Belgen de Gramont, Count of Gramont, the Stone Wall, strolled easily down the hallways of the Royal Palace in the company of the Duchess de la Valliere, gray eyes observing the chaos that was beginning to unfold all about him. In his day, and that day had not been so very long ago, the nobility had comported themselves with more dignity during a crisis.

It was the times, he thought, too many noble sons raised on soft living, too many old Nobles who had lost their iron over the years. Present company excluded of course, he thought as he laid an appraising eye on the Duchess. Karin Desiree had certainly grown into womanhood well, and then kept on growing into. She'd kept her grace and beauty better than most women her age. He almost envied the Duke if not for what he knew of her personality, now there was a Rose with some thorns! But at least he knew where she stood and that they were of like mind on the current matter.

"Just like old times, is it not, Karin?" Belgen asked, receiving a glare from the Duchess.

He waved his hands quickly. "Ah, just an attempt at small talk!" He assured quickly.

This seemed to placate the woman as she sighed softly. "I'd hardly describe this as being like old times." A small gesture was made to the hallway crowded with Noblemen, most awaiting their opportunity for an audience with the Queen and Cardinal Mazarin.

Belgen grimaced as he recalled the event of not but an hour ago. The Regent, Cardinal Mazarin, had called an emergency meeting of the House of Peers, summoning the many nobles who were still in Tristania after witnessing the Treaty Signing that morning. Most had arrived in a state of open annoyance at being called back on such short notice having intended to enjoy the sights and diversions of the Capital before returning to their properties. The Baron himself had been fetched while having a late lunch and game of crowns with an old acquaintance at his establishment.

Belgen had sat in the elevated pews over the man floor, listening with the other Barons and highly placed Chevaliers as the Cardinal delivered the shocking news. The Rebel Forces under the command of the rogue priest Oliver Cromwell, had communicated their possession of a document that jeopardized the upcoming marriage alliance between Tristain and Germania. Though the exact contents of this document remained a state secret, the Cardinal vouched for its authenticity and that the threat was tantamount to a declaration of war. After conversing with Tristain's spymasters and military commanders, it was estimated that the Rebel forces could launch an invasion in as little as one month time, a raid in force with their air fleet in little more than a week.

The floor the House of Peers had exploded with shouts and cries of protest. Nobles had abandoned their dignity, Dukes screaming at the top of their lungs, Counts climbing over seats and one another to have their questions answered. Pools of calm had existed among the madness, like the last ice of the spring snow melt, mostly the martial families, but also some of the more more self interested sorts like that damnable Count of Woestte. The Cardinal had demanded order, roaring for the fools to take their seats, but to little avail. After the third attempt to assert himself, Mazarin had instructed for the meeting to break until evening so that heads might be allowed to cool. In the meant time, the Crown had opened itself to receive delegations at the Palace and to answer the most pressing questions shared by the nobility.

As he departed the house of peers, intent on making his way to the Palace Eastern wing, where the more militarily inclined nobility would now doubt be congregating to advise the crown, he had been intercepted by a Manticore knight and soon found himself in the less than charming company of the Valliere Matriarch herself.

Though he lacked political tact, and his business ventures were more often that not failures, the retired General was still an experienced hand when it came to shuffling an army, and at least one person with some clout seemed to remember that.

Returning to the here and now, Belgen chuckled a little. "How is this not like old times, outnumbered, outgunned, out of our minds . . ." He leaned in and whispered under his breath "Those surrender terms were rather favorable, wouldn't you say." The murderous glare he received from the Duchess promised a swift death if he ever again so much as joked about such things.

"Perhaps it is a little like old times." She said, voice barely above a whisper. "My urge to strangle you has certainly returned."

At last, satisfied that he had gotten the rise he had been looking for, the Baron gave a small half bow, growing serious once more. "It's a grave situation we find ourselves in one way or the other." Belgen appraised. Not that one needed to be a military genius to determine that. Tristain, though prosperous for its size, had never been known for the might of it armies beyond the unusually had proportion of mages that they could field on a regular basis.

"The disparity in military power is almost too large to grasp." The Duchess agreed. "We will have to exploit every defensive advantage if we are to give the army time to assemble.

Belgen ran a hand through his hair, though he was in his fiftieth year, his blonde hair was only now beginning to grow peppered with gray. To those who did not know him, Belgen de Gramont was not an inspiring or particularly impressive man, in fact he was somewhat on the slender side of things, though he kept himself in good physical condition through an ongoing love of fencing, his limbs possessing a wiry strength than many larger and more corpulent men his age would struggle to match. It was only when he came into his own over a map table or leading soldiers in battle that most accepted that he was indeed one of a long line of celebrated Tristanian soldiers.

