keep it.

Cuthbert was brought to me, after my men searched the castle from top to bottom and sorted out the prisoners. He looked surprisingly short and weedy, for a man who’d wrecked so much havoc, but intelligence and wealth counted for more than brute strength. He’d come quite close to winning, I reflected, and might have won if the timing had worked out a little better …

“This isn’t over,” he snarled. I was surprised he wasn’t pleading for mercy, although it was quite possible he was saving his tears for Helen. He’d be wasting his time if he was – Helen hated the warlords, and would quite happily send them all to the block. “I am a warlord and …”

“No, you’re not,” I told him. Bravo had done us one favour, at least. He’d made sure the warlord’s entire family fell into our hands. “By order of Her Majesty, you and your entire family are stripped of your lands and titles and will be taken back to Roxanna, where you will face her judgement.”

Cuthbert looked oddly relieved, just for a second. I eyed him warily. I’d just pronounced a de facto death sentence. Even if Helen spared his life, he’d be powerless without lands and titles and everything else he’d used to menace the king into compliance. He had so many enemies I’d be surprised if he lasted the year, when they started coming for him. And yet …

I told his guards to take him away – he and his family would remain in chains until they were taken back home – and joined the parties searching the castle and city. Cuthbert had done better than I’d expected,  I noted; his factories were primitive, compared to the ones I’d funded, but there were an awful lot of them. If he’d had a year or two longer, he might have posed a more serious challenge. And yet … I was missing something.

“Get the scribes in here,” I ordered. Cuthbert had kept records, very detailed records. Land deeds, title deeds, every letter he’d sent or received … I suspected it wasn’t a coincidence his secretaries had had their throats cut, before the surrender. Bravo and his mates had probably taken everything relating to their employment, but they might have left something behind. “I want his correspondence assessed as soon as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” Horst said. He paused, clearly unsure if he should say anything more. “Was it wise to let the mercenaries go?”

I snorted.  “They’re practically naked, in a country that hates them,” I said. If they stayed together, they’d probably be fine … but there was no need to discuss it. They had a chance of survival and little else. “And we got the castle in exchange.”

My smile widened as we walked back to the gates. Cuthbert Castle would make a fine fortress, and the city below would help kick-start the industrial revolution into higher gear, once it was clear the workers would be paid a living wage. The rest of the warlord’s lands were already revolting, if the revolt hadn’t already succeeded. I’d destroy the title deeds and replace them with newer ones, making sure everyone knew they had me – and Helen – to thank. They’d have a future …

So would I. Fallon and I would get married, and have our child, and … who knew where we’d go? I wouldn’t be an absentee dad, not this time. I’d make sure to spend time with my son – or daughter, if the child was a girl – and bring them up properly. They wouldn’t become brats, like aristo kids. I’d make sure they knew how to handle themselves, and how to treat others – no matter how high or how low – with respect. And I would be happy.

Fallon ran in, her eyes wide.  “We … we just got a message from home!”

I felt a sudden chill.  “What happened?”

“The other warlords attacked,” Fallon said, gasping for breath. I put out a hand to steady her. “And Roxanna is under siege.”

I swore. The penny had finally dropped.

And I realised, as the implications dawned on me, that I’d been tricked.