Baron Edmund arrived the next morning, pushing his infantry hard. The two soldiers escorting the prisoner had reached him earlier and given him a summary of events, and his first reaction had been the private conviction that his son had lost his mind. Defeating a twelve-man raiding party was luck. Going after Baron Iden — sixty men with a knight detachment — was something else entirely. He had hurried his march in the hope of arriving in time to stop the disaster before it happened.
He had also, somewhere on the road, begun calculating what the ransom would cost.
He arrived at midday to find scouts already riding out to meet him.
"How is Franklin?" His tone was clipped.
"We've won, my lord. Baron Iden is captured. His knights with him. The young lord is camped ten li ahead and waiting for your arrival."
Edmund stared at the scout. Twenty infantry, trained for less than a month, against sixty with cavalry support. He stood in the road for a moment with his mind empty. The only explanation he could construct involved the wandering adventurer Franklin had apparently taken on — some kind of mage, according to the report. That would have to account for it. He couldn't think of another way.
Franklin rode out to meet his father. Edmund brought his escort knights into the camp tent and listened to a brief account of the fire attack. When Franklin finished, Edmund shook his head slowly. "This isn't something you do twice. You understand that."
"I know. If the numbers hadn't been so badly against us, I wouldn't have agreed to it."
Edmund glanced at Evan once and looked away. Evan noted the look — too clever, too rough, not the kind of methods a proper man acknowledges — and felt nothing in particular about it. He wasn't in Edmund's service and wasn't trying to be. His interest in staying with this group was already diminishing. He needed an established position somewhere, away from the Church's attention, and a baron's estate in a contested war zone was not that.
Franklin recognized the tension and changed the subject quickly. "Father — Becky advanced. She's a fourth-level water mage."
Edmund's expression transformed. He thanked the Maker, thanked the Archangel Macri — the great angel of water, as the Creationist Church named the old water deity in its reframing of the earlier pantheon — and thanked his ancestors. The Edmund family had finally produced a mage, or rather invested in one successfully. Most noble families attempting to develop magical talent among their people never got past the apprentice stage. A genuine mage was a significant asset. Becky was promoted on the spot from maidservant to assistant, with doubled pay.
Evan thought about the theological framework briefly while Edmund spoke. The Creationist Church had done something genuinely clever with the old elemental faiths: rather than destroying them, it had absorbed them. The gods of each element had been reclassified as archangels, subordinate to the Maker, who alone was called God. The dark element's deity — Hadir — had become an archangel too, which was why Nicholas Andrew could honor him while nominally existing within a world the Church dominated. The mage population, already fragmented by school and element, had been divided further without realizing it. A one-god theology that managed to incorporate every competing tradition was difficult to oppose.
Edmund went to pay his respects to Baron Iden, and the two men exchanged pleasantries with practiced ease. Evan watched from the tent entrance and felt something close to appreciation. These people knew exactly what they were doing. The same hands that had been trying to burn each other's soldiers were now offering courteous formalities, and both men played it perfectly. This world's politics ran deeper than its simple surface suggested.
He stepped outside. Franklin noticed but stayed where he was.
That evening Franklin came to Evan's tent. "I want you to know that was not my intention, Wang. I hope you're not offered."
"I'm not. Don't trouble yourself about it." Evan meant it. "We march for Namibur Castle tomorrow. Get some rest."
"Both victories were your doing. I haven't forgotten that."
"I gave suggestions. The soldiers won. Without them there's nothing. Stop worrying about me and go to sleep."
Franklin left, and Evan lay back and thought about where he was going next.
The following morning the combined force moved out. Franklin's twenty infantry walked with a different bearing than they'd had two days ago — two engagements, two wins, and Franklin had given them four parts in ten of the spoils. That alone had settled any remaining question about whether they'd made the right choice.
The column hadn't gone far when the forward scouts stopped them. A man had been found on the road — not captured, he'd come looking for them deliberately. He was a mercenary, and when he confirmed he was dealing with Baron Edmund, he produced a letter from inside his coat.
Edmund examined the seals carefully before opening it. Count Laine's mark. He read.
His expression flattened.
Count Laine had been caught off-guard by the speed of Edward's advance. He was now besieged in Namibur Castle — Viscount Bill, known as One-Eye Bill, Edward's most capable field commander, had broken through the defensive line and materialized outside Namibur with nine hundred men before Laine had time to respond. The castle held three hundred. The messenger had been lowered on a rope in darkness to go find help.
Edmund looked at the messenger for a moment, and Evan saw something come into his eyes — a brief, cold calculation. Seventy or eighty men of his own. One-Eye Bill's force was ten times that. If the messenger were silenced, no one could prove Edmund had ever received the letter.
Evan caught Franklin's eye and tilted his head slightly. Franklin read it, turned to his father, and said, "Father, we should move quickly. Count Laine needs us."
Edmund let out a slow breath. Too many of his own men had been standing here when the letter was read. Even if the messenger were dealt with, the risk of the story getting out wasn't worth it. He had no real choice.
But ten to one was a ratio that made rescue nearly meaningless.
"Can we reach anyone else?" Franklin said. "Where has Friedrich's detachment reached?"
The messenger answered: "The knight company entered the castle just before it was surrounded. They lost five knights in the approach."
The tent went quiet. Five knights at once, even mostly low-rank and squires, was a significant loss to a minor barony.
"What can you tell me about Viscount Bill?" Evan spoke up.
Raymond answered him — Raymond had the kind of comprehensive soldier's knowledge that came from paying attention. "One-Eye Bill is Edward's best field commander. Volatile temperament, though not stupid. Suspicious by nature — which seems contradictory, but there it is. He lost the eye years ago and it left him harsher than he was."
Evan's face produced a slow smile.