19. Chapter 17

War without fire is like sausages without mustard.

Ney was in Paris, drinking wine in the Tuileries while younger officers danced with their wives.

Other Marshals were around him. There was Berthier who smiled at him when their eyes met and Suchet laughing at a table with Soult. Poniatowski danced in the garb of Polish royalty while Bernadotte straightened up his uniform before entering the dance floor. Murat winked at Ney as he strode by in a flamboyant uniform. Lannes, two tables over, grinned with his second wife.

"Sir, are you alright?"his friend and former chief of staff, Jomini, who Ney had not seen since crossing the Neman River, asked.

"Fine," Ney managed. He took a breath and realized he'd been in the midst of conversation. "I'm terribly sorry. What were you saying?"

"I've published a new treatise," Jomini said. "This one focusing on the practical application of grand tactics. None of that theoretical nonsense Clausewitz likes to drone on about. You may be interested that I used the first two battles of your Italican campaign as examples of the superiority of interior lines."

Ney sipped his wine. "You mean Italian?"

"Hmm?"

"You mean my Italian campaign, not Italican," Ney stressed.

Jomini furrowed his brow. "You've never had an Italian campaign, sir."

"Yes, I know that, but-" Italica isn't a real place.

Ney blinked at the realization.

He turned his head to look back at his fellow Marshals. To Berthier, a man he both hated and was hated by, who was genuinely smiling at him. To Bernadotte, no longer a French Marshal but rather a Swedish Prince, allied with the British. Then finally to Lannes, who had lost his leg to a cannonball and died of infection three years ago.

He looked at them and stared.

Then everything turned to silence as the ballroom's doors opened and the Emperor himself entered. His wife, Empress Marie Louise, walked beside him. Young officers hurried out of their way.

"Marshal Ney!" The Emperor's voice cracked like a musket. His glance, which had conquered Europe, centered fully on Ney.

Ney's heart pounded.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Time slowed for Ney. "Majesty? I am here, and I am yours."

The Emperor, Napoleon, shook his head. "Your struggle is not yet finished. Fulfill your promise."

With those words ringing in his ears, Ney awoke.

He awoke to pain in his chest and refusal in his limbs to obey his orders. His eyes opened, fluttered, and then stayed open. Ney was laid out on a luxurious bed inside an even more luxurious room. The sun shone through a decorated window, and he saw a city stretch before him.

There were a dozen grenadiers in the room, standing like statues against the walls. A man with an officer's uniform slept in a chair next to Ney's bed.

"Jomini?" Ney croaked.

The man jerked awake instantly. "Sir… you're…" He recomposed himself. "How are you feeling sir?"

"Jomini," Ney said in a whisper. "In… Paris?"

The man tilted his head. "What do you mean, sir?"

Ney tried to raise an arm to gesture, tried to speak more fluently, but all that came out was a moan.

"Sir, we've managed to eliminate the assassin who tried to kill you, and Captain Duclos is maintaining a tight watch while we're in the city," the man said, all in a rush. "King Duran has been attempting to find who hired the assassin, but his nobility…"

Ney could no longer make sense of what was said, so he went back to sleep. But as his eyelids dropped, he finally understood the man was Barbier, not Jomini, and the city outside was not Paris.

Sleep followed and so did dreams. He was in Paris sometimes and on campaign in others. Germany, Austria, Spain, Russia. The Emperor berated him constantly.

Why do you not come home? he asked. Fulfill your promise, he demanded.

Awake again, and there were other men to see him. Rousseau whispered about poison and a hexenmeister who'd saved him. Courbet told him of Captain Duclos's actions and read him reports. Feraud boasted of killing spies following Ney's assassination attempt.

King Duran came eventually, with Sir Joseph and six royal knights. He sat in the chair next to Ney's bed and sighed.

"I had to release all of Teo's army," Duran said. He rubbed his head. "I didn't want to, but Duke Cantero suggested it, and Duchess Triana put her support behind him, then Duke Sallent agreed. Once the duchies were behind the idea, the baronies followed suit, and I had no choice but to let them go."

"Where?" Ney managed.

"What?" Duran asked, as if only just noticing him.

Ney struggled out, "Where… army go?"

Duran shrugged. "We released them from custody, and that was that. Most left the city, I believe. They're just levied men, and they have farms to take care of."

"No…" Ney could see it. All too well. "Building new army," he said.

Duran narrowed his eyes as if seeing something new.

Ney fell asleep. He dreamt more of the Emperor.

Fulfill your promise.

He woke feeling stronger and more capable. Barbier helped him out of bed, and he managed to walk a short distance. Then Duran came, and he was helped back into bed.

"An 'Assembly of Lords' they call it," Duran spat. "Can you believe this? This is open treason, and I can do nothing about it. They're trying to make me sign a charter that will limit my power and establish this 'assembly' as legitimate." He shook his head. "I am the king! Does that mean nothing?"

Ney had other issues in mind. "Prince Teo is defeated," he stated. "My men are not here to occupy Elbe. You have commitments to fulfill."

Duran looked startled. "But there's still so much opposition-"

"Gold and magic," Ney interrupted. "That's what you guaranteed me in Italica when I agreed to fight your war for you. Now I've fought it, and I want what is owed. I understand if you cannot provide gold yet, but I expect you to find me an expert on the Gate like you swore you would. My men need a way home; I promised to find a way home."

Silence.

Duran stood to leave, and Ney glared daggers into his back. The king's knights shuffled out with their armor rattling. Then Ney's eyelids felt heavy, and he slept.

