Ethan leaned on his croupier rake, the large stick only different from a polearm in that it had a Y-shaped pusher on the end, and stared at the 15-foot map of the Obstrgartenfeld duchy that graced the floor of the great hall.

  It wasn’t a permanent affair, but rather a series of polished boards fit together with hammered pegs. Though he wouldn’t have known without watching its assemblage. Quite impressive and with the details involved, not cheap.

  Elegant lines indicated elevation, watercourses were marked out not just with blue color, but with white waves to indicate speed and numerals for depth. Every major baronial castle was clearly marked and a dotted line indicated the zones they controlled. Graduated with estimated response times in half-day increments.

  Occasionally, there were overlaps between these spheres. And in such cases a clear delineation of ownership was marked. But this was the exception, not the rule.

  Mostly, ownership was some combination, or perhaps contradiction, between what could be controlled and defended. The first being a larger circle than the second. But not as much so as it could have been.

  A noble took responsibility for what he claimed and with the ever-present threat of both bandits and rifts that came with risks and obligations. Honor was at stake, perhaps not in the individual deaths, but in macro, definitely.

  Of course, it wasn’t only obligation. With more area claimed came more taxes and if you had the strength, more rifts to clear.

  The hundred-odd baronies thus didn’t cover all available space. Leaving thin strips between them frequently and vast stretches of unused or unusable land infrequently. This extra room was reduced somewhat by additional satellite fortresses. Mostly the domain of a knight and the reaction force he was obliged to train and maintain. And such fortresses were far more common than baronial keeps. Perhaps 8 to 1 at a glance.

  Perhaps predictably. These baronies and knight holdings mostly followed water sources. As Ermina had said, both for the life-giving and growing liquid and as she hadn’t needed to specify, for transportation. Trade was the lifeblood of the keeps. The source of most of their wealth, even if nearly all were technically self-sufficient for food and the basics.

  The major rivers, the Rheingold to the south, Nebelstrom to the east and Silbverstrom to the west, were heavily dotted with baronies, each with relatively smaller claimed holdings and more actual border lines defined. Towards the interior, Baronies grew greatly in size, appearing to be all the more powerful for it.

  It was an illusion. It took more ground to raise the same amount of wealth, but in turn took far more soldiers to secure it. A net loss in everything except well-trained soldiers.

  A dangerous loss when a war was looking the province in the face. He glanced out and around the hall. At the 25-odd men, nearly a quarter of the land owners of the entire duchy, loosely spread into two visibly different groups.

  On his right, the armor was high-end, and high-tier plate and mail with silver chasing, gold inlays and even the occasional glow of enchantment. Polished and maintained to a high gloss and perfectly preserved, though a skilled eye could still detect signs of use. To his left, plate was far scarcer. Squamata taking its place. Beautiful examples of it, in chased and washed demon scales as often as not. But still noticeably cheaper and what was more telling, more worn. Nothing was in poor repair, of course. But the marks of heavy use stood out like badges of honor.

  Just like his own, Ethan mused with a small smile.

  Yes. Dangerous indeed.

  Then again, poorer was a relative term. Each of those men could likely pony up the Band's entire fortune, sans core and the recent windfall of armor, out of pocket change. This was still one of the richest lands in the empire. With thick black topsoil and plentiful smaller rivers and creeks for water. Even the ‘poor’ barons’ men would be well equipped for war.

  And that fact was borne out again by the figurines each man had brought and placed on the map. Little Hastati figurines with a C I on their backs. Detailed enough to show armor types and quality. Each standing in for a century of the same, of tier 1 Heavy Infantry in mostly Hamata or demon hide.

  A similar, though larger and far more richly equipped figurine with a D II stood beside them. Legionnaires, though only a decade of the much stronger tier 2 heavy infantry, the traditional upgrade path for a Hastati, in sets of lorica segmentata or squamata. Ethan looked at them enviously for a moment, ah what the band could do with that class stone, before regretfully continuing on.

  Small horses with mail-armored men astride were Equites, small quivers of pilum carved in exacting detail with a C I on their backs. Larger armored horses with breast plate and mail were the Equites Singulares, also measured in decades (D) at the second tier (II), though disproportionately more effective in an open field battle than a Legionary.

  Also nearly three times as expensive to equip and maintain. The war horse and its barding were not cheap. A dozen other figures in a variety of classes, tiers and quantities graced the board. Though none sported a III. Not that there were no third-tier troops between these men, Ethan wouldn’t believe that if he was flogged first.

