Torture, I mused, was annoying. Garrik Belhade was lying on the ground, tied to a fallen chair with a cloth over his face, gasping for air.

  Unfortunately, as my chief goal was breaking his will enough for my mental magic to grow effective, I could not just leave this to my underlings.

  The man had been frustratingly resistant. Had. While he was still not willing to talk, his mental defences were rather leaky at this point. With a bit of wheedling, I had managed to get the man to think of the information I desired.

  Once again, there wasn’t much. Despite the paper-thin deception, the man was indeed a Nazairi noble, sent to prevent the construction of the fortress.

  “Ironic, really,” I muttered. I could peer into the very minds of men, yet I learned either nothing or what I already knew.

  The one piece of valuable intel was the confirmation that they had met no opposition on Cintra’s borders. This had some very unfortunate implications. Namely, the likelihood of the Duke of Attre being a traitor had shot up to the sky. The assassination could have possibly been someone framing him or perhaps a personal vendetta of some sort, even if it was unlikely. Combined with this? There was little room left for doubt.

  I wiped my wet hands on a piece of cloth, then threw it onto Garrik before striding outside the tent.

  “Take him to the rest,” I gestured to the two guards outside, getting very quick salutes in response. I nodded in approval. While their training might be lacking, the discipline of my troops was now miles above what it had been when our march started.

  I moved swiftly through the camp, approaching the pen where our prisoners were held. The battle had been an overwhelming success, with casualties on our side counting only a few hundred, many of whom would likely recover with just a touch of magic to keep infection at bay.

  This meant that the number of prisoners was higher than normal, as the battle ended too quickly for a large number of casualties. While a large chunk were killed or mortally wounded while they attempted to escape, a good portion surrendered or were captured alive.

  The question was what to do with them. The mercenaries could perhaps be absorbed into my own army, though whether I should even try was its own question. The scant few nobles could likely be ransomed back to Nazair for a nice amount of money, potentially financing the mercenaries.

  However, the biggest portion of our prisoners were commoners from Nazair, recruited into their army. Should they be let go, they would likely just rejoin their army, or worse, form bandit bands here in Cintra.

  Both options were unacceptable for obvious reasons.

  The standard options in this world were executions, mutilation, work camps, slavery, or oaths.

  Oaths and slavery, I could dismiss immediately. Whether they swore oaths of not taking up arms against Cintra again meant too little, considering Nazair could just conscript them anyway. Slavery was both unpalatable to my sensibilities and not practised in the Northern Kingdoms.

  Execution and mutilation, while considered brutal, were both largely acceptable as the enemy was technically not a proper army, but a band of marauders. While this deception gave Nazair some plausible deniability, it also meant that these people were technically not enemy soldiers, but mere criminals.

  Both options were rather wasteful, however. Mutilation might render them incapable of taking up arms again, but I had no way to know whether the rest of Nazair would be intimidated or galvanised. With a bit of charisma, the king might not even have to dedicate any resources to help his former soldiers, laying all the blame on Cintra’s shoulders.

  I imagined that Calanthé would not be terribly happy if I handed Nazair a ready-made casus belli like that.

  That left perhaps the most popular option for prisoners of war in both my past lives, work camps.

  I nodded to myself. Having hundreds of extra labourers would speed up the construction, even if it’d tie up some of my own men. Since they could be used for the more unpleasant duties, it would likely improve morale as well.

  Ideally, Nazair would negotiate for their release before the fort was finished. However, I had some doubts that their ruler would care. It might be worth it to make some efforts to naturalise them over the years.

  I thought it over as I moved to the mercenary remnants.

  With a construction as large as we planned, opportunists would inevitably be attracted. From merchants to bards and prostitutes. With a bit of extra freedom and incentives, it might be feasible to get the prisoners to stay.

  ‘Hmm. Perhaps some surrounding land promised as a reward once the fort was constructed, should they behave? Or perhaps just a percentage of the best performers?’ I thought.

  Not all might take it, but I doubted Nazair’s army was filled with the well-off of their society. A piece of land to call their own might very well be an unattainable luxury for the majority of them. As Marnadal was essentially a frontier, with barely a few villages around, this should not be that troublesome to arrange.

  The details would have to be hashed out later, as I did not understand all the laws surrounding property in Cintra completely, but I did not foresee any major issues. The same could be promised to the regular workers, even. The more people lived around, the better the fort could be garrisoned. And while conscripts weren’t ideal, having a few hundred or even thousands extra people to call upon once war came would be a great boon for the defence, as long as the fort was kept properly supplied.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  As I approached the pen, I spotted Ortagor directing the guards. His armour had a few extra dents, but he had otherwise escaped unscathed.

  “Baron Ortagor,” I greeted him. The huge man turned around, before literally looking down on me. He seemed tense, likely because of the battle.

  “Lady Degurechaff,” he responded.

  I patted him on the shoulder, the gesture somewhat awkward because of the height difference, “Good work out there. I know we have our differences, but I will be sure to tell the Queen of your exemplary service.”

  The baron’s eyes narrowed before he nodded.

  It seemed that he had not expected me to be so cordial, but I meant what I said. While I would not tolerate any backwards bloodline idiocy in my army, I would not penalise the man for holding such views in private, as long as he did not let them interfere with his work.