Awake once more, but Duran did not come to see him. Ney's strength returned to him. He spent the day walking progressively further while Barbier and the grenadiers accompanied him. His chest no longer hurt but rather dully ached.

He did not go to sleep in the middle of the day like usual, so he was awake that night to be served dinner. Dogs were brought to sample it first, everything Ney ate and drank was sampled by dogs, but neither the young pups nor the older mutts had any ill side-effects, and Ney was allowed to enjoy his first real dinner since waking.

Which was, of course, interrupted by Colonel Feraud bursting through the door, saber pressed against the neck of the Royal Chamberlain.

"The bastard says he's got a message from Duran," Feraud said, by way of introduction. "He's the one who tried to poison you. I say we kill him and don't think twice."

The Royal Chamberlain looked unphased. "I most certainly did not try such things, and my message is not from the King but rather from his most trusted vassals."

Feraud growled, "And just where did you learn to speak our language?"

"I am a knowledgeable man."

"Lying rat. I'll have you-"

Ney raised his hand, silencing Feraud. "Thank you for bringing him to me, Colonel. You are dismissed."

Feraud gave one last look at the Royal Chamberlain. "Your time is coming, dog!" he spat from the hall.

The chamberlain waited a few moments for Feraud to be out of earshot then clasped his hands and smiled in a way that managed to appear both heartfelt and disingenuous at the same time. "Thank you, my lord."

Ney ignored it. "There's a girl in Italica capable of speaking our language like you can; my head of requisitions uses her as a translator. I was under the impression she was the only Falmartian fluent in French."

"I learn what I must to serve my king," the Royal Chamberlain replied, bowing.

"Where did you learn?"

"To reveal that would be divulging too much, my lord."

"Of course." Ney gave a thin smile. "You say you have a message?"

The chamberlain bowed again. "Am I correct in interpreting that your relationship with King Duran has been… deteriorating?"

Ney narrowed his eyes; he'd been told Captain Duclos had taken care of the spies.

"I will take your silence as confirmation."

There were a dozen grenadiers guarding Ney's room. He felt an urge to have the man seized. Very tempting.

The Royal Chamberlain seemed unaware of Ney's inclination. He continued, a false smile plastered across his face. "You have an invitation from the ducal authorities, if it pleases you, my lord."

"Last time I had an invitation, I got shot," Ney snapped.

"A lapse of judgment, I assure you. The most loyal vassals of this realm have reconsidered the positions of all parties involved and chosen to extend this invitation in good faith."

"What do they want from me?"

"I am merely a messenger, my lord. It have no understanding of their intentions nor their-"

"Don't feed me that crap. What do they want?"

The Royal Chamberlain's eyebrow twitched, the most human thing he'd done the whole conversation, and he gave a brief nod. "It is my understanding that Duchess Triana and Duke Cantero wish to make an offer that you will be most pleased to receive considering the recent state of affairs concerning certain promises given. I cannot speak for the precise details."

Ney sighed. "Where and when?"

Two days later, Ney was able to walk unassisted. He celebrated with a cup of wine, his first since waking. Then he was tired, always tired, and he went to sleep.

Four days, and he could ride a horse and practice with a saber. The wound in his chest ached but barely troubled him. Duran still did not appear, and Ney made no attempt to seek him.

On the fifth day he felt like himself again. He spent several hours reading reports at his desk and signing orders. Men were getting antsy, so Courbet wanted to start drilling them outside the city. Ney felt that could be seen as a threat by any number of people in the city, so he denied the request for the time being. Despite that, he sent Colonel Feraud and a detachment of Chaucer's Boys out with special orders.

The sixth day he spent rattling sabers with Barbier and handling paperwork. And then at night…

He marched through the streets of Janku with a twelve-man bodyguard. They were in the city's wealthiest district, following directions given by the Royal Chamberlain. The theater he was to meet at was a high class establishment, so he'd had his campaign uniform freshly laundered to fit the occasion.

A well dressed servant greeted him at the door and insisted he follow. Ney left eight grenadiers at the entrance. The remaining four followed him in.

This is a trap, he considered for the tenth time. Why am I doing this?

Ney fiddled with the hilt of his saber. Because Duran isn't cooperating.

The servant led them through a hallway and up a flight of stairs. He stopped at a wide door and silently gestured.

Ney took a breath. If this whole thing was a trap, now was the time.

His grenadier escorts entered first. Ney marched through the door behind them, hand hovering over his saber.

The building opened up, and he found himself in an elevated box overlooking the theater's main stage. Actors performed a play below, dressed in bright colors and wearing large masks, while two figures gazed down at them. The rest of the theater was empty.

"Ah, General Ney," one of the figures, a woman in a long dress, greeted. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you."

One of the actors, a man costumed as a mother, shrieked from below as a shower of prop arrows rained down on the stage. Two gods circled the stage and laughed.

"Marshal," Ney corrected absentmindedly. He discovered it difficult to break his attention from the spectacle. "It's Marshal Ney."

The woman gave an elegant curtsy. "My apologies, Marshal Ney."

Another shriek from below. What sounded like a baby's cry, and more laughter from the gods.

Ney's eyes went back to the stage even as he said, "You must be… Duchess Triana?"

She smiled and curtsied again.

The other figure, Duke Cantero, if he guessed correctly, finally turned and spoke, "You are lord of the Bluecoats? I am greatly honored to meet with such a powerful man."