  Tier threes were a strategic resource. Everyone here might know of a particular old knight or family uncle who was in that tier, but the exact quantity were closely kept close secrets.

  For that matter, the rest of what they choose to reveal was unlikely to be accurate either. These men might be nominally allied. But times would change.

  And so, he took their reports with a shaker of salt. Under or over for numbers or equipment. It wouldn’t be too far over, not and risk being given a fight they were incapable of winning, nor too much under or it might invite an attack.

  That still left considerable room for bluffing.

  And that was on their side.

  The enemy figurines, generously supplied by the host, his father-in-law from the standard set, were daubed with a drop of red paint and rather plainly carved. They clustered around Obstrgartenfeld itself, along with a strip of baronies close to it.

  Baronies that showed as a strip of red right along the Rheingold.

  Despite how they might dress it up, this was about trade, and the stranglehold the duke held on it. Those downstream benefited from denying the northerners access.

  The armies boasted by the City and the coalition against it were similar in some ways. Hastati, the common backbone of the military, just from Obstagartenfeld were in legion strengths, 1 confirmed with a second suspected. A half legion of Equites and a small smattering of Singulares, though each had a small medallion tied about it depicting a coat of arms. A noble’s private guard, not open field combat troops but not to be ignored either.

  But there the similarities stopped. Another small tier 1 figure, with scutum and a spear half again as tall as itself, stood in demon hide armor of a rather antiquated style. Hopilites, a respectable class, if one that had fallen out of favor in the last few centuries. They lacked the reach of sarrisa armed Phalangites while maintaining their weaknesses. They lacked the mobility and flexibility of Hastati and the older style shield didn’t offer as much coverage.

  Despite that, they weren’t bad troops in a pinch. And there was nearly a legion of them shown. Then four more legions, and the first of their kind he’d seen on the board, of tier 0 Guardsmen. Constables and militia, useful for keeping the peace and manning fortifications, but damn near a liability in an open field fight.

  It was a decidedly bottom-heavy affair.

  Between the two sets, a series of grey-marked neutrals were scattered along the Silberstrom closest to Obstergartenfeld and thickly lined the Nebelstrom.

  This was the largest color block and, by territory, basic troops and elites, not by a small amount either. But while they all showed as grey, they were far from singular. Likely the only thing they had in common was color and a disinclination to get involved… So far.

  “-only neutral because they’re too close to Obstrgartenfeld and fear the duke’s formidable siege train.” Baron Arguille of Virosa was speaking. No. Count Arguille of Virosa, raised in the same ceremony as Ethan. He’d been a well-respected, burly fireplug of a man even before his raising. He was pushing against six decades with only a sprinkling of gray in his hair and well-maintained beard. Even that grey was misleading, he was well into the third tier and had a good 40 years before he’d have to worry about age. And that was if he didn’t make the next leap, which would grant at least another 50.

  That was another reason why high-tier troops were so hard to pin down. You never knew when one from a previous generation was still alive and kicking.

  The new Count Arguille had fought, and fought damn well in the war. Been paraded and gilded with glory only to return to his barony, now a severely undersized county with his finances in severe disarray due to the plotting of a duke who hadn’t bothered to fight!

  It was an insult too far for the man. And on a more practical level, his home was about five fiefs south and well hemmed in by other old and not poorly led baronies. His expansion prospects were rather limited without large changes. He was clearly ambitious enough to see this as that opportunity.

  The man tapped his rake to a smaller section of figurines sitting atop the illuminated ducal capital. Balistas. And not the smaller versions the Band now owned. These house-sized structures were fitted with wheels and dragged by teams of oxen, not for battles, but to knock down walls.

  Capable of throwing heavy stones and spears of iron hard enough to crack stone, they were a potent threat, though a slow and unwieldy one. Nearly useless in field battle. This was not true of their smaller cousins as his old friend Hammon had demonstrated, but it was a bit of a niche skill.

  But not even Hamond could build these monstrosities. It took specific high-leveled classes and expensive high-tier materials (or even more money) to create them. It wasn’t as simple as scaling up the smaller engines, and by custom and applied pressure, they were mostly reserved for senior nobles.

  A stick to keep their subordinates in line.