"Who's the supreme commander of the armed forced right now? It's La Remee if I do recall." He asked. He had sought retirement at the same time as many of the aged military staff of Tristain and so when he had departed, many of his old contacts had done so as well.

"That would be correct." Karin answered as they hit their stride, walking down the Eastern hall towards the Palace War Room.

Belgen scowled, in distaste. "Eren's a good ship Captain and he knows how to move a fleet around, but he's hardly cut out to lead the entire army." Of course, Count La Remee had the political connection to hold the position. He supposed they were lucky that the Count was almost as good as he boasted and was in fact a good and honorable officer of Tristain's armed forces.

The War Room doors were opened by the flanking Musketeers guards and the two nobles stepped into the heart of a madness. The room which had hardly been touched in over a decade was now a whirl of chaotic motion. Cork boards and chock boards lined the walls or stood beside the central meeting table. Aides and junior officers rushed to and fro, laying out maps and collecting markers to identify troops dispositions.

At the center of it all was Count Eren La Remee, a gray haired man with still dark whiskers, he was a navy officer and a man well respected, even by his rivals. The Count was currently leaned over the meeting table examining some report just delivered to him by a messenger, of all things a Fae. Judging by the girl's delicate bone structure, and exquisite figure, he supposed she was likely a Sylph. Such lovely creatures to have the good fortune of having as new Neighbors to the Gramont estate, they and the Cait Syth alike. Noting his distraction, the Duchess reminded him of the need for professionalism via a swift but concealed kick to the left shin. He wince slightly, of course she would remember to aim for the left, he thought.

Even so, he let his eyes follow the girl's departure. The Fae intrigued him on more merits than their aesthetic, although there was a great deal of merit in that alone to his delight, he had read his sons letters time and time again and compared them to his own dealings with the Sylphs and Cait Syth. They were uniformly strange being, full of ideas and odd mannerisms, but undeniable able if novice fighters and possessing many unique and powerful magics. The Fae were a wild card, an unknown factor in all of this. They might prove inconsequential one way of the other, or they might offer some means of salvation. It remained to be seen.

"Ah, it's been a long time General Gramont." La Remee said, noticing the latest arrival and bowing to his former comrade in arms.

"Indeed it has." Belgen said as he looked over the table. "Since the last Gallian incursion if I do recall. I see that you're already setting things out." He winced as he noted the troop placements, yes, La Remee was certain a sailor first and a ground legged soldier second.

"Only some preliminary ideas." La Remee confessed. "I hardly call them worthy of being called any sort of battle plan. Perhaps you could offer us some of your deeply held wisdom, as an advisor of course." The Count gave Belgen a meaningful look that said not to ask for too much.

Belgen frowned, did Eren really think he was going to walk in and demand his own regiment? Admittedly, as much as he might love to do so, he wasn't likely to succeed with the bridges he'd burned over the years. Some of them quite literally.

"Now then, everyone appears to be here." La Remee noted, nodding to himself as if satisfied. "Why don't you all take your seats, Gentlemen, ah . . . Duchess de la Valliere?" He asked, looking mystified as Karin took a seat at the head of the table.

"I am here merely here to observe on behalf of my husband. Please be so kind as act as if I were not here." The Duchess said, folding her hands delicately in her lap. Though her face remained neutral, Belgen had known the Duchess long enough to think that she was probably laughing inside at her own little joke

"Ah, of course." The Supreme Commander said, quite unsure of how to responde.

Soon enough, everyone was seated around the long table and in chairs set around the perimeter. Most in attendance were military officers, the Captain of the Capital Garrison, the flag staff of the Fleet, and the Generals of the army, or else retired military men, old soldiers such as himself. The solitary exceptions were the small handful of Fae seated at the far corner of the table, four in all, including the rather glamorous black garbed Countess of Muisca and the fiery haired Count of Gaddan. It would be interesting to hear what they had to say, if anything. Neither the Queen nor Cardinal Mazarin were in attendance, there was no need for what was simply a preliminary meeting.

"I now call the emergency strategy session to order!" La Remee announced as he took his own seat as the head of the table. "The purpose of this session is to devise strategies for the defense of the Kindgom in the event of an Albionian attack."

