Hoffman’s eyes bulged. “Enlist…” he stared at his superior in stupefaction. “Andries, the boy is likely in league with the bandits.”

Andries Falkenrath reclined comfortably in the high-backed chair. He steepled his finders, looking over them at his one-time mentee with fond amusement. “Let’s look at the situation objectively, shall we?” He began ticking off points on his fingers. “You know and I know that the situation is on the blade of a knife now. We need to extract the manpower and the resources from this backwater and integrate it fully. Having an initial cadre of Waccies to integrate in limited numbers and use to seed future growth would be beneficial.”

Seeing that Hoffman was silent, the Landgraf continued. “The boy is as good a candidate as any for this; better than some. He is an alderman’s son, not a mere tenant farmer. The nobility would be better, but harder to force integration on. If we can show them that our institutions offer benefits the old order can't, it won't matter that the old guard remains obstinate.”

“You still have not addressed the meat of the issue. Loyalty.”

“Perhaps. Is he loyal to the bandits? To the kingdom? To the people in the valley? Maybe only to himself?”

Hoffman waved the rhetorical question away. “Andries, now is not the time for your lectures and playing guessing games.”

The older man smiled. “Fine. I’m sorry, it’s an old habit.” He smoothed back his hair – greying now, Hoffman saw. Time had indeed marched on while they’d been too busy to pay it any mind. “You know the local ground, Wilhelm. You tell me. Is the valley loyal to the old order?”

Hoffman considered the thought. “…No. The ones who were are in the hills with the bandits, for the most part – and they were members of retinue and household for the most part. The hostility we encounter is that due to any host billeted in a region; our foraging parties have not made us loved.” Part of him stirred uneasily at that. Another one of the impossible compromises he’d had to make. He couldn’t support enough men to hold down the region on what could be brought in – either he could have lightened the garrisons or leaned on local resources. He’d made his choice, then. And how many of the common bandits are peasants I’d starved out of their homes?

Falkenrath gestured emphatically. “So why do you assume that the boy is unavoidably going to be hostile? His connections will be personal, Wilhelm. Remove him from the valley where those he knows cannot influence him, give him patronage, and see where it leads. And if he is hostile to us, he will be in an environment where it can do little harm.”

Seeing Hoffman hesitate, Falkenrath pressed his case. “You’d also avoid buying more trouble with his family and village. And you know that trouble is coming if you make another choice.”

Wilhelm acknowledged this with a nod. The slabs and angles of his face shifted as he thought. “I am still not certain. He is my only link to the brigands, Andries. I need him to give me something, or I’m back where I started – watching my men be bushwhacked and penned inside their garrisons.”

“What measures have you taken?”

“Hard ones.” Hoffman looked past his mentor, seeing visions of a world long gone flickering through his vision. “Summerhall ones.”

Falkenrath jerked as if he’d been slapped. “That campaign was not meant as an object lesson. We’re still dealing with the fallout.”

“Perhaps. But it was effective, and so I’m applying whatever I can.” Hoffman drew practicality over his unease like a shell. “Garrisons are thrown across the valley. Villages cannot be controlled directly – but in the name of securing it from bandits and raiders, we’ve taken the seed corn and concentrated it in fortified posts. With the threat of starvation next winter, the communities will by and large fall in line. Groups that resist are cut off from easy supply and within a year will be starved into at least temporary compliance.”

There was a moment of silence. The fireplace crackled, casting dancing lights and shifting shadows into the room. From outside, the stamp and call of sentries being relieved could be heard, as well as the clop of horses hooves as messengers passed the temporary command post.

Falkenrath was the one to finally break the silence, snapping both men out of their reverie. “If the bandits are the problem of a season, you do not necessarily have to hunt them down.”

This time it was Hoffman who made the table rattle with an exasperated thump. “It’s the principle of the thing, damn it!” Kaulback entered, quickly and efficiently clearing the crockery off the table. He didn’t say anything, but the raised eyebrow said it all for him. Hoffman cleared his throat, mildly abashed, and continued in a lowered volume. “Andries, I’m losing men. Oh, not all good men, granted; the best of what I had are in winter quarters closer to our base of supply. But it still hurts. And if I can’t stop it, I will lose control of those I still have.”

“Discipline –“

“-will absolutely not hold.” His voice was flat. Kaulback entered again, replacing the refilled pitcher and cups on the table. He made as if to leave, but Hoffman gestured brusquely for his aide to stay. The silent man hesitated, then sat.

“My lord Marshal,” he began hesitantly. Mattis Kaulback was a man Hoffman had come to prize for decisiveness in the field; there were swords with less steel in their spine. Speaking in the company of his military and social superiors strained that quality somewhat, apparently. The household knight absently brushed his hair – shaved on the sides, but with blonde locks left in front – out of his eyes before continuing. “My lord commander is correct. I have been inspecting the garrisons left in the valley of the Akhe.” The word simply meant “river” in a particularly archaic dialect of the language shared by the northern kingdoms; Hoffman could offhand think of three rivers with similar names, a fact which had amused him to no end when he was a boy poring over maps. “The lances are still in reasonably good condition; their constant movement has kept them responsive, and they have not been allowed enough leisure in one place to become overly comfortable. But the footmen are long cut off from the regular lines of communication and command, and too long kept penned in one place. They’re becoming attached to the region, and inclined to react badly to any changes or threats to their peace of place.”

Taking up a cup from the table, Hoffman smoothly took over from his aide. “If we leave the bandit issue unaddressed, some of the garrisons my start getting…proactive. I can’t hold this tinderbox without compromises, Andries. The idiot in the cellar you want me to co-opt -” Kaulback gave a startled jerk, prompting a snort from his commander. “You might as well give your opinion on that, Mattis… the young idiot you want me to co-opt is my key to dealing with the problem quickly and visibly. It would buy me breathing room to be seen doing something.”

Kaulback seemed thoughtful. “How would you buy his loyalty, and how long would it take?” His superior threw up his hands in disgust.

“Not you too!”

Ignoring the outburst, Landsgraf Andries Falkenrath, Marshal of Stanmark tilted his head, considering. “The same thing we can offer anyone. A chance to rise.” He stroked the grey-black stubble flecking his cheeks, the lines of his face deepening as he frowned. “Half a year. At minimum. That’s how long it would take to get a good enough read on if it is worth working on him to begin with.”

Mattis nodded, looking over at Hoffman. “We can keep this place under wraps that long, sir.” He spoke confidently. “Until end of winter and start of spring, everyone including their remaining forces will be buttoned up tight by lack of supply anyway. If we can wrap this up before harvest, that should do.”

Hoffman drummed his fingers on the armrest of his chair. The fine wood ticked under his hand as he pondered. “It’s a risk.”

“An acceptable one.”

The three men glanced from one to the other, an unspoken consensus passing through them. Wordlessly, they raised their cups in a silent toast and drank. Andries placed his down and stood, stretching luxuriantly. “I’ll want to see the boy before this goes any further. But I have a good feeling about this. We’ve tried taking this godforsaken land from the top, and it isn’t working. It's time to set a fire by the roots instead.”