  Mostly. Like Tier 3 troops, he had no doubt that a few were hidden about. Disassembled and kept in nondistinctive crates, who could call them on it? Of course, getting them from their crates into a usable form was still non-trivial. Assembling them took specific, well-leveled classes, and if you wanted to get the best use, firing them did too.

  “Perhaps they are, perhaps not. Either way, the Duke does have his siege train, so neutral they will remain.” Baron Aurek of Marvath barked. Giving his old friend, and sometime rival, an amused glance. At about the same age, but stuck at the top of tier 2, he looked considerably older. Not in danger of dying any time soon, but Ethan suspected he was seeing an age debuff, if a mild one, already. Not that it appeared to bother him. He wore his age comfortably.

  He tuned them out as the two old men barked and jabbed at one another in mock ferocious banter. Tracing the displayed terrain and plotting out the flow of both harvestable resources and supplies. Lootable or the logistic trails needed to get them to a battle. It was a much more detailed map, and even had notations for crops, food collection and the largest of storehouses.

  With mid-summer upon them, there were crops already being harvested. Beans had been mature for at least a month already, and would keep producing in regular quantities till full winter. Not to mention vegetables, early grain and a great deal of fruit.

  A plentiful season and a favored one for war. But the main harvest still wasn’t here yet, and that provided some, hmmm, opportunities.

  “-ask the Strategos. It is good to see you once again, Baronet Ethan, and may I congratulate you on a well-deserved rise in station.”

  “My thanks, and let me return the praise, Count Arguille. I should not be surprised that an old warhorse like you is already anxious for more action.”

  “Ha! A man’s eyes should always be looking upward that our ancestors look down on us with pride!”

  Nearly thirty hands slapped against chests in a salute as old as the Empire. Ethan’s joining them.

  He knew most of these men, and those he didn’t, he knew the heir’s standing behind them. And while they hadn’t been of the same class or social circle after the battles, during them was a different story.

  “Yes, but this is where I must, with regret, pour some water on your happiness. Do forgive me if I overstep, but I think you’d like to be the new duke.”

  He shrugged. “It’s not likely to happen, but I could hardly do a worse job than this skinflint.”

  A deep grunt of agreement rang around the table. Huh. It wasn’t a groundswell protest after all. Well played my Emperor. Well played.

  “I will not debate the obvious, Count Arguille. But, if you reach for that height, I fear you, and many of the rest of those around this table, will emerge from this conflict the poorer for it.”

  The jocular atmosphere disappeared in a heartbeat. Frozen looks turned more and more unhappy as they glared at Ethan.

  “Come again? I had thought you also equally unhappy with the duke, do you now champion his right?”

  Ethan waved a hand in negation. “No, I may be new to nobility Lords, but I, like many of you, was weaned on war. There is a truth here that needs to be acknowledged up front. You will not take Obstrgartenfeld. Not by force of arms.” He waved at the troops, totaling them in both numbers, tiers and utility, if only in his mind.

  “Not by luck, nor the war God’s favor does this fight go your way if you fight at those walls. They’re core backed. 50 feet thick, a hundred tall and well equipped with defensive engines and ammunition. Three sets of walls and offset gates mean even a fast assault or a moment of luck won’t take the city. They can just fall back to the next wall and regroup.”

  “Even traitors would have to be present in staggering numbers to open that many gates in succession! As for a lasting siege, the river and the core guarantee an endless water source while its granary is one of, if not the largest, in the empire. And that is without resupply along the river, which, from what I can see of your warships, you will be unable to effectively blockade. You cannot starve him out quickly. It might take half a decade with regular food runs upriver, perhaps not even then.”

  “And, if what my Imperial tutor tells me, which I will defer to you all for validity, the Emperor, may his light ever shine upon us, is unlikely to allow a conflict to linger for that long, not with the disruption it would cause to the empire’s food shipments.”

  The count sighed and gave the flightier gesture of a knight's first blood. “May his light ever shine upon us.” He repeated before continuing. “He would not. His limits, while unstated, are quite easy to find historically. Don’t disrupt the empire at large. Don’t slaughter Basics or Townsmen en masse.” He scratched his beard softly. “Militia aren’t worth much, and with our superiority in high-tier troops, could we not drive beachheads over the walls?”

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  Ethan bit back a sharp response and considered. Then nodded. It would take a while, but best to make things clear now. “Let’s find out, shall we?” He stepped to the side and walked over to a different table. More of a box on legs, really, and filled with sand.

