Days passed and the siege became a new animal. Lord Ivon brought a professional air to the camp and soon it was reworked into line, and the supply wagons hauled into the centre and unloaded before being wheeled to the front as an impromptu wall to prevent a sally at the camp itself. He had sent two probing attacks at the wall, though each was blunted by the efforts of Sir Richard. He’d brought an additional eighty men-at-arms to the siege and their numbers were telling.

Sir Richard rotated guards as often as possible, however he was low on men and even a constantly armed quarter-guard was pitifully small. To add to his worries, Sir Edward was still on the loose in the woods with his archers, a small band of six men. He knew that he hadn’t been captured at least, for he hadn’t received any word from the enemy.

On the other side, Lord Ivon was in a rage as his scouts of the night before had been found. He stood within the eaves of the trees, in full harness and surrounded by a guard of chosen knights, all mounted on tall destriers. The scouts of the night before were tied to the trunk of the tree, several missing fingers and noses, all had had parts of their body flayed and their eyes put out. Blood still dripped sluggishly down the tree, coagulating at their feet.

“What manner of men do we face?” The Lord asked the heavens, even his Captain; Ser Hans, was ashen faced at the sight before them.

“Demons my lord, it’s all it could be, the men are refusing to even enter the woods now.” Ser Hans answered, the fear obvious in his voice. He looked in horror at the wounds in the scouts’ legs, their injuries had happened while they were alive.

A scream echoed throughout the trees, and they saw the stumbling form of one of their own foresters limping towards them, his face was covered in crimson as he stumbled towards them blindly. Lord Ivon signalled with a hand to one of his guard.

“Get him, and take him to my pavilion to be questioned.” He ordered and the man turned his horse and cantered easily to the blind scout, lifting him over the cantle of his saddle one handed. Like the strike of a viper an arrow hissed out of the air and struck the momentarily exposed Lord’s horse in the throat. The stallion gave a great scream of pain and reared onto its hind legs. Lord Ivon was thrown from his seat and hit the earth hard, in a loud clatter of steel as he made contact. The proud Destrier reared twice more before collapsing and convulsing on the ground, it’s hooves striking its master twice in the side.

“Where did that come from?” Ser Hans shouted in anger as men craned their necks to search the woods, but everyone had been focused on the approaching scout. “Get Lord Ivon out of here!” He roared before putting spurs to his horse and charging into the undergrowth.

For mere moments it was utter chaos, and then the knights grouped around their fallen Lord, drew him over a saddle and wheeled out of the trees as a squadron. From his perch high in an oak, well off to their right, Sir Edward whistled silently in respect. He had to admit the new arrivals were well trained beyond that of even the professionals he’d fought alongside in Vallar. Though he allowed himself a slight grin as Ser Hans tore off in the wrong direction, hacking at the undergrowth ineffectually. Still dressed in his trapper clothes, Edward had to admit he was starting to smell, for days now they’d been hiding in the woods, killing the Lord’s pickets, and now he was sure the men of the army were refusing to enter the woods. He slithered, half falling and half climbing, down the tree quickly, and raced to where his compatriots were hidden. He gave Gerald a wink.

“Told you I could hit the horse, not bad for a knight who doesn’t know one end of the bow from the other?” He asked sotto voce, he grinned to show that throwing the Archer’s words back at him were not meant as an insult. The old archer grunted.

“Lucky shot.” Was all he said, before moving on with a trio of ash shafts between his fingers to look for more targets. Edward shook his head as his wolf pack all moved out once more, one more night, and then we’re done. He thought to himself as they melded back into the trees.

Sir Richard looked grimly over the battlements as the enemy’s latest assault prepared to engage. He could see at least a dozen men-at-arms armed and waiting with a detachment of archers bearing a siege ladder they had bolted together. The one-eyed knight turned to his son’s squire and nodded.

“Get the guard up onto the wall and prepare to receive guests young Cuthbert.” The old man offered an encouraging smile to the youth as he raced down the stairs yelling for the quarter guard.

In an instant fifteen men-at-arms in full harness came trotting up the walkway to stand with their erstwhile commander. A dozen of their own archers joined them and set shafts to their strings in readiness. The ladder reached their wall just as the sun began to set, and as one the archers loosed directly down onto the men bearing the siege weapon. The cloth yard shafts punched through cotes and the occasional shirt of mail, men screamed and the ladder fell to the ground. The second volley struck as men bent down to retrieve the ladder, and those foolish enough to have attacked without a backplate joined the screams of the wounded and dying.

