The tents were up in the north of the Imperium and the troops were sitting and guarding the lands. News of a huge viking raiding force were passed to the men. Still the blue banner with the golden lys was up as the morale. Many victories and few defeats had been encountered on the battlefield.

The diner was taken with the nations knights and musicians played as many evenings before, but something was different. The duke does not seem to participate in the celebrations. He was only quitly sitting in his chair and looked like he was dreaming.

Even the jugglers could not really entertain him and while the dancing was done he rejected any offer.

Night passed on and with the first light of the morning he was awakaned by a squire. "My Lord, the plan has worked. The enemies have opened their lines and we can slip past. We must move now". Full of energy the Duke was jumping out of his bed and called for his armor. A good day and a good battle was before him. While he was putting on his tabbard he suddenly faced a small girl of about 4 years looking at him. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "Shouldn't you be with your mother?" She looked at him and answered "My mother is dead, she died for your glory". The duke was astonished. "Your mother was fighting?" - "No, she was a peasant and slain by swords and her blood is on your hands" Now the conversation turned into a nasty directon. Florian called for his squire "Jacques, please bring this young kid to an orphanage." While moving he saw his hands red of blood and when turning back the little girl was disappeared. The duke took a goblet of water and was pouring it over his head. Obviously something was wrong with the food he had yesterday.

It took some time to get his head clear and he could move again. The knights were outside and a guard was moving his halbard aside to let the ruler pass by. A harsh crack could be heard and a little boy was lying on the ground. Blood from his head spilling to floor. The wound at the place were the halbard has hit the kid. Even more curious was that no one cared. He wanted to move to the kid, but one of his knights adressed to him and when he looked back, the kid was disappeared.

The next kid died while he was mounting his horse and one more when his lance fell down. Finally they achieved their target, but when they spured their horses to strike down the enemy force, all of them turned into kids. This time the corpses remained, but his fellow knights and soldiers were gone while he was walking like a drunken man over the battle field. All over he saw kids, clad in the simple linen of the vikings or the clothes from the imperium, happy faces dreaming of jiggs and reals and all of them dead by his hands. Like a hammer the voice struck him "This you inherit with your deeds and this is what history will remember of you. Our blood in your hands and all those other great warriors. Be happy with what you have achieved." And with these words the little girl turned his back to him, showing his dagger in her back...

"My Lord, it is time to get up. We need to hurry to fulfill your plans and ensure our enemies cannot continue their attacks" A pale duke was looking into the face of his squire and wondering what this day will bring, hoping that the pictures in his head could be forgotten.

QUOTE:

To Grande Duke Florian de Fecamp of Burgundy,

I don't think that you or Burgundy have enough silver in their chests to pay for the mad queen in my cellar, but you can pay for some of the other greenhorns.
Otherwise I'm looking forward to meet you on the battlefield.

Ubba