  The count considered him for a time. Then nodded sharply. “Fine then, I can take a beating for clarity. I’ll survive the loss.” A round of laughter circled the room and Ethan could not help but be impressed. With a few words and a half assed joke, he’d killed an issue Ethan hadn’t noticed before it ever became one.

  Pride. It wasn’t just that you couldn’t afford to lose; it was often as much about letting others see it.

  A few whispered words to the servants and topography and structures began to appear. Amazing, really, that a noble would have men whose class staged them as experts in building sand castles. They’d be very popular at a beach excursion.

  Ethan hid a chuckle. It wasn’t really a fair assessment of these specialists, but it seemed beyond ridiculous to accept a nearly useless class merely to save a few minutes for your master. Nobles!

  But under their care the towering walls of Obstergartenfeld quickly took recognizable form. Boxes were broken open and figurines were quickly arranged.

  Ethan taking over the defense almost by fiat, as none wished to contest him the ownership of their enemies. The opposite was not true. Young men rushed to show their fellows their understanding while the older nobles, including Count Arguille watched on paternalistically for a time. Letting them arrange things before stepping in to command. Showing them how it was done.

  By that point, Ethan had long arranged his forces. A thick spread of Guardsmen across the entire wall, tokens for rolling stones, heated sand, bundles of pilum and arrows. Even a few flamables spread out evenly.

  The war engines had different tokens; Hastati guard details with specific siege engineer specialists to aim and fire them.

  The towers were stacked with Hastati and with a sprinkling of the few Singulaires to stiffen them. Reaction forces that could sweep the walls to either side with more war engines, as well as pilum volleys. Not to mention a melee assault. They also held the only retreat points for the Guardsmen.

  A not accidental state of affairs with troops with such low morale.

  Ethan glanced up, meeting the Count's eyes and both nodded. “Begin!” The Count ordered. Quickly arranging tokens for a few siege towers and a truly heavy bombardment by archers. Ethan walked through the standard responses. Onagars and flamables for the towers, rolling rocks for ladders.

  Hoardings, temporary wooden overhead covers, made the plunging archer fire, not ineffective as a steady stream of tier zero casualties were removed from the walls by the umpires, but not dominating either.

  And the return fire, despite the difference in tiers, was withering. Ethan could see the older men’s eyes tighten. The young men saw a game and glory. The old saw costs.

  And yet, to back out now would be worse than to have never started. No noble could abide to be thought a coward. Eventually, with enough volume thrown across the walls, Arguille managed a small beachhead.

  Tier 2 Legionaires pretending to be Hastati till they were close enough to blitz up the ladders. Their higher stats letting them leap up distances that the lower-tier troops could only laboriously climb.

  But not without costs. Three in ten were judged to die on the ladders. At the top of the wall, tired from a hundred-foot climb, despite superior stats, they remained dire wolves in a chicken coop.

  Tier 0’s died in droves. Unable to mass sufficient men in such a small space to overwhelm the tier difference.

  Then Ethan, as he had the entire fight, responded in the prescribed way. At no point did he try for brilliant maneuvers or to predict and second-guess his opponents. That wasn’t the point. It wasn’t about if HE could defend it.

  And still, the tier 2’s on the wall were swept by scorpions and pilum volleys from the overhanging towers. They didn’t go down quickly, nor easily. But down they did go.

  And while their stand gave two siege towers time to make the wall, and even more troops to support them, the wall tops would have been pooled with blood and bodies in a real fight.

  Expensive blood and bodies. The heart and soul of these men’s military power. Their Tier 2s.

  The fight went on a bit longer, half-heartedly at best. His point was made. A ram and a century of massed dismounted Singularies even took a tower.

  But its remaining defenders, less than half, merely retreated to the next wall along the pony spoke walls that existed between them.

  Arguille watched it happen. Then abruptly cursed. “I’m done! You didn’t even try anything fancy! No cavalry sally or amphibious attack from the rear at the height of the assault. I expected an elaborate corn cobbing and instead stuck my member into a grinding wheel.”

  “No need for cleverness on the first pass. Any fight on a wall becomes a slug fest. Best to figure out how that will end first.” Ethan offered, choosing to ignore the rather painfully colorful image. “But we can go again with all of that included if you would prefer. We could even figure a way for traitors to open a gate or tower door.”