Sir Richard drew his war sword in readiness for the ladder to be righted, when a flash of light caught his attention. The cluster of supply tents in the centre of the enemy camp exploded into flame with a great whumpf and the flames leapt higher than even the keep’s walls. Sir Richard grinned from ear to ear as he heard the screams from the camp as tents all over the camp began to catch light, either from falling embers or from seemingly new explosions.

“Looks like Edward is busy.” He chuckled to himself.

Edward’s heart hammered in his chest as he ran through the camp. So far their plan had worked wonders. With no scouts willing to stand guard in the woods their approach had been unseen and with an almost contemptuous ease they had set alight to the supply tents as well as several expensive looking pavilions around the camp. Their time was up now and they had to move. Legs pumping they ran through the camp buckets in hand, appearing for all the world like archers running for water to extinguish the blaze. He’d caught sight of Lord Ivon outside his command tent, the man had been hurling abuse and orders in equal measure as he tried to fight the blaze and call off his probing attack on the walls. A young page in silk arming clothes turned in their path as they ran, Edward collided with the boy and fell to the ground hard.

“Watch where you’re going you bloody peasant!” The boy screeched indignantly, as he tried to throw Edward off. The young knight grinned before driving his right fist into the boy’s jaw, and tossing the limp body over his shoulder.

“A prisoner could be useful.” He muttered to the archers who had stopped to assist before, they carried on into the eves of the forest. “Gerald, head north through the forest, you should make the village of Sendal in a few hours if you hurry, their mayor is Sir Hannekin, give him my ring and inform him his lord requires his full knight service.” He quickly pushed his signet ring into Gerald’s palm. “Another twenty lances can’t hurt and I’d like to see how trustworthy my own vassals are.” He smiled to the man who tugged his forelock in salute and raced for the trees. Sir Edward faced his men who remained and motioned his head to the ladder, “We might as well go up that.” He informed them, and with a laugh they changed direction and sprinted across the no man’s land. One archer took the unconscious page from Edward’s shoulder and allowed the knight to draw his sword as they got close.

The ladder was braced against the wall and three men at arms in Reichenbach’s colours were on the wall facing down a dozen of Edward’s own men, corpses littered the ground around the ladder’s base and a pair of archers held it firm against the wall. Men in battle tend to see what they expect to see, Edward thought, and these archers were no exception, merely mistaking Edward and his men for reinforcements. Their eyes seemed to glance over the limp body slung over one of the men’s shoulders. Their shock only registered when Edward’s sword took one through the throat with a none too elegant thrust, the blade withdrew like a viper before Edward’s gloved left hand took the blade and he pivoted on one foot to drive the crossguard through the other archer’s temple.

“Up we go.” He ordered as they climbed the ladder as quickly as possible, lungs and arms burning. Edward launched from the top rung sword still clamped in a half-swording grip bringing it down between the gap of breastplate and helm like an oversized dagger. The armoured man collapsed in a crash of plate, and Edward drove forward, driving his pommel into the back of the next helm, sending the next man sprawling across the stone walkway, leaving the downed man to the capable hands of the men protecting the wall and drove his foot into the back of the last man standing on the wall, before pressing the point of his blade into the man’s back.

“I suggest you yield.” He called, the armoured man below him released his sword and raised his hands in surrender. “Take this man to the Donjon my friends.” The young knight called as the last of his archers climbed onto the wall and hauled the ladder up after them, no sense in leaving it for the enemy to collect.

Sir Richard approached and threw his arms around his son in a steel clad embrace.

“I trust you accomplished your goals my boy?” He asked, receiving an answering grin from Edward.

“Of course father, my vassal shall hopefully be arriving with a fresh twenty lances tomorrow, the day after at the latest, and now we have bargaining chips.” He offered. Sir Richard grinned and nodded to two waiting sergeants to take the prisoner off Edward’s hands. Sir Edward released the prisoner with a sigh of relief as the weight came off his shoulders. “His clothes are too fine to be a peasant, he could be the answer to ending this.” He muttered more to himself than to his father.