Ney forced his gaze away from the stage. "I was told you wished to make me an offer?"

The duke and duchess met eyes for a moment. Then Duke Cantero gently smiled at Ney.

"Business already? We had hoped to get to know each other before such unpleasant matters were discussed."

"I fear you've heard terrible things about us," Duchess Triana murmured. She put a hand on his uniform. "We'd like to show you the truth of it all."

Ney took a step back. "And what truth is this?"

"Your good friend Duran is a tyrant," Duke Cantero laughed.

"He is your king."

"Ah, what a king he is," the duke scoffed." Trampling the rights of the gentry, completely disregarding property laws, and eradicating centuries of legal precedent in his quest to consolidate power. The gentlemen of Elbe cannot abide such mishandling. Make no mistake, my lord, Duran is a great man, but he is a poor king."

On stage, the gods departed, leaving behind the sobbing mother.

"What he means," Duchess Triana interjected, "is that we believe it to be best for the kingdom to limit the king's rashness in his management of state. It is, after all, the duty of the nobility to protect Elbe."

Ney stroked his chin.

Duchess Triana stepped forward. "We hear that you are yourself a duke in your homeland. Surely you can sympathize with our plight?"

"You are well informed," he merely said. Below, the stage curtains closed.

"Enough politics," Duke Cantero sighed. "You are a man of business, and you clearly wish to get straight to the point. Very well then." He nodded at Duchess Triana.

She clasped her hands. "I have been told that you and your men have not been paid for your services. Seeing as certain parties seem unwilling to do so, this could be… remedied through alternative means."

Ney tilted his head and wondered how much she really knew. "And in return?" he asked.

The duchess smiled with a shrug. "Your support, of course. An alliance if you'd prefer the term."

"We can be very good friends," the duke added. "Unlike some, we honor our agreements."

Ney chose his next words carefully. "So, in exchange for my support, you would provide the… compensation I was promised by Duran?"

"Every denari."

He smiled, because they thought he was here for money, and their spies were not omnipresent. "If we are to be allies, might I ask a question?"

Duchess Triana nodded. "Anything."

"You have an army," Ney stated.

Duke Cantero frowned. "That's not a question."

"But I am correct, am I not?"

They looked at each other.

"We have a force of men under arms," Duchess Triana said hesitantly. "The remnants of Prince Teo's army."

"That's… what? Twenty thousand men at most?"

"Two thousand," the Duchess Triana admitted, and Ney saw Duke Cantero give a vicious glare at her.

"I seem to recall having nineteen thousand Elban prisoners at the end of my campaign," Ney said cautiously.

"Circumstances change," Duke Cantero snapped.

"We gave Prince Teo our levies, and now most have returned to our lands unwilling to fight further." Duchess Triana's expression turned dark. "Your Bluecoats seemed to have made quite an impression on them."

Duke Cantero straightened up. "Nothing to worry about. I am raising a new batch of levies. Those of Prince Teo's army who stayed loyal are currently training them. Give it a month, and we'll have ten thousand men under arms, more than enough to contest Duran."

"A move I informed you was unnecessary," Duchess Triana chided. Her head turned, and she smiled at Ney. "After all, we are to be allied with the most powerful military force in Elbe."

Ney returned her smile and asked, "Where are these men you're training?"

"We have-"

"The play seems to have finished," Duke Cantero interrupted. He narrowed his eyes at the duchess. "And I believe we have discussed military matters quite enough for the time being."

Ney gave him a slight nod. "Of course, my friend." He nodded to Duchess Triana as well. "You have both given me much to consider. You'll have to allow me some time to think it through, but I have a feeling you'll both be satisfied in the end."

The duchess curtsied, and not to be outdone, the duke bowed.

Ney bowed as well. He left the two glaring at each other and exited the theater box with his escort. A flash of movement caught his eye from down the hall, but whatever it was disappeared behind a corner.

"The walls have ears, eh?" he said in French.

One of his grenadiers chuckled, and they vacated the theater as quickly as they could.

Morning came and went in a blur. Ney sparred with Barbier more, and he practiced his riding until evening. Feraud returned successfully with Chaucer's Boys from their mission, so Ney then spent the night marking out maps by candlelight.

Two days later, Duran finally returned to meet with him. He brought Sir Josep and twelve of his royal knights, the same as the number of grenadiers guarding Ney, and he wore a suit of armor as if he was going into battle. Ney had spent a month campaigning with the man against his own son, and he'd never seen him like this.

"What's the matter?" Ney asked. He thought he already knew the answer, but it never did well to assume on issues as important as these.

"You are conspiring against me," Duran said bitterly. "Do not even bother denying it; I know everything."

Ney managed a smile. "I'd like to imagine I have a few secrets from you."

"Do you seek to enrage me? You already have. I am beset on all sides by enemies in my own home, and yet the largest betrayal does not come from a power-hungry vassal but from a man I considered my friend." He looked at him, but his eyes kept straying to the window.

"Perhaps I expected friends to be committed to their word," Ney said. "Do you think it is pleasant being trapped in a world that is not my own? Conquering challenge after challenge, unaware of if any of it means anything? Losing men against enemies whom I have no true reason to be enemies with?" He sighed. "Can I tell you something, Duran?"

Duran's eyes were fixated out the window. "Go ahead and reveal what you'd like since you've apparently managed to keep so much from me." He meant it to sting. It did.

