Dawn broke slowly over Hautterre, painting the towers in golden hues. The rains had subsided, but the air remained damp, heavy with foreboding. Aldric stood over the council table, staring at the map spread before him. The Senne River curled like a natural loop to the south, its waters swollen from recent storms. According to the latest reports, enemy movement had been spotted there.
Charles entered unannounced, his face hardened by sleepless nights.
"Our sentries confirmed a detachment. No banners. Light troops, possibly scouts or a vanguard."
Aldric nodded slowly."Then the duke is no longer probing. He's claiming ground."
Pierre, always in the background, stepped forward with a wooden tablet."I've prepared a list of villagers near the river. Many have fled north, but some might still be there if they need evacuation."
Aldric took the tablet, scanning the names quickly. His gaze stopped on one."This village… Lestienne. Is it near the old bridge?"
"Less than two leagues," Pierre replied.
Aldric turned to Charles."Send a mounted patrol. I want that bridge destroyed. If the enemy tries to cross there, they'll have to swim or find boats."
Charles raised an eyebrow."What if the villagers protest?"
"We'll offer them shelter in Hautterre. And grain for the winter. But we can't let that crossing stay open."
The day passed in a blur of orders, movements, and updates. The southern granary was partially flooded, and three supply carts had sunk into the mud. Aldric moved through the courtyards with a frown. Every logistical failure could become a fatal opening.
In the armory, he found an unexpected figure: Lady Isabeau, younger sister to a lord who had yet to choose between Aldric and the duke. She wore a travel cloak and carried a sword at her side.
"I didn't expect to see you here," Aldric said, stopping a few steps away.
"I refuse to sit idle while others decide the fate of these lands," she answered, her eyes resolute. "My brother hesitates. But I don't."
Aldric tilted his head."And what have you decided?"
"That you're not a savior. Nor a tyrant. You're a man... who seems determined to do things differently. That might be enough."
She handed him a parchment."A map of the forest paths. Old hunting trails. My father used them to avoid tax collectors. Maybe now they'll serve you."
Aldric accepted it with a slight smile."Every bit of help is welcome."
That night, the map room filled with captains, spies, and messengers. Aldric traced three possible enemy routes, using the new map. His finger stopped on a curve in the river.
"Here. If they cross, it'll be at this point. It's less guarded and more stable after the rains. I want an ambush prepared."
Charles crossed his arms."What if they veer off course?"
"Then we'll hunt them through the forest paths. But here... here we hurt them. The kind of hurt that sends a message."
"What message?" asked one of the younger captains.
Aldric looked up."That Hautterre does not fear the lion's roar. We are wolves. And we bite."
Preparations were intense. Under torchlight and veiled moonlight, men dug pits, set logs ready to roll across the path, and placed archers in the trees. Aldric's plan was simple, but ruthless: let the first wave cross, then trap them and annihilate them.
Before dawn, Aldric walked the positions, offering brief words to his men. Some trembled from the cold; others, from fear. He didn't tremble. He couldn't.
Pierre approached, anxiety on his face."What if we fail?"
Aldric met his eyes."Then we fall back. But not without leaving scars."
The boy swallowed hard and nodded.
The first horn sounded just as the sky began to lighten. Enemy troops crossed the river in small rafts. They expected no resistance.
The second horn triggered the trap.
Logs thundered down from the ridge, blocking the retreat. Arrows sang from above. Hautterre's infantry, hidden in the underbrush, emerged with a ferocious cry.
The battle was short but bloody. Trapped and disoriented, the enemy fought for their lives. One tried to surrender. Aldric saw him lower his sword.
"Take him alive!" he shouted.
Moments later, it was over. Aldric descended among the bodies, his boots splashing through bloodied mud.
The prisoner—a pale young man—was dragged before him.
"Who sent you? What were your orders?"
The youth looked up, defiant."We fear no bastard without a crown."
Aldric crouched in front of him, calm as ever."Then you'll soon learn what a bastard without a crown can do."