“Looks like they’re about to come and get him.” Sir Richard said as he gazed across the battlements to where Lord von Reichenbach was mustering his men-at-arms. “Cuthbert, see your master to his harness, we’re going to need every sword arm on the wall.” He ordered and Sir Edward was shuffled down to where his harness waited on an oiled hide. He raised a brow as he glanced at the armour, it was obviously his but while he had been gone someone had blackened it with oil. Duke Eric was by his side as he noted the change.

“One of my little stratagems for when we get home my boy, nothing to fear.” He told him, before placing a new basinet that was blackened to match alongside it. “Can’t have you going out without a good helm on your head.” He answered and walked off. Cuthbert knelt and began the process of keying the greaves into the leg harness as Edward pulled on his arming cote and chausses and pointed them to each other himself.

Edward sighed with relief once more, once he felt the comforting weight of his harness on his body once more. Armed and ready, he returned to the walls, just as the first wave of foes reached them with a ladder. Archers continued to loose with calm and practiced efficiency, while the men-at-arms moved to intercept the ladder.

It was a foolish attack and Edward was once again reminded that few of those attacking them were professional soldiers like he was used to dealing with. He allowed several of them to reach the halfway point on the ladder before shoving it away with the help of two of his own men. The ladder crashed to earth and several were injured, Edward was also sure one was dead. The attack faltered slightly after that, and despite Lord Ivon’s exhortations, which Edward could clearly hear upon the walls, his men broke and retreated.

Following the attack, the air became almost festive within the castle. They now knew they had the supplies to outlast their attackers, and Edward was content to let them celebrate. He sat at the head table with his parents and Grandfather, while his seneschal saw to the serving and carving of the meal. Edward relaxed in his chair as head of table and enjoyed the wine in his green glass.

“We bloodied their nose badly today, tomorrow they’ll either try to overwhelm us, or offer terms.” Sir Edward said quietly to those who sat beside him at the table. “I’m hoping they’ll offer terms, but until our reinforcements are in position we don’t have much leverage beyond their lack of food, and that will only last until they decide to raid our farms.” The young lord picked at his food with a pricker, more moving the vegetables around his plate than eating. Sir Richard nodded in understanding.

“They’ll offer terms lad, and we have your prisoner, maybe it’s time we had a word with him?” Edward nodded, and rose from his seat. He raised his glass to the tables of the hall.

“To your bravery today my stalwart companions!” He called, and the men answered with a cheer, downing their own drinks. Edward stepped out through the door.

The prisoner was trussed up to a post in the horse yard, to the left of the main keep. The boy’s face was bruised a deep purple black where Sir Edward’s fist had knocked him unconscious. His eyes were wide as he had regained his senses and realised his predicament. He alternated between cursing the guards and offering them bribes to release him. Sir Edward waited in the shadows, his black finery helped him blend into the dark of the yard’s edge.

“You know, your scouts tried to bribe me as well, you haven’t dealt with professionals much in your fighting career have you boy?” Edward said as he stepped into the circle of light thrown by the guard’s torches. The prisoner’s eyes seemed to widen further as he took in the black clad young lord approaching him, noting with dread the device of the fleur de lys upon Sir Edward’s breast.

“Edward...you’re him.” He stammered, though there was a glimmer of rage and hatred in his eyes behind the animal fear. Sir Edward quirked a brow at the boy.

“I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage lad, I don’t know your name.” He came to stand before the prisoner and squatted down to bring their eyes level. “Who are you?”

“Kaspar von Reichenbach...son of Victor.” Kaspar said, the words hissing past his teeth with extra venom, as anger reasserted itself over his fear, “The lord you murdered, although perhaps you don’t remember, being such a professional killer.” He spat. Edward recoiled a little from the heat of the words.

