"These men were serving the other side, but that's a matter of circumstance rather than loyalty. More importantly, they know how to operate artillery. Knights are the main force in open battle, but they're nearly useless against fortifications. A company with siege capability is worth far more than a company without one. If you absorb these men properly, they become an asset that distinguishes you from every other petty commander in this war." Evan kept to himself the more straightforward reason, which was that he hadn't wanted to watch twenty men be killed for being on the wrong side of a supply column. "Your core force right now is twenty men. It will shortly be forty. If you earn the barony, these are the men you build from."
Franklin absorbed this. He had stopped thinking about inheriting the title some time ago; the idea of earning something his own way had taken hold instead. The formal military structure of the nobility was already clear in his mind — a baron held a private force of up to a hundred and fifty, a viscount five hundred, a count two thousand, and the scale climbed from there — and he understood what even a modest force of his own meant in terms of real independence.
The remainder of the march passed without incident. Twenty li from Namibur, Evan had Franklin halt the column and rest. Then he sent a dozen soldiers out with tree branches tied to their horses' tails. The dust rose as the horses moved through the woodland behind the forming line, and Edmund turned in his saddle to watch it.
"If I didn't know what was behind us, I'd swear there was a column of a thousand men back there."
The column moved forward. The woodland was three or four li from the castle — not large, but sufficient for the purpose. The moment Bill's scouts appeared at the edge of the tree cover, Raymond took a crossbow from one of the soldiers, rode forward, and put a bolt through the man. The riderless horse returned to its own lines.
Bill had already seen the dust rising behind the trees. His expression, from a distance, looked like a man reassessing everything he thought he knew about the morning.
Franklin's force formed up at the treeline — fewer than a hundred visible, with the rest in the trees and the dust columns behind suggesting reserves. Bill was watching. He sent several knights forward at a canter. Becky and Evan both cast — Evan's fireball, Becky's Ice Lance, neither particularly powerful but both clearly aimed — and the knights pulled up and turned back. Two mages with the advance force was the signature of a substantial army. Standard procedure.
Then the line opened and the mortar came through.
The shot was a solid ball, no explosive charge, but the trajectory was unexpected and the noise was significant. Two men in Bill's formation were unlucky. His line shifted.
At that moment the castle gates opened. The garrison had seen what looked like a relief force with cavalry and magic support, and they came out fighting. Bill looked at the dust, the mages, the cannon, the sortie, and the uncertainty about what was still in the trees — and made a decision. He was a capable commander. He sounded the withdrawal, and his force pulled back in good order toward the southwest. Even in an unexpected situation he kept the formation coherent.
The castle erupted into cheering. Evan let out a slow breath. The bluff had worked. If Bill had been the kind of man to press through uncertainty rather than avoid it, the situation would have been very different.
Count Laine himself came to the gate to see who had arrived. He looked at a column of barely a hundred men, a handful of horses, a small cannon, and a group of sullen prisoners, and his expression moved through confusion toward something approaching wonder.
Edmund and Franklin knelt. The others followed.
"Edmund, with his son Franklin — forgive our late arrival, my lord."
Laine laughed and brought them to their feet. "Late? You arrive and Bill retreats inside the hour. There's nothing to forgive. Tell me — where is the rest of your force? I saw the dust for miles."
"There is no rest of the force, my lord. What you see is what came. The dust was fabricated — horses dragging branches. When word reached us that you were besieged, we had almost no men available. This was my son's idea." Edmund delivered this last sentence without visible discomfort. It was Franklin's idea in the sense that it had happened under Franklin's command, which in practical terms was the same thing.
Evan observed this without surprise. The law of military credit was the same in any world.
"A hundred men," Laine said. "One hundred men came to relieve me, and they turned back nine hundred. That is either magnificent or insane, and I find I don't care which." He looked at the prisoners being brought forward — and stopped when he recognized Baron Iden. "You. While Bill had me pinned, you took the opportunity to raid my territory. And you ended up here." He turned to Franklin. "These are yours. Extract the ransom and don't be generous about it."
Then Laine drew his sword and his voice took on formality. "Kneel and hear your rewards. Edmund, your lands are increased by one part in ten. Franklin, you are raised to the rank of Baron, with lands of ten li."
The sword touched each head in turn. Both men swore loyalty by the Maker's name, and Laine raised them.
"Remember your oaths. We share enemies and we share interests." He looked at the assembled men behind them. "Laine rewards service. Tonight we celebrate."
Friedrich congratulated his cousin with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. Becky and Raymond were genuinely, openly happy. Franklin seized Evan's arm. "Without you, none of this. Name what you want — a knighthood, if you like."
"Keep it. You've reached your first objective. Remember what that means: you hold a title now, and your stepmother and siblings have no reason to move against you anymore. The assassination attempts stop here. Be a good brother, be a good lord, treat your people well. As for me — don't concern yourself."
"You're leaving."
"I told you from the beginning I would only stay for one matter. This is resolved."
Franklin argued briefly, then accepted it. "At least wait a few days. I have nothing fitting to offer except coin, which is vulgar, but I have no other way."
Evan didn't refuse. He was not a saint.
The celebration that evening was elaborate — long tables, good wine, servants moving in every direction. Evan attended for a while, said almost nothing, and slipped out after the toasts began repeating themselves.
Outside, the soldiers had their own celebration, louder and less refined. Traders and camp followers had appeared from somewhere, the way they always did around armies regardless of which side the fighting was on. The soldiers drank cheap barley wine and spent their battlefield earnings without particular care for tomorrow.
Evan stood with a cup — good wine, taken from the castle's supply — and tasted nothing. He was a lich. He had suspected for some time that something resembling taste was returning to him, but it remained too faint to register clearly. He drained the cup and stood watching the soldiers.
A man came over. Not a soldier — a mercenary, and one Evan recognized. The man who had carried Laine's message.
"Arnold. What are they paying you for this job?"
"Forty gold, my lord — shared among us, and most of the others haven't even made it back yet. You're something, though. A hundred men sending off nine hundred." He was a bit drunk and said it with the frankness that alcohol allows. Then, more carefully: "You saved those cannon men, too. I thought they were done."
"Luck," Evan said.
Arnold poured barley wine into a cup and offered it across. Evan accepted. Arnold had seen enough to form an opinion of him, and the opinion was favorable, and Evan found he didn't mind the company.
"When this job finishes, where are you and your people going?"