"The first thing I would like to know is what's already being done." A high pitched, almost obnoxious voice came from only a few seats over. The owner of said voice was the diminutive Baron de Tott, an ordinance officer, and a man who it was said preferred horses as large as he was short as a means of compensating for his height. Some said he was compensating for other deficiencies as well.

"For the time being, orders have been sent to all Garrisons and the mob hunting forces to consolidate at the border Forts and stand by for further orders." La Remee said. "The fleet has been placed on high alert and the battle line is being gathered her as we speak. As a precaution against surprise attacks we are also moving our cruiser and cavalry patrols out to the edge of Albion's airspace."

"Will this not cause a problem with the remaining mobs?" A broad shouldered and mustached man in the uniform of a Ground Cavalry Officers questioned. "I was under the impression that they are an ongoing problem even now."

The Count of Gaddan made his first contribution to the meeting. "For the time being, we've completely cleared the major roadways and many of the minor thoroughfares. Though the mob behavior has grow erratic, they are still very territorial creatures and will be reluctant to spread out for the time being. I would however advise posting signs along the roadways to direct travelers away from the less used roads."

"Thank you, Lord Mortimer." La Remee nodded sincerely to the Faerie. Many of the surrounding officer eyes him with suspicion or distrust, neither of which seemed to effect him in the least.

"As the Count has said, the Mobs can be considered partially dealt with for the time being while we see to more pressing matters." La Remee laced his fingers, looking over the backs of his hands at Lord Mortimer. "On that note, I would like your feedback on how we might best make use mob clearing troops to support the Army and Navy. It has been suggested that we divide them into companies under the command of each regimental commander."

The Faerie Lord didn't answer immediately, at first Belgen thought he may simple not have heard, but then Mortimer looked up as if had just come to a decision. "I agree that deploying the mob patrol units in company strength units makes sense. It's workable with out own raid force dynamic. But I protest any attempt to place them under the direct command of a Tristanian regiment."

"May I ask why?" The Question came from the same cavalry officer. "I am under the impression that your forces are unblooded in battle. Surely it would be best that they be placed under our commanders for field operations."

"Again we agree half and half." Mortimer said. "We lack experience in battle, but at the same time, your own officers lack experience in Commanding Faeries. I would suggest deploying Fae Companies autonomously alongside the regimental commands, preferably grouped something like your Mage Ground Cavalry for the time being."

"Sensible." The Cavalry Officer admitted. "I supposed it would be best to trust your men and . . . women to know best about their own abilities. Perhaps an attache to company, a Dragon Knight to act as an adviser?"

"Such would be appreciated." Mortimer agreed, closing his eyes once more.

The matter could have been settled there if not for the protest of Baron de Tott. "I don't like it. One way or another it smacks of distrust !You Fae have caused us a lot of trouble already, and here you insult the wisdom of our Noble Officers!

The looks around the table said that de Tott was not the only one who thought this way. Belgen crossed his arms in exacerbation, by the Founder they had already wasted enough time with this foolishness! Let it be sorted out later in the details.

"It's hardly distrust." Mortimer said without opening his eyes. "When you speak of wisdom, you speak of experience gathered through countless battles, axioms that are developed, refined, and disseminated. That experience is naturally to be valued and respected, but it is not a universal constant. Paradigms change, and inevitably, when they chance, the old lessons must be relearned with new blood." Red eyes opened and skewered de Tott viciously from across the table. "Perhaps you have not noticed, but we are not nearly so numerous that we can afford to pay that toll lightly."

De Tott was left gaping angrily while he struggled for a comeback. "Y-You! We agreed just now to honor your blasted treaty. You firstborns accepted becoming subjects of the Crown and fighting in the nations defense in times of war! How dare you claim that and then cower when directed! You . . ."

"I believe that is quite enough." La Remee stepped in, finally taking control before things got too out of hand. "On the matter of numbers, one of the subjects to discuss is what is to be done about our numerical disparity. Put simply, the Rebels have us at a complete disadvantage at the moment." La Remee waved a sheaf of papers held in one hand. The very same papers that had been delivered by the sylph courier not more than a few minutes ago.

"Of course, accurate numbers are difficult to come by, but working with the worst case scenarios, the Rebels could have upwards of fifty two ships of the line and over one hundred rated frigates and cruisers. Estimates based on prewar forces and the number of free companies hired give them something on the order of eighty to ninety thousand ground troops and perhaps as many as four hundred and fifty Dragon Knights. If the pre war troop numbers and mage distribution in the mercenary forces remain consistent, than one in fifteen of those ground troops will be mages." La Remee said as if giving nothing more exciting than an account of the weather.