"I love war," Ney confessed. "I love strategy and tactics. I love the spirit of battle that flows through me when I am in command. I love bravery, both my own and that of my men, and I do not believe there is anything so beautiful in the world as a column of marching infantry or a well positioned squadron of cavalry." He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled. "But even I can understand when a war is unnecessary. I don't belong here, Duran. I need to go home."

"I understand you," Duran sighed, tearing his eyes from the window. "I really do. But I do not have the resources to both help you and keep my kingdom in one piece. Could you not give me time?"

Ney shook his head. "Don't you see? I have been giving you time since the start of our campaign. I have had to march into the heart of Elbe, something I never planned on, and I was nearly killed for it. My patience is running thin, Duran. You are a king; how difficult is it to find me a mage with the knowledge I seek?"

Duran scoffed at that. "You think it's easy to be king? I left Elbe, loved by the people. Now I have returned, and I find that my support has crumbled. My vassals openly scheme for the throne, my heir was in open revolt against me, my army numbers only a few thousand, and I do not know what to do. You want a wizard? The conclave has refused to pick a side until it is clear who will come out on top. I cannot help you, Ney. I wish I could, but I cannot."

"You understand my position, though?"

"Bah, of course I do. It's only logical. I just wish I wasn't on the bad end of it."

"So long as you understand," Ney breathed. "What will you do?"

Duran laughed sharply. "Wait for you to conduct a coup? What can I do? I have a few thousand men against your unbeatable army. You have already pledged your support to the bastard Cantero and that whore Triana. If I ordered you to leave, you'd simply refuse and take my crown."

A spirit rushed through Ney all at once. The spirit of decision. "I think that is a great idea."

"What? Banish you? Or did you mean I should hand you the crown?"

Ney grinned like a wolf. "Banish me."

The Bluecoat army marched out of Janku at noon, and it was clear from the moment that they left the royal barracks that the king was not going to trust them even in the streets of the city. Elban soldiers, the same men who'd smashed the prince's rebellion alongside the Bluecoats, were posted all along their line of march. Fifty royal knights and two hundred Elban cavalry shadowed their baggage train, threatening to wreak instant havoc for any misdeed on the way out.

The Bluecoat leader, the famed 'Marshal', led the column in stark contrast to their original triumphal entry. Their officers rode with their eyes down. Most of the regular soldiers glared at the bystanders who came to gape. With their baggage train was a collection of Elban women, those who'd chosen to be laundresses and soldiers' wives of the Bluecoats, and they were mocked by the crowd. There was an air of tension.

The word was that the Bluecoats had been banished by King Duran's personal decree.

Near the gate, a pair of Elban soldiers glared at the French column, and Jacques Duclos spat.

To his side, Vidal giggled. As they marched through the gates of Janku, she nudged Jacques with a sly grin. "You're overacting."

Jacques rolled his eyes. "I'm trying to look angry." But he looked at her and couldn't help but match her grin.

"Quiet, you two," Astier hissed. "The spies will hear you, and then we're all fucked."

When the Bluecoats passed through the northern gate for the last time, the Elbans shadowing them shut the gates and climbed the walls to watch them go. A half-hearted cheer went up from the crowd.

Ney's corps marched north on the road to Castle Tubet. Five miles from the city, Colonel Feraud's cavalry reported no one was following them. The corps halted and took a break while Ney gathered his officers.

"Listen my friends," he said. They were eager. Everyone was. "I'm not as devious as the Emperor, and I'm nowhere near his peer, but I'd like to imagine this to be one of my best plans. The Elban nobility think we're on their side, and they think we're going back to Italica until they call on us."

Brunelle snorted. Delon and Feraud laughed.

"What we're really going to do is crush them," Ney said. "They're forming a new army on Duke Cantero's estates; Feraud and Chaucer's Boys found them three days ago. Thanks to them, we can scatter it before it's properly trained. At the same time, Duchess Triana's land is barely defended. Feraud will lead most of the cavalry to pillage Triana's land from here to Castle Vatspol while the rest of us disperse their new recruits. We're going to break their base of power and secure Duran's kingdom. Do this well, and we might have a chance of going home."

No one questioned the plan this time. He'd already gone over it a dozen times with Feraud and Courbet anyways.

"Let's get to marching then."

At the next crossroads, they split up. Feraud took the best cavalry, half of Chaucer's Boys and all five hundred of the French horsemen, then headed east. With only cavalry, his force dashed into Triana's ducal lands and made forty miles in a single day. Ney led the main force west to confront Cantero's army, managing only fifteen miles.

Feraud rode like a bolt of lightning through the landscape. Everyone was mounted, and they had no baggage train, so they moved at speed unimaginable to infantry. There was no immediate opposition when they entered the duchess' land. Their supplies would come entirely from the Elban countryside.

"I feel that I should inform you that I dislike this form of warfare, sir," Captain Heidler, Feraud's aide, said to him the morning of the second day.

Feraud laughed. "What's there not to love? We've got open country and no foot sloggers to slow us. The only thing to make it better would be a bit of opposition to fight!"

Heidler frowned. "Our objective is to slaughter peasants and burn farms."

"Bah, their fault for having a bad duchess," Feraud dismissed.

Heidler bit his lip. The captain was originally an infantry officer and thus, like all dust munchers, weak bellied. He was only Feraud's aide because the man spoke German, and Feraud did not. Shame he didn't have someone more proper for the job.

Heidler was still frowning, so Feraud smacked him on the side of his head. "Find me an officer who can ride and speak your German, and you can go back to mud trudging with your old company. Until then you're with me. Understand?"