  Arguile waved a hand in negation. “Maybe later. It might be interesting to see how you’d play that out. But for now, I’m convinced. This…” He waved his hand at the casualties box, and its absolutely ruinous contents. “This won’t work. Every neutral and our northern neighbors would climb off of their walls to loot what was left of our fiefs dry if we lost this many.”

  Ethan nodded cautiously. That was indeed how he read it. It wasn’t that they had no hope of taking the city. Tiers did tell. And even heavier in a siege where a few men could hold, or take a chokepoint. But the costs!

  “So you beat us, does that mean we shouldn’t get into this?” Baron Lucira of Eburon asked somewhat belligerently. As a young baron, and one from significantly off the major rivers, he was more than a bit desperate for glory and gold. In that order, if Ethan could judge.

  “By no means. There is gain to be had, and plentiful gain at that. Both immediately and long-term. But to get it, you must first establish what you see as victory. What do you want-”

  “Everything!” A cheeky voice called to more than a few chuckles.

  “-that is within reach?” Ethan added with a nod. “If you will allow me to paint with wide strokes, you wish the duke's heavy hand off trade and to punish him such that he is less likely to just do the same again in the future. Does that cover it?” He paused a bit, then shrugged. “And whatever goods and coin you can walk away with in the process, of course.”

  There was some more laughter and voices called out additional targets. A few new and legitimate, but more personal grudges or rephrasing of those already mentioned. Not that he bothered to argue or complain. He was here as an advisor, not a full participant. There was nothing to gain, and many enemies to make in quibbling.

  A position, Ethan noticed, looking to his left at their host and his new father-in-law, that he was not alone in. Canny old man that he was.

  “Alright, alright.” Count Arguille finally raised and lowered his hands a few times in a patting motion. “We can talk this all over in detail later. I want to hear the rest. Please, Strategos, continue.” Between the highest noble in the room and a reminder of his class they quieted.

  Ethan nodded his head subtly, then waited to follow the rest of the nobles as they trooped back to the map of the duchy.

  “Looking at the correlations of forces, you have an extreme advantage in cavalry, and an even larger advantage in heavy cavalry.” The barons around him were showing forces of around four to five centuries each. A quarter of it cavalry, though over nine of ten were equites. That still left them with roughly two and a half legions of Equites and perhaps 2 centuries of Singulares. Not all of those could afford to deploy, of course. But even half would be enough to give the Duke a drubbing. “If you can bait the duke into a fight in the open, even at even numbers, your advantage in blooded troops, mobility and more experienced command staffs mean you can give him a solid drubbing.”

  There was an easy rumble of agreement all around. This was not new information. No one here was a fool and they too could count the icons.

  Of course, the duke wasn’t a fool either. “If he doesn’t figure that out on his own, unlikely I’d judge but it would be nice, then you can explain it to him with a lance. If he refuses to fight, then when all that lovely farmland outside the city is harvested, merely redirect the proceeds.”

  Men stiffened, and avarice began to show through their polite facades. “To avoid annoying the Emperor, and to fill your own purses, the harvest still needs to be sold to feed the Empire, which means you will require a port on the Rheingold. And while Obstrgartenfeld may stand strong, there are many a barony to the south that will furnish a far easier target.” He leaned forward with his rake and adjusted light cavalry in mass into the farm fields outside Obstrgartenfeld. Groups of heavy cavalry and infantry set as nodal forces focused on farming hamlets and roads that would carry the crops back to the city.

  Another few pushes moved a set of the inland barons’ troops south, through the gray zone and to surround Portus Pontus. That wretched little port town could use a good cleaning. And to make sure the duke didn’t abuse his river access. The Navies of the northern baron were grouped up just north of the city. An empty threat, but one that must be honored.

  Ethan considered it for a moment, then adjusted the more northern forces south. Standing on the edge of the gray zone. Neutrals didn’t always stay that way, not when the opportunity to fish in troubled waters came knocking with little apparent risk.

  A few more northern cavalry centuries into commerce protection. With armies moving, it wasn’t uncommon for bandits and raiders to try to profit from the distraction.

  He considered the map for a time. He hated to waste troops as a threat against some greys getting greedy. But with all those tasty carts full of loot traveling through their territories, it would have to be a strong force. It would have to do.

  He leaned back, looking up to a sharp-eyed group of watching nobles. Avidly considering the map and, he didn’t doubt, what they could personally extract from it.