As he spoke, La Remee began to make gestures with a pointer which also turned out to be a magical focus. With a casual wave of his wand he summoned forth a number of the small troop markers and arrayed them around Albion atop a large map spread over the center of the table. Once satisfied he began doing the same with Tristain, but this time with blue painted markers. "To oppose them we have only twenty six ships of the line and sixty of our own cruisers and frigates. Our ground forces number only fifteen thousand with an additional two thousand Faerie volunteers in the mob patrols. We also have only one hundred and sixty Dragon Knights, less than half of their total number. While our mage ratio is much better, one in seven, it is overcome in terms of absolute numbers."

When finished, the map painted a grim picture. Even if these were only worst case estimates, the Rebel forces would have ample forces to simply crush Tristain's navy and airborne knights, at which point they would enjoy total air dominance and their armies near impunity beneath the guns of their fleet.

"So what you're saying is that we're outnumbered two to one in ships, about two and half to one in dragons, and five or six to one in troops." Lady Morgiana summed up casually." The brutal assessment seemed to sober even the staunchest of soldiers in the room. Even Karin paused to bit her lip. "Look on the bright side."

"There is no bright side." One of the gathered officers grunted. A fair appraisal, Belgen thought.

"I wouldn't say that." Morgiana leaned over the table with a sly grin. "We've got'm outnumbered an infinity to one in Faeries. That's got to count for something."

"We've also been informed that the Griffin Knights may . . . be made available to support Dragon Knights directly. That brings the air cavalry to almost one hundred and ninety." Lord Mortimer said carefully. Something about his manner said that there was story behind that.

"What, the Griffin Knights?" de Tott spluttered. "But those are her highness's Royal Guards! Why would they be seconded to the army?!" And how had Mortimer learned about this so quickly? Gramont wondered. It couldn't be coincidence that the treaty with the Fae had been signed so smoothly just prior to the revelation about Albion. The Crown was putting a great deal of trust in its newest subjects. Perhaps by choice, perhaps by necessity.

"Lord Mortimer is correct." La Remee stated calmly. "For the time being, the Manticore Knights will take exclusive responsibility for the safety of the Royal Family. While this does help a little, it is only a little. Even worse, beyond the numerical disparity in ships, the vessels of Albion's navy are of generally superior make and design to our own. We will be badly pressed unless we can concentrate the battle line. Ideally, the best we can hope for is that Albion launches a raid in force which overextends itself, at which point we may be able to catch them when they attempt to retreat with our own battle line."

"Assuming they don't simply send enough ships to end a fleet battle decisively." Another Naval officer stated.

Lord Mortimer stroke his chin as he looked over the map. "Tell me, in our world, battles between two equal strength fleets tended to be indecisive. I assume that holds true here as well?"

La Remee seemed slightly surprised by the question, Belgen was as well, it betrayed both broad knowledge and a lack of detail about naval engagements. "That . . . is generally correct." La Remee agreed. "The Albionian Commanders will want to maintain a reserve force, at least half of their fleet, to deter a counter attack by Germanian opportunists or any punitive raids by our own forces."

"Then I would assume that Albion's commanders also know that a fleet engagement will be at, at worst, indecisive." Lord Mortimer steeped his finger thoughtfully. "At best we can only harass them."

"Not entirely." Le Remee explained. "With enough warning, we may be able to maneuver the fleet so that the wind gauge favors us. If we can amass enough of our Frigates and Dragon Knights in support, we can force their fleet to do battle far from Albion where we will have the advantage of resupply from the ground and enough amassed gunnery to sink them. The ability to receive fresh windstones will also allow our ships to sail into the wind without consideration for discharging their ballast which would give us the edge in maneuverability. This plan would naturally hinge on surprise and very rapid communications. A . . . Courier network of sorts would have to be arranged." La Remee eyed lord Mortimer.

The Salamander's face remained neutral as ever, but for an instant his lips seemed to twitch. Interesting. "That would naturally weaken the dragon Knights and Fae forces available to respond to an attack."

La Remee seemed apologetic. "I fear you might be correct, but alas, it is the best we can devise given the circumstances."

"Then I assume this should be considered a plan for the short term." Mortimer surmised. "A best case scenario as it were."

"Meaning?" Another Naval officer asked.