The captain straightened up. "Yes, sir."

Feraud looked at the lush countryside around them. "Besides," he cackled, "we haven't even begun yet!" Feraud drew his saber and saluted the land with it.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done."

The cavalry went across the country like a swarm of locusts. Feraud's men brought fire and sword, burning and slaughtering like a farmer clearing land. This was the land of Duchess Triana, a traitor to the crown of Elbe, and she could not protect it.

They ate what they liked, drank free wine, and filled their saddlebags with gold and silver. Some men resisted and died for it. Most did not.

As they went, Feraud's cavalry created a trail of destruction behind him. Entire villages were put to the torch. Fields were burned, creating plumes of smoke visible for miles. They left corpses everywhere.

If there was any doubt to the efficacy of their Saderan auxiliaries, who had been farm boys only a month prior, it was eradicated immediately. They held no sympathy for their fellow Falmartians, and they did as ordered. Sometimes with more vigor than the French.

One town, large enough to have walls and a militia, was stormed by dismounted dragoons and Feraud himself. He was the first man in, climbing a hastily constructed ladder, and cutting down two Elban who had clearly never fought before. Then the dragoons followed him in, unleashed a volley of musketry, and the town was theirs.

A town to sack. The benefits of campaigning.

They looted it thoroughly then burned the rest and sent all the impoverished survivors to Castle Vatspol. Saddle bags overflowed with valuables. Troopers created makeshift bags to help carry more. Some men had so much they were throwing out old loot in favor of better loot.

Feraud himself took a gold inlaid eating knife and a new pair of riding boots. He didn't disdain looting. It was a fact of war. Just like killing.

Captain Heidler was still weak. He tried to protect as many lives as he could. The fool.

They continued on and on. More villages and farms were burned, and Feraud now knew that a horde of refugees had been generated by his actions. The refugees all went to Castle Vatspol, where Duchess Triana's family lived, and spread rumors of the French pillagers.

Feraud encouraged it. The more his men were seen as demonic beings, the less the Elbans would resist.

At one village, Feraud's men didn't even have to kill anyone. They rode in, sabers gleaming, and the villagers piled up their valuables for them. Just like that.

That same day, he caught two of Chaucer's Boys trying to rape an Elban girl. He had both boys hanged for it then gave the girl their loot as compensation. The French cavalry already knew his rules, but the Saderans needed a lesson. Feraud could abide murder and pillaging, but he would not allow rape.

Perhaps Captain Heidler had a point in some things.

It was only a full week after Feraud had begun pillaging that he discovered any sort of resistance.

Three hussars reported Elban knights behind them, probably following their destruction, and Feraud felt invigorated. They were only three hundred strong, less than a third of Feraud's force, but they were well armored knights. Feraud had five hundred mixed cavalrymen and a batch of Chaucer's Boys. Man for man, Feraud's cavalry were the lesser men.

But this was the first real opposition they'd encountered, and Feraud was not going to turn tail. He decided to face them.

So it was, on the eighth day, they fought.

"Mount up!" Feraud shouted, cantering down the slope he had just ascended.

His pair of chasseurs remained on the crest, looking down at the Elban knights eating their lunches by a pond, who'd failed to screen their force with scouts. The men, hidden behind the hill, began mounting their horses.

Feraud hadn't needed to do much to go after the Elbans. He'd called in all his troopers and halted the advance. The Elban knights caught up with him in less than a day.

He could feel the moment was now. They thought he was still advancing, and they weren't ready for a fight. His men were ready. This was it.

Feraud pulled up to his officers at the head of the cavalry. He held his palm out flat and spoke quickly, a clear picture of the pond, the hills, and the surrounding woods in his mind.

"Koda, take all of Chaucer's Boys around the hill and behind that line of woods to the south. Ride east like the devil, until you're past the Elbans, and then cut north." He drew the movement on his palm with a finger. "Here's the Elbans at the pond, here's our hill, my thumb's the woodline. See it?" He drew the movement for Koda again. "You close off their retreat. We smash into their main body. You charge them from the rear. Understand? This all depends on you, boy."

Koda closed his eyes. "I-I think so." He was a Saderan, one of Chaucer's Boys, and he only had his position because he knew German and was picking up French rather quickly.

Feraud doubted he understood. Too green, not enough training, and this was his first real engagement.

Feraud leaned forward in his saddle. "Go up the hill, dismount where the other horses are, and take a quick look. Ask the chasseurs for reference if you need. Quickly, and whatever you do, don't let yourself be seen. Move!"

The boy galloped up the hill and seemed to take forever. Each moment that passed was another opportunity to be spotted, and Feraud was impatient. The fight was so close.

He busied himself riding up and down the ranks. Most of the French cavalry looked confident. The Saderans less so.

"Eh, Colonel! What's the plan?" a cuirassier asked, his breastplate shining in the afternoon sun.

Feraud flashed a grin at him. "To win!"

That got some laughter among the ranks. The exchange was quickly translated and spread to Chaucer's Boys. They didn't laugh. Only veterans can laugh on the edge of battle. Some of them gave nervous smiles though.

Koda came back down the hill in a rush. Feraud galloped to them.

"Well? You see it?" he asked.

Koda was pale. "Think so. South around hill to wood. East hidden by wood until behind them. Go north, cut off Elbans from running, attack into their behind. Win battle."