  “An opening position to consider. But the exact placement is less important than recognizing what goals can be achievable, and how to make those goals turn into a victory.”

  He glanced down, then with a small hook, pulled that vaunted siege train out from the city a bit and chuckled.

  “Baronet?”

  “Hmm? Oh, Count. My apologies. But you know, you do have a point about the neutral barons. And the heart of the harvest is still a month or two off, is it not?”

  “The main wheat harvest won’t be fully in till mid, or even late October.”

  “So we have some time. What would happen, do you suppose, if one of the closer neutrals to Obstrgartenfeld were to join us? Publicly and defiantly join at that.”

  “That siege train would level the poor bastards keep, scaring the hell out of the rest and making sure they’d never so much as think of defying him again.” Barked Baron Aurek.

  “Exactly!” Ethan smirked. “All those lovely engines, out in the open. It would be a shame if something, well, happened to them.”

  The room froze. They turned to the map and stared as he adjusted the siege train outward, and a legion of Equites darting in from the side to catch them in route. “You don’t even have to win the battle. Just burn the engines.”

  “And without that stick the duke loses a great deal of his political power. Not just you, not just now. It would cripple his ability to project power. To project his authority.”

  “Until he can have them replaced of course. Expensive, that. Extremely expensive.” The men nodded almost reverently. Probably had to be sourced from the Capitol itself with the skills required. And how likely was that at this point? Ethan carefully said nothing of the kind about that.

  “When you move on the Barons along the Rhiengold, and loot as much of their territory as you honorably can without sieging any castles, he has a choice. Either stay cooped up defensively behind his walls,” Ethan carefully didn’t call them impenetrable, “and leave his allies swinging in the wind, a betrayal they’ll not forget for generations, or march out to meet you in an open field battle.” One he’d handily lose.

  “In the meantime, you have highly mobile cavalry detachments roving the countryside, st- that is, redirecting-” Apreciative chuckles echoed through the room. “-the harvest. If he comes out to play you bleed his Equites dry. And more of his ability to project power. Either way, you take the harvest.”

  Ethan tapped his lips, considering. “Yes, that is the best ending I can see for you.”

  “In the future, even if you can’t threaten him at his home, you can raid his farms with near impunity. Of course, he can still stop much of your trade, but détente is better than what you have.”

  An excited chatter began to grow, but Ethan gave a sideways smile before raising an eyebrow at the count.

  “Best case you said.” That worthy grumbled, with a resigned sigh, silencing the room. “The Gods are rarely so kind.”

  “Yes. These are the primary goals. Not your only goals, of course. Resources are always nice extras in case of mines, herds and textiles. On the military side, the ducal navy would be a very nice feather in your hat. But a difficult and possibly more expensive than it’s worth feather. If he sticks it out, by all means, cut it off. But only if he’s foolish. You’ll have to play it by ear.”

  “This is how you win. But before planning for victory, you also have to plan for defeat. How do you lose this conflict?”

  “Lose our troops?” Baron Aurek cracked, taking a large sip of wine, but his eyes were hungry while staring at the map.

  “True. If you lose sufficient troops in the conflict, even if you win, your neutrals or Auenland might take bites out of you. Know what you can afford to lose, and what you can't.” Ethan offered. It wasn’t what he was looking for, but it was a way to fail.

  “The neutrals join the duke.” Theodric asserted.

  Ethan nodded. “Exactly. That’s the biggest joker in this deck. An unlikely joker, I’d guess, if you look like you are winning. They’re not about to bleed for the duke without recompense or a believable threat. The siege train is one end of that but bribes and opportunism lie squarely on the other.” He gestured at the way he’d deployed cavalry units to the east and along the supply routes. “A strong presence can discourage, though not stop, the second. But the duke has quite the war chest for the first,” He paused, judging the audience and his own standing, then took a small risk. “If he can bear to part with it.”

  A round of laughter let him know he’d won that particular bet. Best not to go any further. He continued on. “You’ll need to keep an eye on them, even do a bit of negotiating or bribing of your own.”

  “The key, in either case, remains. You can’t ever appear to be losing. And to do that, you don’t have to accomplish all of the goals, or even all of any one of them to come out ahead. Trying might get you mauled enough to bring in opportunists.”

  “It’s an old game to stake out a goat to catch a wolf. It works sometimes. But sometimes goblins emerge to eat both. Perfection is for the Gods, recognize good enough when you see it and leave when you’re ahead.”