"Your . . . Our intelligence says we have a week before Albion can be prepared to launch a raid in force. Within one to two months they may be able to invade properly. What then?"

The table was silent once more. La Remee made to speak, but then closed his mouth before uttering the first word. Belgen felt for him, he'd fought a few losing battles, more than most. La Remee was a good sailor, but he just didn't have the ships to win and it was all too easy to point that out. The topic was shifted to procurement and the hiring of mercenary forces to bolster the Tristanian army.

Assuming that the emergency funds requested from the nobility were raised in a timely fashion, it was surmised that in the time they had, they could gather around thirty thousand free company soldiers from Germania or Gallia. At best, this would make the ground battle roughly even. Though there were concerns that Albion had already picked up the best of the mercenary units on the continent, leaving mostly low grade or poorly equipped free companies or those already in the employ of other powers and so not available for hire. It also ignored that they couldn't win on the ground if Albion's fleet was bombarding them from the skies.

'What a mess.' Belgen thought as the meeting began to break for the evening. No matter how the problem was looked at, Albion's fleet was just too strong. They'd need a miracle of the Founder to level the playing field.

By the time the meeting let out, a brief break for fresh air, Belgen was feeling generally quite depressed with the whole affair. All they could do was defend, and they could do that only poorly. Tristain had relied too often in the past on its close ties with Albion. And now to find itself on the other side of Albion's powerful fleets, it was simply too much. The retired General made his way to one of the tall windows left partially ajar to let in the night air and was pleased by the scent that wafted in from the Rose gardens, quite reinvigorating, he found his constitution almost immediately buoyed. Now if only whoever was arguing down the hall would just be silent . . .

"My apologies Lord Mortimer, but you've already read over everything we have on Albion. All that is left are road maps and a few old documents." Leaning back from the window with his hands tucked in pockets, Belgen saw the Salamander Lord looming over a terrified looking servant. An impressive feat given that said servant was in fact taller than the Faerie.

"Surely there must be others that I could make use of. Navigational maps of the coast perhaps?" Lord Mortimer insisted. "If not, the road maps will do so long as they show the coastal regions."

The man, he couldn't have been much more than a boy really, nodded quickly. "Please just one moment." He disappeared back through a doorway adjacent to the War Room and returned a moment later with a rolled tube of paper and several tattered and yellowed sheets folded up tightly and tied off with twine. "I'm afraid these are all we have. Even the spares are in the War Room right now."

"Yes, I suppose they would be." Lord Mortimer said, unrolling the map, he looked it over, squinting as he read the text carefully. "Thank you, that will be all for now, except . . . " Looking around as if realizing something he ought to have noticed before. "I wouldn't suppose I could make use of your map table."

The servant gestured into the map room. "Of course, this way Lord Mortimer."

"What is all of this about?" Belgen asked with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. Mortimer's behavior had been strange. Even for a Fae, he seemed to know things, more than even trusted Noble Officers, and that odd exchange between La Ramee and the Salamander Lord when discussing communications had been quite suspicious if one payed any sort of attention.

Mortimer gave him a look that was equal parts disdain and distrust. Of course, they hadn't been properly introduced yet. "Belgen de Gramont, Baron of Gramont." He half bowed to the Salamander Lord. If he had the Fae's system correct, then the Fae before him held a rank equivalent to a count.

"Good, you two have met each other." Karin said as she approached from the down the hall. With a small wave of her hand she dismissed the servant standing behind Lord Mortimer, the boy thankfully taking his leave.

The Duchess was certainly looking a bit more worn. Doubtless it wasn't just the fatigue that left her weary. Half of what had been discussed had been nothing but petty politics, how to wrestle funds from the Nobility to fill the war chest, and who would command what regiment. The very things that neither he nor Karin had any stomach for. Though to her credit, Karin had grown much more adept in that role even as Belgen's skills atrophied.

"Lord Mortimer," The Duchess addressed, "This is General Gramont. He is one of the best Earth Mages I have ever met and an able commander of men." Belgen was almost too busy preening at the compliment to notice Karin's expression grow momentarily resolute. "His Loyalty is not to be doubted."

Mortimer stared at the Duchess and then, nodding, turned back to Belgen. "Gramont . . . As in Guiche de Gramont?"

Belgen's mood soured almost instantly. "Unfortunately." He sighed in exasperation. "I do hope my son hasn't made a nuisance of himself . . . again."