“Murder?” He asked surprised, “There was no murder boy, although I’m sure they’ve spun you a fine fairy tale of that scum’s demise.” Sir Edward rubbed a hand over his jaw in thought before rising to his feet. “Listen closely because it isn’t a story I enjoy telling.” He began with all the authority of a Company officer, born of years raised in a noble holding. “Your father, was a poor knight and a worse fighter, he was defeated in the melee of the Siegesstand tournament by a team of squires on which I participated, my parting words offended him and like a fool he challenged a squire to meet him ahorse.” Edward’s eyes misted as he recalled the day, feeling the crisp winter air and the heavy breathing of Bohemund’s chest between his legs. “I accepted his challenge and met him on the lists with a Lance of War, despite everything he was still an arrogant fool and treated me as beneath him, and my lance took his head.” Edward felt his gorge rise, he had long acclimated to the realities of war and the taking of life, this memory still held some of the old sickness though. “He was the first man I ever killed, the Emperor knighted me on that field and granted me this fiefdom in his name, he also ordered I pay a pension to your mother and you to support you, something I have done without fail for the last four years, and yet you would use that money to attack me all the same?” Edward turned to face the boy, watching his face work in confusion and anger warring with hatred, he was an open book. Edward knew the boy was unsure of what he’d been told, but was considering it.

“Think it over lad, I’ll confer with the commander of your forces tomorrow, I’m assuming it’s your uncle, Lord Ivon?” Kaspar just nodded to Edward, his eyes down as he continued to struggle with his belief in what he’d been told and Edward’s version of events. Edward nodded and turned on his heel.

“I’ll have them bring you some food, the pheasant is quite good.” He threw over his shoulder before melting into the darkness once more. Kaspar sagged against his bonds, no fight was left in him, and the fear of his father’s killer exhausted him. When the seneschal arrived several minutes later he had to shake the boy awake to feed him.

“It’s poisoned!” He gasped as the man tried to press some meat between his lips.

“Oh don’t be a foolish child, Lord Edward has no interest in killing you, I believe his exact words were, enough Reichenbach’s have died on my account.” Gottfried insisted as he pressed the morsel of pheasant into the boy’s mouth. Kaspar chewed hesitantly, and as if satisfied it wasn’t poisoned, realised he hadn’t eaten in hours. He ate ravenously as Gottfriend continued to offer pieces from the plate.

“Good lad.” He murmured, “I heard what the master said to you, it’s all true, I’ve spoken to many men who were there, it was all witnessed by the emperor and several Grand Dukes, Sir Edward is a hard man, but there’s a gentle soul in him, a warrior with the brains to question why his blade falls.” Gottfried had clearly stopped talking to Kaspar, and yet the young man listened intently. “Every life he takes, eats at his spirit.” As if realising what he was saying Gottfried’s mouth closed with a hollow clap as his teeth connected. “Ignore me, lad, just an old man’s prattle.” He tried to cover his words, while collecting the plate and rising.

“I will think on what you said...sir.” Kaspar said hesitantly. Gottfried merely nodded and returned to the keep.

The morning dawned bright over the keep. The expected night attack never eventuated, and the dawn was greeted by guardsmen with bleary eyes. Sir Edward climbed the wall in full harness. He saw immediately the trio of knights riding to the gate with a flag of truce.

“Father, Cuthbert!” He called.

“In your harness and mounted, we have a delegation approaching. Cuthbert make sure you have my banner.” He ordered. Sir Richard was already armed and went for his horse, Cuthbert a moment behind.

They rode out of the main gate several moments later. Edward seated on a snorting Bohemund, the black stallion seemingly able to scent the tension in the air. Edward noted Cuthbert rode proudly with the banner before turning his full attention on the three horsemen who had approached them. The man in the centre wore no helm and sported obvious signs of command and age, he had to be Lord Ivon, on his right was a knight who appeared to be as big as Edward and who wore his war sword, not an arming sword as tradition would dictate for peace talks. The third man was a standard bearer, he held the flag of truce and wore no arms.

Edward nodded to them with respect as they approached. Riding into longbow range showed an immense level of trust.

“Have you come to offer terms?” Edward asked flatly.

“Big mouth for a northern peasant.” The knight on the right spat. Lord Ivon placed a hand on his man’s chest, offering a disapproving glare.

“Forgive my Captain’s outburst, he’s a good soldier but perhaps not the best diplomat.” Lord Ivon said, his voice was steady and betrayed no hint of deceit as far as Edward could tell.

“We wish to offer terms, as you can no doubt tell, in a few days your men will be too tired to mount any sort of defence, surrender the keep and your lands to me, and I will allow you all to leave peacefully back to Arturia.” Ivon’s smile never reached his eyes, and the black depths reminded Edward of the eyes of a dead shark he had found on the beach of Bordeaux castle as a child.