  “A truth we should all keep in front of us.” Baron Aurek agreed, with nearly religious fervor.

  A few more suggestions were tossed out, and Ethan treated each respectfully, even when they were merely restates of their peers.

  “Alright. Alright. That’s a good enough outline. And one to think on over the next few days. But since we have you here-“ Arguille’s voice changed, becoming every bit a boy with a shiny new sword. And not in the least ashamed of showing it. “- Let's try that siege out again! I think I can get at least one victory out of you, youngster. Strategos or not!”

  Ethan stared for a moment, then leaned his head back and laughed. He had not been expecting that. Not at all. “By all means, Your Lordship. The sets are here and the wine is good. May we play to our heart’s content!”

  Cheers rang in the room as they moved back to the side, not just to one table either. Ethan took a few minutes while the siege was reset to arrange a number of other small tactics problems.

  Blocks of infantry moving out of Obstergartenfeld and digging in legionary camps on watercourses or major crossroads.

  Small forces loaded on the Obstergartenfeld’s navy and unloading in rapid raids up or down the rivers.

  The cavalry battle he hoped the Duke was fool enough to try even. Though that was a sucker bet for whoever took the duke's troops.

  Barons and their heirs stepped forward with a will to each table after his setup. Working with the servants and judges to move each scenario along with a will.

  Ethan shuttled between them. Mostly focusing on the siege, Arguille was a canny old fox, and leaving him unwatched for too long would only result in a humiliating defeat. He didn’t mind losing, but he’d not do it from inattention.

  Back and forth they went, scenario after scenario. Some reasonable, many exaggerated or extreme. And yet still useful. If you played out most of the variations ahead of time, then you’d have a good idea how to respond, whatever came your way.

  A good commander wasn’t always the brilliant, lightning strike of intuition or epiphany. Sometimes, he was just the one who spent the time to mock out all the reasonable lines and had prepared responses for each.

  Eventually, even the most ardent of would-be tacticians began to tire, satisfied that they’d gained what they could from the tables and ready to move on to a chalice of wine and the comfort of a bed.

  It was far from a done deal. The general outline was there, but the demons were in the details. Details that he, as an outsider, would not be privy to, God’s be blessed. They’d only revealed as much as they had due to his connection by marriage and a fief far, far away. No, the rest would happen behind closed doors and would involve a great deal of horse-trading.

  As he tiredly walked away from the sand tables and towards a filled sideboard for a few pieces of cold meat and fruit, he looked up as Theodric appeared at his elbow. He really was tired, apparently.

  Still, he inclined his head respectfully, going over in his head how this new father-in-law of his would do. As the most northern baron, he likely wouldn’t gain as much in the short term, as the closer nobles would be far better placed for raiding, but he also was unlikely to suffer much in the way of casualties. A mixed blessing.

  “I wonder, with all of that, what do you think of the Count of Auenland’s offer?”

  “Which one? I didn’t realize he’d made anything official.”

  “Official? No. But he’s had no few envoys, deniable ones of course, hinting at it for months. He’d accept our fealty and supply an army to assault the duke with.”

  “Militarily, it complicates things heavily. The Emperor might stand to the side and cheer the Duke being taken down a peg or three, but I doubt he’ll allow the Count of Auenland to eat him any more than he’d let the duke eat the count.”

  “It’s too much power in one pair of hands. Besides, you don’t need him to win. And if he’s included, as the single largest power block, he’d take the lion’s share of the loot. Not worth it from what I can see. Not unless you are really starting to lose.”

  The baron nodded easily and gestured for Ethan to continue.

  “As to the nonmilitary portion. Or at least not directly military…” Ethan shrugged easily. “That’s a bit more your area than mine, I think. But from my talks with your daughter, I’d have to say changing lieges is more useful as a threat than an action. Knowing that you might shift means the Count will cozy up to you, and his liegemen are less likely to interfere.” Less likely wasn’t a prohibition, Theodric nodded easily, he understood this too and would have to leave a strong force to protect from the north. “The duke knowing that you could is a useful threat to prevent truly egregious behavior. But once you switch? With your bridges burned with the duke, you can’t threaten the Auenland Count with the same. He can, and by reputation likely will, squeeze you quite thoroughly.”

  The baron smiled widely, a teacher with his student having passed a test. “Good, remember that in the near future.” Then the man walked away casually.

  Leaving Ethan staring and very confused.

  ____