Guiche, so much like his brothers, so very much like Belgen himself, but lacking a certain . . . quality. The lad simply didn't have the iron. Belgen blamed it on the coddling he had received from his mother. Not that he'd ever say that to his wife. Ah his beautiful Monalise!

"Then you haven't been told." Mortimer concluded, looking warily to the Duchess.

"Told what?" Belgen asked, growing on edge. What had his son gotten himself into now? In his last missive, Guiche had been babbling about some great honor he had been bestowed, an opportunity to serve the Kingdom as a proper Gramont. A hand slowly rose to the former General's face. "Karin, please do tell me that Guiche hasn't gone and done anything so very foolish."

"Tell me." Lord Mortimer delivered flatly. "How foolish would you consider being trapped in Newcastle at this very moment?"

Again Belgen had thought that nothing was left that could surprise him this day, and again he found himself proven wrong. Blanching, "Newcastle?" His head spun back to the Duchess who simply gave a small nod.

"He volunteered." Karin said as if that explained everything. "He's certainly his father's son and I knew that as a Gramont his loyalty would be impeccable."

"You? You sent Guiche of all people into the middle of a war zone?!" He reached out with his right hand, almost grabbing hold of Karin by the collar before he caught himself. "Karin. This is . . . What could possibly have possessed you to do something so reckless?!"

"You seem to have a certain lack of faith in your son." The Duchess observed dispassionately. "I wouldn't have expected that, seeing as he's partly responsible for thwarting the assassination of Prince Wales Tudor."

And again surprise took him. Assassination? The retired General placed a hand against the wood paneled wall to steady himself. "Perhaps I should sit while you two explain." Both the Fae Lord and the Heavy Wind nodded sympathetically.

He was lead into the map room a long, narrow space lined with cubbyholes and bookshelves filled with tomes and yellowing papers and lit by mage light and many, small, oil lamps.

Belgen listened as Mortimer and then Karin briefed him on everything that had taken place over the past week. The love letter and the missing Faeries. The departure of Guiche along with Viscout Wardes and a Fae agent. The Viscount's betrayal and the theft of the Princess' letter. The reports that they were receiving even now by means of Faerie magic. And his son's part in all of this, small though it was. It certainly went a long way to explain the peculiarities that he had observed during the strategy meating and previously in the day in the House of Peers.

Belgen chuckled weakly, "It must be true what they say about the Founder's softness for fools and children."

"For what it's worth, Belgen, responsibility does rest partly on my shoulders." Karin said with uncharacteristic softness. To think he would ever here that short tempered girl being kind.

"What?" Belgen looked up. "Perish the thought!" He said, getting back to his feet, mind already racing. "A traitor in our midst in one of the most trusted offices in the land?! I say we must count our good fortunes where we can! Though," He glanced over his shoulder to the still open door, "I do have to wonder about this strategy session. If the Captain of the Griffin Knights could betray us then . . ."

"We've already vetted everyone here." Lord Mortimer stated. "Given the betrayal of the Viscount, there is no guarantee that anyone can be trusted. But to trust no one is to paralyze ourselves completely." Belgen could see the merit of that, a calculated risk.

"Everyone gathered here tonight is invested in the Crown." Karin elaborated. "Either military families raised to status for their service, or else long time allies called upon now to serve. Allies such as the Gramonts. They are as trustworthy a group as we may hope to gather."

Belgen bowed once again to the Duchess. "I am, of course, honored that you would think so highly of me, Karin."

The Duchess' eyes narrowed. "Actually, it was La Ramee who wanted your input. I would have left you rotting on your estates."

He bit off a retort, of course she would say something like that at a time like this. "However I may be of service. More over I gladly offer my life to the crown." Standing straight, he looked back to Lord Mortimer and the map he still held in his hand. "Then, I might guess that you are attempting to devise some way to extract your wayward Faeries and my wayward son?"

Mortimer nodded. "A difficult proposition at the moment. Ideally we could retrieve them by ship, but Albion's fleet has every approach covered. Newcastle is completely blockaded and heavily patrolled by Dragon Knights. As mentioned, we do have the ability to communicate with our agent in Newcastle on a nightly basis. I would like to get a better lay of the land before we contact him again."

Leaning over the map table, Belgen read the roads and towns scattered across Northern Albion. The North was sparsely settled country compared to the denser lands around Londinium. Newcastle was situated on an outcropping at the far tip. It was a superb defensive position, almost completely unassailable. It was also completely isolated. There was nowhere for the defenders to run to. And his youngest son was trapped in that. It was all he could do not to despair. Monalise would be furious when she learned and his other son's would no doubt be worried sick for their youngest brother.