  With that done, I moved on to the mercenaries. I doubted that securing their service would be too difficult.

  The sound of knocking interrupted Calanthé’s reading. With a sigh, she put down the accounting report. Even when the sorceress was not present, she still cursed the Queen with extra work.

  Calanthé couldn’t even complain, considering the substantial benefits Tanya’s report on ‘budget cuts and bureaucratic efficacy’ had brought.

  “Enter,” she said.

  Baron Eylembert strode in, twirling his moustache. He bowed before walking to one of the swords that hung on the wall of her office. He poked it a few times, then turned back to the slightly bemused Queen, “I have news from Tanya,” he began, presenting three envelopes on her desk.

  “This one,” pointing to the first, “is from our resident magician. This one is from Ortagor,” he pointed to the second one, “And this, from our informant.”

  Calanthé frowned, “All at once?” This was rather unusual, as the only one who reported regularly was Degurechaff herself. According to her last message, they were still marching through Erlenwald.

  “You’ll want to read all three,” Eylembert helpfully supplied.

  Calanthé sighed, before grabbing Degurechaff’s letter first, her eyes quickly scanning the contents as her brows rose. Skipping the pleasantries, the text was quite dry, as usual, though the contents were anything but: ‘An enemy force three thousand strong encountered, their allegiance intentionally masked. The force was defeated with minimal casualties, and their leader was identified as a Nazairi noble, Garrik Belhade. Nazairi involvement near certain, though still being denied. No opposition encountered by enemy on Cintran borders, Attre betrayal certain. Please tell Gera that she should begin reading the Invisible World to the Princess and reward her if she listens well.’

  The Queen swore once she finished reading, “How?”

  Eylembert chuckled, “How did she defeat a force twice her number? How did Nazair muster such a force so quickly without any notice?”

  Calanthé eyed him, “Yes.”

  “Well, the other two letters answer your first question,” he responded.

  The Queen rolled her eyes at the theatrics, grabbing the second letter. Her eyes flitted through Ortagor’s message.

  She skipped the parts about Tanya being a dangerous and subversive radical, as Ortagor’s immovable views on nobility and bloodlines were the main reason why she had chosen him to accompany the sorceress, along with his loyalty and honour, something hard to find amongst the nobility nowadays.

  “A giant, monstrous abomination and consorting with elves?” Calanthé muttered.

  “Indeed,” Eylembert agreed, “The final letter corroborates this. As for your second question, it seems they had made extensive use of the suddenly jobless mercenaries in Metinna. Too quick, perhaps.”

  Calanthé frowned, “Is everything a Nilfgaardian plot, now?”

  Eylembert shrugged, “The intelligence agency is progressing smoothly. We’ve already had some disturbing findings.”

  “Why wasn’t I informed?” The Queen asked, voice frosty.

  The baron raised his hands placatingly, “There was nothing concrete. Merchants whose businesses are nearly defunct, yet always seem to have money. Pilgrims who visit those merchants, then chat with specific guards for just a bit too long…”

  The Queen’s frown had gradually morphed into a giant scowl as Eylembert spoke, “You think Cintra is hopelessly infested with rats.”

  Eylembert shrugged once more, “Too early to say. We’ve barely begun, and some of this seems too brazen to be true, yet…”

  “Why wouldn’t they be brazen when we’ve been so lax?” Calanthé finished.

  The baron nodded.

  “I want examples made,” she hissed, “Send a reply to Degurechaff and tell her to deal with that rat Baldemar. Permanently.”

  Calanthé paused, her wrathful visage turning thoughtful, before she smirked, “But to keep within the rule of law. The evidence is more than enough at this point. The rest of the vultures will hate her even more, but if she sticks to the laws, I will have a good enough excuse to protect her from censure.”

  “The nobles won’t be happy with the Crown either,” the baron pointed out.

  “Tough luck,” Calanthé replied coldly, “We cannot tolerate treason. What happens if Baldemar gets away with it? If the moron at least hid it properly, there might be some leeway. But at this rate, it’s just a matter of time before everyone important figures out what happened. Besides, combined with smuggling assassins into the castle? He has gone too far. I was loath to leave him be for that, but now the pendulum of political necessity swings the other way.”

  Eylembert nodded, “What of his contributions in Hochebuz? I seem to recall that man swinging that giant sword of his around most impressively.”

  Calanthé paused, parsing the baron’s point. Baldemar’s contributions in Hochebuz were significant, it was true.

  She tapped her desk, “His son will be allowed to inherit,” she paused, until Eylembert nodded, then she continued, “We will use the attack as a pretext to send reinforcements to Marnadal.”

  Eylembert winced, “Vissegerd won’t be happy, compared to Temeria, Nazair isn’t-”

  “Who said anything about the royal army?” Calanthé cut him off, “We will force the nobility to cough up conscripts, this is the perfect pretext to strip them of manpower,” The Queen paused, a vicious gleam in her eye, “And of course, necessary for the safety of the realm.”

  “More power to Degurechaff, then,” Eylembert noted drily.

  Calanthé fell silent.

  “When forced to feed a devil,” she spoke, “one should choose the one with the tighter leash. Degurechaff’s authority stems directly from mine, she is bound by my word, as well as the rules of the Brotherhood.”