Feraud clapped the boy on the shoulder. "Got it in one!" He felt his impatience rise, but he made time to say, "Listen, things might not go to plan, boy. They might have a second force. We might not get the timing right." He smirked. "Follow your gut, do what's necessary, and we'll slaughter these Elbans like piglets."

If his words had any effect, Feraud couldn't see it. Koda seemed even paler.

"On you go, boy," Feraud ordered crisply.

Koda saluted, arm stiff, and rode to the front of Chaucer's Boys. The Saderans moved out at a trot. French troopers whooped and called out encouragement.

Captain Heidler rode to Feraud's side as they went.

"Their first engagement," Feraud chuckled. He remembered his own first time, back in Germany against Austrian cuirassiers. What a day it was.

Heidler fidgeted; everyone had their own way of dealing with nerves. "Sir, I'd like to suggest dismounting our dragoons. They'd be more effective using muskets against the Elban knights."

"Dismount?" Feraud scoffed. "This is a cavalry battle, you dust muncher. We fight mounted and that's the end of it."

"Sir, I must insist-"

Feraud's glare silenced him. "If we dismount we lose mobility, and then they will simply ride away from us. I understand your concerns, and I have understood them for the past hour. Your duty now is to shut up and listen. If you can't find that capacity in your derelict skull then do me the favor of resigning before I have you dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Heidler grated out.

"Good," Feraud said. He guided his horse up the slope, and Heidler followed silently. They dismounted then crawled the last few feet to the summit. The chasseurs grunted at their arrival.

From the hill, Feraud had a good view in every direction. If the Elbans were professionals, they'd have put a sentry here. But they were knights, not troopers, and they considered it below them.

To the south, Koda's Saderans were advancing in a column, a long and slightly disorganized mass trotting behind the treeline's cover. He was making good progress, all considered.

The three hundred Elbans had chosen to eat lunch by the pond, and they dismounted for it. Most lounged in the grass while pages and squires attended their meals. Amateurs. Real cavalry ate in the saddle.

A flash of movement caught Feraud's eyes. One of the Elban pages tripped and spooked a horse. The horse bolted south, and a knot of knights mounted their own horses to chase it.

The horse went into the treeline.

"Fuck," Feraud said. He leapt to his feet and ran for his horse, Heidler hard on his heels. "New plan!" he shouted. "They're about to see Koda. We need to move!"

Heidler looked at him without comprehension, but he followed, pulling himself into the saddle in an infantryman's manner. Feraud was already galloping by the time Heidler had his reins.

Feraud got to the head of the French cavalry and waved with one hand. "With me around the hill. We'll reform once we're on open ground. Then we charge. Keep the line straight and kill anything that comes under your sabers. No time for fanciness, just ride hard and cut well. Let's send 'em hell!"

Feraud drew his saber. The men gave a collective growl.

"With me," Feraud called. They began forward at a walk and were amazingly silent for five hundred cavalry. Surprise was not out of the question.

To his side, Heidler sighed. "What's going on, sir?"

"Trot!" Feraud shouted. He turned in his saddle and to Heidler said, "There's Elbans headed for the woods. They'll see Koda and tell their friends. The whole fight's going to be in that treeline now, and if we're quick we can still smash them. If not, I lose half my men."

Heidler stared. "You know this?"

Feraud had spent years unable to convey just how he could read a battle like this. He didn't know it, he felt it, deep within him like a third sense.

"Yes," he said.

It took time for the first rank of cavalry to round the hill, and then they could see movement in the treeline. The Elban knights had reached the woods.

"Form up!" he demanded. "Two squadrons, in line!"

The French were veterans, and they had done this countless times. They moved fluidly, flowing out onto the field in one motion. Cuirassiers and lancers took the front. Hussars, dragoons, and chasseurs filled in behind.

The movement in the treeline was fighting. Elban knights against Saderan farmboys. Chaucer's Boys were losing, but the Elbans didn't see the French.

Feraud raised his saber. The whole mass of cavalry mimicked the move. They were positioned against the Elbans' left flank, and they were well formed.

He inhaled, took a moment to savor it all, and called, "Charge!"

Trumpets blew a long call. The entire line jumped forward.

Their hooves pounded the earth. Like a legion of hell, they descended from the east. A man at the Elban rear had spotted them and was pointing desperately, but his comrades weren't paying attention. The Elban could do nothing but watch as the French swept forward.

Just before impact, Feraud leaned forward over his mare. He selected his target, an Elban in full armor with a purple plume, and cocked his saber back.

Then they hit. Feraud's blade swung, the force of his arm, his hips, and a mounted charge behind it. It smashed into the plumed Elban's helmet, leaving a dent half a finger deep. The plumed Elban dropped from his horse, concussed, unconscious, or perhaps dead.

Feraud was suddenly in the thick of it. He roared laughing and went at a new foe.

The Elbans were facing the wrong way; Feraud's charge had hit them in the flank, and they were hopelessly confused. Only a few turned to face the Frenchmen.

Feraud's saber hammered at the back of a knight's helmet. One - two - three - four - five while the knight tried in desperation to turn. Again and again until the helmet was ruthlessly dented, and the man tumbled to the ground.

Around him, men were calling "France! Long live France!" and Feraud was pushing forward again. The French line pressed into the Elban flank relentlessly, and they were now rolling them up like a carpet. He thought he heard Saderan yelling far to the left, their bastardized Latin-like yells rising over the clash of steel.

Then he saw the giant.