"Duchess de la Valliere." A voice came from the doorway of the map room. Another servant had arrived, an older man, breath short.. "The Queen and Cardinal have requested your presence in the Throne Room."

Karin frowned at the thought of more politics. It was a game in which she excelled, but as in her youth, it was not one that she enjoyed. "It seems I am needed elsewhere." The Duchess said. "I do trust you will report on what I miss, Belgen."

"Yes, yes, as you wish!" He waved her off with nary a second glance, already beginning to pore over the map. She departed giving a nonplussed look that was missed by both Belgen and Lord Mortimer.

There was silence between the two men as they studied the maps. It was as if neither even noticed that the other existed, only acknowledging one another as they stepped aside or reached for a compass or ruler. At last, it was Belgen who spoke first after getting the lay of the land. "You said you have a man in Newcastle Fortress. Has he informed you of the strength of the siege?"

"We received an estimate in the last communications." Mortimer said, fishing a small, leather bound book from his pocket. The pages were covered in a dense script that was Foreign to Belgen who prided himself on his fluency in both Romalian and Gemanian and their associated alphabets. "The Royalists estimate that there are roughly twenty thousand troops stationed on the siege line. They are supported by three squadrons of Dragon Knights, six squadrons of Mage Ground Cavalry, and no less than eight batteries of heavy artillery." The Salamander's eyes traced down the page and turned to the next. "The blockade at last count consists of twenty two frigates and two ships of the line, one of them is a second rater commanded by the former Supreme Commander of the Royal Navy."

Belgen cursed to himself, finally, shrugging off his jacket and hanging it from a nearby chair. He fished out his coin purse and began scattering the contents across the table, gathering up the low denominations copper pieces and arranging them around Newcastle. He could have conjured up some proper force markers, but years as a soldier had taught him to loathe squandering his magic needlessly and to make due. "So what did you have in mind?"

"Excuse me?" Mortimer seemed almost taken aback at the question.

"Ideas lad! I can't imagine you haven't given this much thought." They needed ideas! Some proposal to give to Count La Ramee. His youngest son's life now depended on it. He watched the Salamander intently, this man was supposed to be the Fae's most skilled strategist and war leader, yet he hardly looked older than Belgen's third son.

In reply, Mortimer simply raised his hands. "I am, sadly, at a loss." He confessed, voice never wavering from that neutral tone. "At present, only a handful of the SAO survivors show any ability to use their wings for unassisted flight, so our options for retrieval are limited. The best I can devise is a blockade run but . . ." He waved vaguely to the coins representing the gathered Albion forces. "I know little about aerial sailing tactics. I can't imagine a ship fresh from port has the same advantages in the air as it would at sea."

"Aye." Belgen agreed, vaguely recalling something to that effect. "If you wanted to break through that blockade, you'd need a large raiding force. At least one for every two of theirs if you simply wish to break through and beat off pursuit. And there's still no guarantee it would work. La Ramee won't risk that much of the fleet." They'd need every hull they could scrape together just to hang on.

"The Royalists' gun batteries would be able to support the ships once they reach Newcastle." Mortimer observed thoughtfully, hand resting beside Newcastle on the map. "I've been informed the fortress is equipped with a number of heavy cannons to counter long range bombardments."

"If it were just the frigates, you'd be right. but they're not what I'd be worrying about." Belgen explained and pointed to another dot on the map. "This here is the Port City of York, the closest large port to Newcastle. It used to be the home port of the Royal Navy's Northern Squadron and I can't imagine the Rebels have changed that." Without thinking about it, Belgen's right hand fell to his thigh, fingers tapping out a hollow rhythm as he thought aloud. "The blockade will have ships arrayed to catch any runners. They'll see a fleet coming long before it reaches Newcastle's airspace. Any commander worth his salt would send message to York and you'd have a full squadron of the battle line barring down on you as you try to retreat."

Mortimer seemed displeased with this assessment. "Then you are saying that ships of the line would be needed just to break through."

Belgen, shook his head. "I fought on the ground, no in the skies, but I can tell you that you would need half the fleet to do what you're proposing. Any way you look at it, the risks not a fair trade for a few hundred Faeries and a Nobleman's Son." Even for one of his own sons, Belgen thought sorrowfully. The Salamander stood stock still as if struck. "What is it?" Belgen wondered aloud and then realized shamefully his error. "I meant no disrespect to your people . . . Lord Mortimer?"

