This wasn't unusual for mercenary work, but having it stated so explicitly meant Marcus Thorne didn't care about maintaining any pretense of civilized warfare.

"How many men total?" asked a thin captain with cold eyes who commanded a company of crossbowmen.

"Including your forces, approximately fifteen thousand," Marcus replied. "Against Sorne's garrison of perhaps fifteen hundred, most of whom are ceremonial guards and local militia. The actual combat-ready forces number maybe six hundred."

"And walls?" Garrett asked. "Fortifications?"

"Sorne's walls are strong but old," Marcus said, moving to the map that showed the city in detail. "My scouts have identified three weak points here, here, and here. We'll focus our assault on these locations while maintaining pressure on the main gates to split their defensive forces."

The scarred young captain leaned back in his chair. "You said we're two days out from Sorne. That's close. Very close. What are we waiting for?"

Marcus's expression flickered with something that might have been annoyance before smoothing back into confidence. "One last piece of the puzzle. A component that will ensure our assault overwhelms their defenses quickly."

"What kind of component?" Garrett's voice carried suspicion.

"That would spoil all the fun," Marcus replied. "My cousin is procuring it as we speak. Shouldn't be more than a few days before we have it."

"Your cousin," the thin captain repeated. "You're trusting family with a critical component of this operation?"

"I'm trusting blood," Marcus corrected. "And gold. My cousin understands that his future prosperity depends on the success of this venture. He won't fail."

"And if he does?" Garrett challenged.

Marcus's smile turned cold. "Then we'll proceed without it. The timeline becomes longer, the casualties higher, but the outcome remains the same. Sorne will fall. Jack Kaiser will die. And House Thorne will finally claim what's rightfully ours."

He moved back to his position at the head of the table, his hands bracing against the wood once more. "Now. Let's discuss the specifics. Attack formations, supply lines, signal protocols. You're being paid well, gentlemen. I expect professional execution."

For the next hour, they planned.

Routes to approach from, timing of assaults, distribution of forces.

The mercenary captains asked questions, raised concerns, negotiated additional payments for certain high-risk objectives.

Marcus answered everything with the confidence of someone who'd been planning this for years.

Which, in truth, he had.

Sorne had been promised to House Thorne generations ago, only to slip away through what Marcus saw as Kaiser manipulation and political theft.

Every insult, every slight, every year of watching the Kaisers prosper while the Thornes struggled had fed his resentment.

And now, finally, he would take it all back.

"One more thing," Garrett said as the meeting began to wind down. "What about after? Assuming we're successful, assuming we take Sorne and bring you Kaiser's head, what happens to those of us who want to collect our pay and disappear?"

"You'll be paid the remainder of your contracts immediately," Marcus assured him. "I'm not looking to build an empire of mercenaries. I need you for this one operation. After that, you're free to take your gold and go wherever you please."

"And those of us who might want more permanent employment?" the scarred young captain asked.

Marcus smiled. "Then we'll discuss opportunities. House Thorne will need reliable men to maintain order in our new holdings. But that's a conversation for after the victory, not before."

The captains nodded, apparently satisfied with the arrangements.

One by one, they began to depart, ducking out of the tent and disappearing into the camp beyond.

When the last mercenary had gone, Marcus remained alone in the command tent, staring at the map of Sorne spread across the table.

His finger traced the outline of the Kaiser estate, lingering on the manor house where Jack Kaiser presumably lived when he was home.

"Soon," Marcus murmured to himself. "Very soon now. I'll make that pompous brat pay for humiliating me."

He moved to a locked chest in the corner of the tent, producing a key from beneath his shirt. Inside, carefully wrapped in silk, lay a portrait.

The woman in the painting was beautiful, with kind eyes and a gentle smile. She wore the faded colors of House Thorne, and around her neck hung a pendant that Marcus recognized from his childhood.

His mother.

"I'm doing this for you," he said quietly to the portrait. "For everything they took from us. For every promise they broke. For every year you suffered watching our house decline while they prospered."

He carefully rewrapped the portrait and returned it to the chest, locking it away.

When he turned back to the maps, his expression had hardened into something cold and determined.

Jack Kaiser's death would be just the beginning. The entire Kaiser line would learn what it meant to cross House Thorne.

Marcus moved to the tent's entrance, pulling aside the canvas flap to look out across his assembled force.

Fifteen thousand men filled the valley, their camps spreading across the land like a military city.

Campfires brunging the only light in the darkness. Weapons glinted in the firelight. The sounds of men preparing for war filled the air, metal on stone, orders being shouted, horses neighing.

"A few more days," Marcus said to himself. "Just a few more days, and everything changes."

Two days' march away, Sorne sat unaware, its Duke and Duchess traveling to court, its heir missing, its defenses unprepared for what was coming.

Marcus smiled, and this time the expression reached his eyes, cold and hungry and utterly without mercy.

Little did Marcus know that Jack was fully aware of what he was planning. With the exception of one small detail.

----

It was almost peaceful.

Until twenty-five riders appeared at the estate gates.

The guards at the entrance called for their captain immediately, recognizing the banners and crests that accompanied the delegation.

Five major noble houses and twenty minor ones, all arriving simultaneously.

House Veyra's colors were silver and blue.

House Arydn's colors were crimson and gold.

House Starfell's colors were pristine white and silver.

House Dustspire's colors were brown and bronze.

House Mistfang's colors were ethereal gray and pale green.

And behind them, the varied colors of twenty lesser houses, each one displaying their sigil with the pride of families who'd clawed their way to relevance through blood and gold.

The captain of the guard sent a runner to the estate immediately, then opened the gates with the formal courtesy expected when multiple noble houses arrived bearing their full diplomatic regalia.

The emissaries dismounted in the courtyard with practiced grace, servants already moving to tend their horses. They were a mix of ages and temperaments, but all carried themselves with the authority of people accustomed to speaking for power.

Seraphina emerged from the estate's main entrance wearing a dark purple dress.

Her eyes swept across the assembled delegates with the cool assessment of someone who'd dealt with nobility long enough to recognize trouble before it announced itself.

"Welcome to the Kaiser estate," Seraphina said, her voice carrying clearly across the courtyard. "We've been expecting you."

The effect was immediate. Several of the minor house representatives exchanged glances of surprise. The major houses remained impassive, though a few eyebrows rose slightly.

"Expecting us?" The speaker was from House Starfell, a man in his forties with silver hair and the kind of perfect posture that came from generations of breeding.

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