There were two factions within the Council of Dukes. One sought a powerful show of force to discourage anyone else from rising up as the Furies had. This faction was represented by Captain Alcimenes with his no-quarter declaration. The other favored an alternative solution that would not be so costly.

It was a simple matter of calculation. Every single trained fighting man of theirs was worth at least twenty rebels. If the Hird's numbers were depleted too much, they would have no choice but to rely more on mercenaries they could ill afford or resort to peasant levies that could revolt at any time.

Before he saw how fanatical Tisiphone was, the Archduke had hoped she and the rest of the Furies would accept exile. He would be rid of them and they would have their lives. It was a fair deal for any reasonable person. Only they were not reasonable people.

Speaking of unreasonable people, those damnable Gladians certainly did not help matters any. The Archduke knew nothing about the supposed sorcerer in Tisiphone's employ, but you would think an adder slithered out of the bushes the way Lord Mark and Lady Sonia reacted to him. Apparently he was a servant of the previous King of Gladius, but so was Captain Einar of the Wolf-feeders. There was no warmth to their meeting with Captain Einar, yes, but they were not out for blood the moment they laid eyes on him either. If the Archduke was inclined to thinking more charitably of his Gladian guests, he may have considered that their reaction was entirely justified, but now was not the time for charitable thoughts, or much of any thoughts at all, as he was still reeling from the shock of the chaos that had broken out all around him.

About ten of the horsemen of the Archduke's escort were leading him back to the camp. Captain Alcimenes should have been with him. Surely he was not fool enough to lead their forces from the front. Maybe he thought the rebels would pursue the larger contingent and so used himself as a decoy to give the Archduke a better chance to escape. If that were so, there was no need for him to personally lead the decoy. If anything were to happen to him, who would command their troops?

The horsemen were giving the main formation wide berth as they circumvented it. With the vast majority of their forces advancing on the enemy, short work would be made of the rebels. The question was how much of the rebels' strength had already taken to the field. If it was all or even most, then the battle was as good as won. If not, however...

And just as his mind was working again, something struck the Archduke in the head, unhorsing him. He landed hard on the ground, bouncing and rolling a little before he was left sprawled out like a rug. Though his head was swimming, a sudden terror seized him for fear of being trampled by the horsemen who were behind him. In a panic, he curled up into a ball, shielding his head with his arms as best he could.

Some of the horses neighed in protest as they were brought to a swift stop. Then there was a sick squelching sound. The Archduke lowered his arms to look and saw one of the horsemen impaled on his comrade's lance.

He was answered by yet another skewering him much as the first one.

One rider started to back away, agitatedly swinging his lance to the left and right, fearing and attack from either side.

The lead horseman, keeping his lance leveled at the one who had killed the man next to him, tried to talk down the shouting man.

The rider to the shouting man's right said, "Thorbjorn, to me. I have your side."

The rider kept his lance lowered and tried getting closer to Thorbjorn, but this was the wrong move to make.

The second time was not so much a warning as Thorbjorn thrusted his lance as he was shouting. It would seem the man meant him no harm after all, as he was run through without making the slightest move against the panicked horseman.

This proved to be the perfect distraction for the two proven traitors among them, who did not waste the opportunity to strike at two more while a third between them had his horse leap over the Archduke to attack the rider opposite to him. The lead horseman was slain without being able to put up much of a struggle, but the two in the rear struck a mutual deathblow. As the treacherous horseman in the rear fell from his saddle, there was something akin to seafoam that washed over his body, revealing not a Hirdman but one of the lieutenants of Tisiphone from the meeting tent.

The same seafoam washed over the other two traitors, exposing a second lieutenant and Tisiphone herself. Thorbjorn, the last Hirdman standing, looked on in horror, as much for what he had just witnessed as for having just killed an innocent comrade.

Thorbjorn's lance was stuck in his comrade's body and did not yield when he tried to draw it out, so after a couple failed tugs, he abandoned it and drew his sword. He could not afford the delay, however. Tisiphone sprang at him, striking his arm with a flail to unbalance him, leaving him easy prey for a well-placed thrust from the rebel lieutenant.

Tisiphone turned to the Archduke.

Although there was a sword on the Archduke's hip, he made no move to draw it. The thought did not even occur to him. It would not have done him much good anyway. He was no warrior. He was at his core a merchant and the son of merchants. Coin was the only weapon he understood and it would not avail him here.

The Archduke might have disputed the charge—not that it would have done him any good—, but as he opened his mouth to speak, it was as if his throat was squeezed shut.

Tisiphone looked off in the distance toward the camp.

In truth, there was a cask of Ardovan wine he meant to open up first. Yes, it was still early in the morning, but after the disastrous parley, he needed something to calm his nerves. Of course, the parley was nothing compared to having his escort butchered in front of him and finding himself at the mercy of his enemies.

From the Archduke's face, Tisiphone undoubtedly saw that her words were more true than false. She scowled at first, but then her lips twisted into a grin.

The Archduke did not think he could move even if he wanted to. Tisiphone's patience did not last long, though. She went over and seized him by the collar, yanking him to his feet. She then put her arm around him and held him by the jaw to direct his head where she wanted him to look.

Her lieutenant went over to the body of his dead companion and took a horn from him. Putting the horn to his lips, he sounded a call that could not be confused for the buglers of the Hird or their allies. When he did so, out to the west and south of the camp, the ground began to shift and move, revealing countless shapes of men rising up. There had to be thousands of them. The Archduke could only stare in stunned silence as those thousands of men marched on the camp.

Only a hundred or so had been left behind to guard the camp. Other than that, there were only the camp followers and the baggage train. Even if they only faced an ill-trained and ill-equipped mob, they would not last long against such numbers.

It was the Archduke's own order that kept all the men within the bounds of the camp lest they agitate the rebels before the parley. If they had kept a wider perimeter, would the rebels have managed such a trick?

With the destruction of the camp, even if the rebels were routed here, the Archduke's men would not be able to manage a sustained campaign to wipe them out. They would have to retreat back to Pik to regroup, but it was difficult enough getting together the provisions for this expedition this time. If the people were to learn about a move to claim more of their limited stores, it could spark a riot.

No pleading, begging or bargaining would save the Archduke at this point. He was all too aware that he was a man of little courage, but perhaps he could die with some dignity.

Mustering what bravery he could, the Archduke said, "And this is the part where you kill me, I suppose."

Tisiphone faced the Archduke, holding him by the sides of his head. And so the last thing he saw was not the camp falling under attack but rather Tisiphone herself before she drove her thumbs into his eye sockets. The Archduke's scream was just one voice among the hundreds, the thousands on the battlefield.