Chapter 1

The Duke was angry. He wasn’t old but he was older than many around him; he still carried his age well. His stance was still upright and, being six and a half feet tall, he towered over most of the others in the room. His eyes still carried the grey blue, steely, piercing view on whoever was speaking. It was enough to dissolve people’s resolve sometimes. This was his ‘kingdom’, and had been his father’s and his father’s before him; he was proud both of his noble inheritance, and that three generations ago an itinerant knight had married into a local landowner’s family and carved out this dukedom by courage and skill combined. That these two sources of pride somewhat contradicted each other was not something to challenge the duke with, he didn’t take to clever questioning very well. He had people for that kind of thinking. “What the fuck? He’s manufactured this dispute. Why? Kator?”

His Prime Advisor Kator looked at him calmly. He had reached this position by being the voice of reason. “Sir? There are two possibilities, I think. One, Earl Labon is seeking to better his position whilst His Majesty is focused on relations abroad. He hopes for a short fight, followed by mediation and the chance to gain something. The second possibility is more worrying, that the king has given Earl Labon permission to launch this campaign; that the king is behind it as a way of pulling back your power. He was not happy at your eldest daughter being betrothed to Canegie, you know that. It will give you influence from coast to coast.

On the whole, sir, I think this is more likely.”

The earl had launched an attack on a pretext. They had had peace for decades; since Labon and Duke Sizewell had come to power in fact. Their fathers vied for power in the North, and had personal animosity to fuel it. Labon and Sizewell were more content to let each rule their own estates and grow them by improvements rather than expansion. Until now, that is.

The duke stood silent for a moment, then: “Well, as long as His Majesty says nothing publicly then we are within our rights to fight. Call out the army, we will march!”

He cut an impressive figure as he rode out with his guards. All armies were the same, a small body of trained soldiers, a larger body of militia from each knight owing fealty to him; an even larger body of ill-armed men called up by reason of owing loyalty to the knight or village. Sizewell had sent his wife with their elder daughter; she was visiting her intended husband to arrange the wedding. Naturally Sizewell’s sixteen year old son rode beside him; he would win his spurs with luck, and be Sir Michael by virtue of real battle rather than inheritance.

Only Lady Harriet was left. Just fourteen, she was already being matched to possible spouses. She was pretty, wilful and bossy. She had been unofficially linked with Lord Labon’s second son. That would be off now – unless a truce included the marriage as a way of tying them together. Children, girls especially, were for advantageous marriages, what else?

The guards left were minimal, there was no need; the army would be between the castle and the invaders. So only the older guards remained. And Robert. Robert had just recovered from a bout of fever. He would not keep up with an army marching quickly. If the fever recurred he would be a liability. If he was in the line then he would be a weak spot. “You stay.” That was all he was told. Since he was lying in the infirmium, still repairing the damage two weeks of raging fever had done, he wasn’t sorry to be left behind. He was just moving from broth to some solids. He was recovering well, but it would take more time. Should he follow when he could, he asked. No, his presence would not be needed to destroy the enemy.