Not an actual giant, like they'd encountered early on in Falmart, but a massive man perhaps seven feet tall clad in blackened plate armor. Feraud wanted him. He knew his next target instantly.

"Send 'em hell!" Feraud roared.

He shamelessly backed his horse from an opponent and left him to a dragoon, squeezed past a knot of cuirassiers, and rode a dozen paces to his right. Suddenly there was his foe. The big giant was horse to horse with Heidler and hammered at the captain with his longsword. Heidler caught all three of his heavy blows, then his horse took a cut, reared, and Heidler's fall saved him from a final devastating blow.

Feraud pushed his horse into the gap. He cut immediately and scored against the giant's visor, cut again and was parried.

Heidler used the moment to roll away from the two mounted men.

The giant raised his sword and cut. Big men were supposed to be slow. He wasn't. The sword flicked back and shot forward. Feraud cut into the attack, low to high, and their blades bit into each other with immense force. His arm shook, almost buckled, then the Giant pulled back and swung again. Feraud had to put his left hand on the blade of his sword to parry, a dangerous technique when bare handed, but it stopped the giant's swing.

They were close together, horse to horse, and Feraud smashed his guard into the giant's visor.

The giant's head jerked back. Feraud cut at him from the shoulder, harder and faster than he'd ever cut.

He took it on the pauldron and roared, "Götter mit uns!"

Feraud grinned and roared back, "Send 'em hell!"

Both their horses reared, and for ten heartbeats the fight was between beasts not men. They rose like centaurs, and hooves flew like bullets between them. Each jostled for control of the fight. But Feraud's mare had served him since Russia. The giant's stallion came down first, and in that final heartbeat, his mare landed two thunderous impacts.

One struck an armored plate on the stallion's barded front, and the other did not. The sound of a butcher's hammer on raw meat echoed.

The stallion shied back, and the giant could only desperately cling to his horse's neck while Feraud showered him in saber blows.

The clearing around them was almost devoid of battle now. Attacked from two sides, there wasn't any real chance of Elban victory. French cavalry had swept into the Elban flank, and the Elbans surrendered or fled rather than die. Most were being collected as prisoners by French troopers. The giant was the only Elban still fighting.

Men from both sides watched.

The giant regained control and cut, but it was slower now. Feraud had landed a great deal of blows.

Feraud didn't have to parry. He shifted his weight ever so slightly, counter cutting simultaneously, and his mare sidestepped. His saber struck the giant's helmet and rang it like a bell. The giant's sword sliced through air.

The stallion shied again, and this time the giant was too disorientated to hold on. He dropped backwards from the saddle and landed wheezing.

Feraud dismounted. He sauntered over to the fallen giant and laughed, "God that was glorious!"

The giant didn't bother rising. He flipped up his visor and sucked in fresh air.

"Yield," Feraud demanded, saber pointed at the man's face.

"Ja!" he gasped.

"Fifty casualties, all from Koda's detachment," Captain Heidler reported later. "We took a hundred prisoners, killed a few dozen, and the rest are fleeing towards the north."

Feraud shrugged. "That was a glorious fight. Let's take the castle next."

Heidler blinked, looked at Feraud, then blinked again. "Castle Vatspol, sir?"

"Aye, that's where the duchess's family is, isn't it? Let's pay them a visit."

"But we don't have any artillery!" Heidler spluttered.

Feraud shrugged a second time. "So?"

"We'd need a siege train to take a fortification like that, sir. At very least a couple thousand infantry to help storm the walls. We're mostly just light cavalry; we can't take a fortress!"

"You worry too much," Feraud said.

The cavalry changed its direction and headed on the road to Castle Vatspol. They made good time, arriving only two days after the skirmish against the Elban knights. They made such good time that they arrived only hours after news of the skirmish reached the castle.

He lined up his cavalrymen in front of the walls of Castle Vatspol. They looked better than ever. The Saderans had looted armor and weapons from the dead and captured Elbans, so now they looked ever so slightly more like real soldiers. The French hadn't lost a man in the skirmish, and they rode with straight backs and confident grins. Elban militia on the walls stared nervously at them.

Feraud rode ahead of them to the great gate of the castle with Heidler in tow. It was closed, and all the exterior suburbs were abandoned.

He dismounted and looked up at the murderholes, briefly wondering if he'd be filled with crossbow bolts for his bravado. His troopers cheered, and no one shot him. Yet.

Feraud pounded his fist against the gate. "Open!" he roared. "Come out here and treat with me or I'll blow these gates apart with magic and raze this place to the ground with everyone in it!"

Heidler translated his words.

It seemed insane, and because of that it seemed glorious. The massive walls and well built castle dwarfed Feraud's thousand men. There were probably ten times as many refugees in the castle and God knows how many fighting men. He had no cannons and thus no way of fulfilling his threat. But before his echoing voice had died away, the postern gate opened, and an elderly knight emerged.

The elderly knight began to speak, but Feraud cut him off.

"Don't make me storm this God forsaken place," he snapped. He pointed off vaguely into the distance. "I am the vanguard of Marshal Ney's entire corps. He will be arriving shortly with thirty thousand men and a hundred cannons, but I've been given some leeway to speak with you first. Understand?"

The elderly knight turned pale as Heidler translated, but he nodded affirmation.

Feraud grinned, showing his teeth. "Honestly, I'd like nothing more than to sack this castle. It looks wealthy, and I'd like some new silverware. So let's get this straight. I'll give you one chance to surrender unconditionally and if you refuse it we'll loot and burn everything we can find. So what'll it be? I've got no qualms butchering the lot of you."