“In a few days your own men will be exhausted by hunger and fear of what’s been hunting them in the woods, your food is gone, and you’re cut off from further supplies.” Edward worked to match Lord Ivon’s smile. “Tomorrow my feudal levy will arrive and I promise we will kill every last one of your men who does not lay down his arms.” Edward’s brows descended like thunder clouds.

“Your feudal levy?” Ivon scoffed. “You don’t have a feudal levy.” He said forcefully, as if trying to make it so by the mere mention of it. Edward could see that he’d unsettled the older man, he was unsure and that was Edward’s advantage. Like in a fight, there were times to press advantages, and Edward pressed now.

“I do indeed, Sir Hannekin will be here tomorrow, what’s more I have your nephew, I think it might be better if I held onto him for now.” Edward looked Ivon directly in the eyes.

“You can choose to stay and try my defences some more, and lose your entire host and your life in the morning, or you can return to Reichenbach, I will expect a tithe to be paid to Schwarzberg of a hundred ducats every three months, and I will be keeping your nephew as my squire until he is knighted and ready to take control of Reichenbach.” His eyes bored into Ivon, “Do we have an agreement?”

“You impudent little upstart!” Sir Hans roared from his saddle, “I should kill you, peasants have no place talking to their bet-” Edward cut the man’s diatribe off with a roar of his own.

“If you can not control your man Ivon I will be forced to kill him.” Lord Ivon saw his chance and smirked.

“Sir Hans is a belted knight of the Empire, if you have a quarrel with him you are free to meet him in a challenge.” Sir Hans’ grin broadened.

“Very well then, horse or foot?” Edward asked.

“Horse.” Sir Hans answered and rode back towards their camp yelling for a lance. Edward turned Bohemund. Cuthbert was already galloping to the gate to retrieve his lord’s weapons.

It took less than half an hour for them to be armed appropriately and mounted before the castle. Bohemund snorted and pawed at the earth, as Edward settled his reins in his shield hand. The lance he held was stout Arturian oak, and the head was made by Konrad, nearly a foot of shining, razor sharp steel. Sir Hans had lowered his visor and did not wait for a call, he charged towards Edward. Sir Edward slapped his visor shut and put spurs to his stallion. They thundered towards each other raising dust and clods of earth behind their mounts. At the last instant, Edward lowered his lance further and took Hans’ horse in the chest, punching through muscle and breastbone to puncture the poor beast’s lungs and heart. Hans’ lance glanced off the sweeping helm of Edward before being thrown by his screaming mount, who kicked weakly on the dusty road.

Edward dropped his lance and drew his longsword, turning Bohemund towards where Sir Hans was rising. He galloped straight at the man, releasing his reins and standing in his stirrups to bring the blade down two handed on the man’s helm. Hans hit the dust again, and Bohemund struck him with his steel shod hooves. Edward glanced to where he could see an apoplectic Lord Ivon watching. He regathered his reins and allowed Bohemund to continue to crush the man under foot. Hans’ armour was good, but each blow of shod hoof was the equivalent of a very strong mace blow, and it began to crumple like tin. The man screamed as his organs were pulped, and still the blows fell. Once Edward was sure the man was dead, he turned and rode towards Lord Ivon.

“I trust I don’t need to teach anymore lessons?” He asked, Ivon was almost foaming at the mouth. Edward slapped the man’s shoulder with the flat of his blade.

“Answer me when I ask you a question Ivon, I am a Landgraf and your superior, do as I order.” The man’s mouth worked in rage before his shoulders slumped.

“Your words, my hands...my lord.” He muttered.

“Louder please Ivon.”

“Yes my lord!” The older man shouted. Edward grinned and turned to the surrounding men-at-arms.

“Those of you who do not wish to suffer the same fate as Sir Hans, arrest this man.” He ordered and almost as one they grabbed at Lord Ivon. “Reichenbach belongs to Kaspar, not you, I’m sure his mother can govern well enough without your...help, when he returns he will return as a knight, Ivon I charge you with treason against his Imperial Majesty and seeking to usurp his authority, the penalty is death. Take him and tie him to horses, let them pull this sack of puke apart. Any of you who wish some better employment may talk to my squire before the day is out, I’ll be recruiting new lances, pay is five ducats a month for a man-at-arms, and four for an archer, be sure to supply a page and squire for a full lance.” Edward turned Bohemund once more and rode back to the waiting castle gates.