When morning came it was very much as I had expected. Before the sun had truly risen above the horizon I had received a summons to the Priory. It was somewhat amusing that I then found myself waiting until the sun was far above the tree line before I would actually stand before the Duke who appeared as he always did; dressed in his finery with the Sword of Arkay close at hand. Well before sunrise his team of servants had been busying themselves in their duties and I knew that the fact that I had been made to wait had been a calculated act. I also knew from the three days since he arrived that the Duke certainly didn’t rise before or even shortly after dawn and by the time that I found myself in his presence he had already eaten and bathed in hot scented water.

  It was the cloying smell of fruit and flowers that was annoying me more than his general attitude and indifference that I had come to expect from most nobles. There was something about the way that my lungs dragged it into my chest with every breath that was making my teeth tingle and the bones of my face ache.

  “So,” He said finally, moving around the recently completed desk in his office and appearing to look disinterestedly out of the window. “I hear that you ordered one of my knights into the stocks last night. Care to explain?”

  Sensing the subtle threat in his tone and doing my best to stand to attention, I growled in the back of my mind. The fact that there was only sir Wirile within the room with us was not entirely a comfort and I could feel his eyes burning into the side of my skull as I stood there.

  “Sir Phieine was caught raping one of the carpenter’s wives. Cyrodillic Law states that three days in the stocks is the punishment for such a crime.”

  “I see.” He said after a moment’s pause, not once making a hint of turning around. It was taking all my willpower not to cough from the scent of whatever perfume had been rubbed into his flesh or look at the Sword of Arkay resting lightly on a sheet of pure silk stretched across the desk. “Witnesses?”

  “Madame DeVir was the initial witness, and myself and Sir Vanevius arrived seconds later.”

  “No other Horn Knights saw, or can corroborate your allegations?”

  “Begging your pardon, my Lord, but there are no allegations; just the truth. Sir Phieine was caught with his pants down, both figuratively and literally. As Second in Command of the Order of the Nine I have the authority to pass judgement on criminals.”

  “Sir Phieine is a loyal and devout servant of the Gods.” The Duke stated flatly, his hands moving almost of their own accord as he made the mark of the Nine Divines over his chest and forehead and I quickly did the same. Not that I did so out of any religious fervour but from the feeling that they could use any hesitation against me. “He is also of noble birth and should be treated as such.”

  “A member of the Elder Council could have been in that tent, and I would have judging them just the same.” I said carefully, keeping my voice as neutral as I possibly could without any hint of emotion. “The law is the law, and I will abide by it.”

  “Your loyalty and duty is an example to us all.” Sir Wirile was standing just as still as I was with his hand resting on the pommel of his sword in a way that was supposed to be casual but looked anything but. “I expect that the woman has also been appropriately punished for her crimes?”

  Alexi had tutored me during the night and this question was one that I expected. It was also one that we had been forced to deal with in advance.

  “We did my lord. Ten lashes as appropriate.”

  The duke remained as still as I did, staring out the window over the small collection of tents that could be seen through the glass. Sir Wirile merely grunted under his breath soft enough that mortals wouldn’t have been able to hear, but not soft enough to hide it from me.

  “You truly are impartial.”

  “I try my best, my lord.” This time the hint of challenge was in my tone but I kept myself smirking or otherwise grinning from sheer force of will alone. Striking a noble such as the woman had done in her attempt to defend herself was a punishable offence no matter the circumstances, and as much as it pained me to do so, we had no other choice. The only consolation we could gain was nowhere within Imperial laws did it state exactly how hard the lashes had to be. After the woman’s ‘punishment’ her biggest complaint had been that it was difficult not to laugh at the way that it had tickled more than anything.

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  Only broken by their soft breathing, the silence dragged on and I found myself growing ever more impatient to remove myself from such an environment. Instead I stood on the spot, not letting my eyes wander anywhere except at the Duke’s back.

  “How soon can the Order be ready for battle?” He asked suddenly and I was taken aback for the moment as this was certainly not a question I was expecting.