The elderly knight shook violently. He said something to Heidler.

"He wants to know if you will spare the duchess's family."

Feraud shrugged. "Only if you surrender. I'd rather you didn't so we can do some looting."

Heidler relayed that, and the elderly knight nodded then said something else.

"He will accept unconditional surrender, sir."

Feraud laughed.

Once more, I've found some time to write and thus managed to get another chapter out. Thank you for all the reviews keeping me going.

I haven't done a glossary since chapter 9 since I haven't been introducing new terms. However in this chapter I referenced several figures at the beginning, so here's a small glossary to help readers less familiar with Napoleonic history.

Marshal Berthier: Louis-Alexandre Berthier was the "Indispensable" Marshal during Napoleon's reign who served as France's Minister of War. He was vital as Napoleon's chief of staff where he interpreted and distributed Napoleon's orders, administered the army, handled logistical challenges and troop movements, and collected and interpreted reports on the enemy, terrain, and local features. Berthier excelled at staff work, and his staff system underpinned many of Napoleon's famous victories. Ney famously was at odds with Berthier while in Russia, and the two had a hostile relationship.

Marshal Suchet: Louis-Gabriel Suchet was one of Napoleon's Marshals. He fought predominantly in the Peninsular War, mostly against the British and Spanish, while Napoleon was undergoing his invasion of Russia. When Napoleon finally abdicated, Suchet was still holding France's southern frontier. Later, while in exile, Napoleon named him his best general. He was one of the few Marshals who could be trusted with independent command.

Marshal Soult: Jean-de-Dieu Soult was one of Napoleon's Marshals. He was a fantastic commander who played a major part in the decisive victory at Austerlitz. He was a close advisor to Napoleon, and they had a good relationship. In Spain and Portugal, however, he was famous for looting churches and was difficult to men around him. However, vitally, he was one of the few Marshals who could be trusted with independent command. During the Hundred Days Campaign, he replaced Berthier (who fled France) as Napoleon's chief of staff which resulted in various errors.

Marshal Poniatowski: Prince Józef Antoni Poniatowski was a Polish commander who fought for Napoleon leading troops from the Duchy of Warsaw in the hopes of Polish freedom. He would later be made a Marshal by Napoleon just before the Battle of Leipzig. He died during this battle and as such was a Marshal for only four days. He was the only non-French Napoleonic Marshal. At the time of this story, he would not have been a Marshal yet.

Marshal Bernadotte: Jean Bernadotte, later known as King Charles XIV John, was a Napoleonic Marshal who served Napoleon until 1810 when he was unexpectedly invited to be Crown Prince of Sweden due to the king being childless and old. Bernadotte was well regarded by Swedish army officers due to his fair treatment of Swedish prisoners. As Crown Prince, he pursued Swedish interests over French interests and ultimately joined the Coalition against Napoleon, playing a major role in him at the Battle of Leipzig. His descendants sit on the Swedish throne to this day.

Marshal Murat: Joachim Murat was a Napoleonic Marshal who served as head of Napoleon's cavalry forces. He was a flamboyant and daring figure who loved women and war. His aggression and ability on the battlefield was unquestionably valuable to Napoleon's campaigns. Murat was known for dressing in fantastic and flamboyant uniforms, even in Russia. He would eventually be made King of Naples and when Napoleon was being defeated he cut a deal with the Coalition to keep his throne, though he eventually lost the title when he attempted to lead a war for Italian freedom against the Austrians and was defeated.

Marshal Lannes: Jean Lannes was a Napoleonic Marshal and a personal friend to Napoleon. Brilliant on the field, Napoleon valued him highly as one of his greatest commanders. However, Lannes was unfortunately killed at the Battle of Aspern-Essling when he was hit by a cannonball that smashed both of his legs. One leg was amputated, but the wound became infected and he died. Napoleon, who considered Lannes his best friend, wept at the news of Lannes's death.

Empress Marie Louise: Napoleon's second wife after he chose to divorce Josephine due to her inability to bear children. She was the daughter of Francis I, the Emperor of Austria. Her marriage to Napoleon was a political marriage between Austria and France designed to solidify the (short lived) friendship between Austria and France following the War of the Fifth Coalition.

Antoine-Henri Jomini: A French-Swiss officer who served as Ney's chief of staff for many years. During Russia he did not take an active part in the campaign due to him also holding a position in the Russian army (hence why he is not part of Ney's corps when he enters the gate in this story). He later would become one of the foremost theorists and writers on warfare in the 19th Century. He had an intense rivalry with Carl von Clausewitz, another foremost military theorist in the 19th Century, whom most readers are probably familiar with. In contrast to Clausewitz, Jomini's writing was far more practical in nature and highly proscriptive. His writing are more like a guide on how to conduct 19th Century warfare whereas Clausewitz is far more theoretical. Due to this, Jomini is also far less relevant than Clausewitz is in a modern context. Jomini's writings were a staple at West Point, and as such had a great influence on the American Civil War. If you hear people speak of the American Civil War being fought with Napoleonic tactics/strategy, it's because the generals had been taught Jomini's writing. Due to the practical nature of his writings, Jomini is an invaluable source for people interested in Napoleonic tactics and strategy, and they have been a great help in writing this story and my depiction of Napoleonic warfare.

As a final note, Feraud's seizure of Castle Vatspol is influenced by an actual historical surrender that took place during the Napoleonic Wars. I challenge readers guess which one.