"Mortimer is just fine." The Salamander Lord murmured, half distracted as he stared again at the coins on the table. "A fair trade . . ." He said under his breath.

"Excuse me?" Belgen asked.

Mortimer placed both hands down on the map, bracketing Newcastle and York. "You know, I'm surprised it didn't occur to me before now. We have a golden opportunity laid out before us." For a moment, Belgen wasn't sure whether the Faerie was on the verge of some grand revelation, or had simply gone mad. And then he noticed the way that the Lord's right hand clutched the coins around Newcastle tightly. "In war, soldiers, ships, and supplies are currency after all. One must hoard them and spend them wisely." Mortimer observed, blood red eyes glinting as he raised his hand and let the coins spill back down across the map. "How many would we need to sink to buy passage off Albion?"

Belgen listened as Mortimer elaborated. It was daring. It was insane. If they were going to make it even remotely workable . . . "We need a Naval Officer in here." Belgen decided, glancing to the door. "Wait here." He gestured to Mortimer before hurrying back to the War Room.

At some point, the meeting had reconvened without them, but that wasn't important now. As La Ramee droned on about consolidating defensive positions and constructing additional fortifications in Tristain's heartland, really things that he had no business talking about, Belgen spotted what he was looking for. He returned to the map room with a second Nobleman in tow.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Captain Fevis, commander of the Flagship Mercator, spluttered before Belgen and Mortimer quickly began to explain. The man fell silent, and then looked at them as if they were mad. Then, he actually started listened to what they were saying. Crossing his arms, he shook his head. "Unworkable." He decided. "You would have to force the Albionian fleet to do battle against a numerically superior force. Albion's fleet doctrine is to always deny battle against a superior foe."

"Then we'll simply have to catch them by surprise and force them to fight." Mortimer said as if he was suggesting nothing more difficult than a bit of light gardening.

Fevis snorted derisively at the Faerie trying to tell him how to do his job. "How pray tell do you plan to do that? There is no higher ground than Albion from which to stand watch!"

"I can think of some ways." Mortimer stated mysteriously.

"As can I." Belgen exchanged a look with Mortimer. "We need a Knight Commander in here." Belgen said, returning once more to the War Room and grabbing the first Squadron Captain he could find. To his delight, the man turned out to be Captain Elting, who had once served under him as a Lieutenant long ago, and now was Captain of the 2nd Dragon Knight Squadron.

The Knight Captain was likewise left speechless by the proposal, but as expected of a Cavalryman, quickly turned his attention to finding some way to make it work. "The biggest problem would be inflicting enough damage before the garrison can respond. You'll have a very short window, even if you can catch them by surprise. Honestly, the Cavalry would better used for screening our ships against Albion's own Dragon Knights. You want dismounted Mage Knights and sappers for something like this, and I'm sad to say, that would be suicide in a place like York."

"Suicide for Mages on foot. But Faeries can do it." Mortimer said confidently. "Our size and mobility suits us to this sort of work."

Elting's brow rose. "I've heard the stories about your people and where you come from." The Knight said, voice betraying a hint of disbelief. "Certainly your men have acquitted themselves well on patrols, and some show promise as soldiers, but are you sure you want to pit merchants and craftsmen against seasoned Albionian mages?"

"Not every one of us was a salary man or student. There are soldiers among us, and others who can fight . . . Excuse me, but I believe this is a job for the Spriggans." It was Mortimer's turn to depart the room briefly, returning in the company of Lady Morgiana and a handful of low ranking army Officers who had grown curious about the selective poaching that was taking place in the War Room.

"What's up Mort?" The First Lord of the Spriggans asked casually as she was shown to a place by the map table.

Belgen found himself starring as Mortimer explained once more what they were devising. He hadn't yet had the pleasure of the Spriggan Lord's company, and the more he watched, the more he thought that a shame. She was certainly unique, even among the varied and beautiful ranks of Fae women. Tall, and broad across the shoulders, very feminine figure, but with a physique that spoke of hard training as a fighter. There was a natural, almost predatory sleekness to her. She was certainly a rose of vicious thorns, but that only made her all the more intriguing. He watched her face grow from curious to intrigued, the smile that began to spread across her thin lips like a poisonous flower in all of its glory.

"Mort, this is a really bad idea. A really, really, bad idea." She breathed as she unsheathed the almost ceremonial looking knife that she carried at her waist, twirling it easily before sinking the blade through York on the map. "Lets do it!"