  “Weeks at least.” I spoke truthfully, feeling his sudden interest despite the way that he still didn’t turn to face me and the way that sir Wirile leaned forward. “The men-at-arms will take time to form a cohesive unit and…”

  “I asked how long it will take for the Order to be ready, not the peasants.”

  I could feel myself blinking and feeling the same feeling of unease crawl up my spine as it had several times over the previous days. “The… peasants are the largest source of manpower we have available. With the Host of the Horn, Baron Jaseton’s esquires and the Order of the Nine we have fifty-two knights, all of which have despairingly varied levels of skill, training and equipment. If I was to be optimistic, it will take five or six weeks of training and practice to allow the cavalry to fight as a cohesive unit.”

  “The knights do not require ‘training’ and their arms and armour is solely their responsibility. What they wield, wear and ride into battle is not something to concern ourselves with and as nobles they know how to fight.”

  “My lord, in all respect we need to train to fight as a unit. Tilting in tournaments is different to fighting a foe seeking your death.”

  “Do not deign to dictate to me the differences in fighting and honourable combat.” He snapped suddenly, showing the first signs of annoyance and temper to my words. “Have you ever fought in a battle?”

  “Several, my lord.” I replied, even though I saw the verbal jaws of his trap slowly creak open.

  “And how many have been in the saddle?”

  “None, my Lord.”

  “There. You see?” he said, finally turning and facing me with a corner of his mouth creased in triumph. “You truly haven’t fought in a real battle.”

  “I fought with the Legion at Kvatch.”

  The seriousness of my tone and the subtle traces of insubordination in my voice was enough to wipe the smile off his face and leave Sir Wirile’s growing a cold as a winter in Morrowind.

  “Kvatch. A backwater settlement that an army of criminals and labourers failed to save. Again… not a real battle.”

  The trap was waiting for me, sitting there with the bait dangling oh so temptingly and as much as it almost physically harmed me I resisted taking it. What I couldn’t resist was adding my own barb to the mix.

  “Ninety-six thousand dead in a city of a hundred and ten thousand isn’t considered a backwater in Cyrodiil, although I must admit that I am unfamiliar with Highrock…”

  Despite the fact that his face remained carefully neutral to my unsubtle insult disguised as formality and ignorance. Both of them knew exactly what I had meant, especially how Kvatch had once been equal in population and economy as every city within the Breton homelands.

  “Very well.” He said with a slow flush working its way up from under his high necked collar. “As you appear to have the experience in mucking about in the mud with the rest of the peasants, you can have the glory of commanding them.”

  “Thank you, my Lord.”

  Very slightly, his eyes narrowed at the signs of triumph in my voice before he snorted. “Don’t get your hopes up Sir Desin. Infantry do not have a place on a modern battlefield and they especially cannot compete with the skill and noble heritage of Knights. Use the men-at-arms as you see fit, include those few from the Host of the Horn if you so wish but don’t expect much from a collection of savage lowborn.”

  “I won’t, my lord.”

  Slowly, carefully he interlinked his hands in front of him, somehow managing to puff out his chest in the movement that I supposed he thought was heroic and noble. “Have you anything further to add?”

  I shook my head, carefully and formally while keeping my eyes locked ahead of me. “No, my Lord.”

  “Good. Get out.”

  The doors closed as they had the several times I had found myself in the priory rooms. What had been my office was now the preferred place for the Duke to receive visitors such as myself for formal matters and it was becoming all too familiar to me. Especially with the way that the door always seemed to be forcefully closed behind me by whoever was accompanying the Duke at the time.

  From the various knights and servants within the priory I barely rated a mention as I moved through them. A handful of the Knights were in their full plate, their personal heraldry and that of the Duke obvious on every flowing tabard and surcoat but they barely even nodded or glanced in my direction as I moved through the building. I could feel their scruintity though, burning into my flesh like the sword that Viconia had used to scour the marks of desertion from my arm. Already the feeling within the Order and the Priory was very different and I couldn’t help but feel poised to receive a knife or blade in the spine as I moved through them.