Lady Isolde remained barred in her guest rooms, claiming a foul sickness of the lungs.

Konrad knew the truth: she was plotting her next strike. The Duchy of Württemberg would not suffer a defeat.

Konrad sat in the hall, reading the latest tidings from Klaus the miller. The common folk served well as his eyes, sending true word of the Swabian League’s northern camps. The gathering of swords grew swift.

Across the table, Uncle Lothar sat hunched over a bowl of thin gruel.

Konrad had stayed the banishment, judging that keeping Lothar behind their walls was safer than letting him flee to the League with tales of the keep’s defenses. Yet, Lothar was no longer steward; he was a kept prisoner.

Lothar chewed slowly, his eyes darting toward Konrad.

"The... the whispers from the village are troubling, Konrad," Lothar stammered, seeking to test his nephew’s mood. "The serfs claim you build cannons. Great iron tubes."

Konrad did not look up from his ledger. "The whispers are false, Uncle. I build no such cannons."

Lothar sighed. "Thank the Saints. The League would see such guns as a call to war. What do you build, then? The noise from the forge is terrible."

"I forge a run of thick iron pots," Konrad explained, weaving a cunning lie. "They are made for the deep mines I plan to dig next spring. We will pack them with powder to shatter the deep rock, speeding the harvest of iron ore."

It was a master’s lie... He spoke of blasting powder, an art the common lord scarce understood, let alone feared as a weapon of war.

"Mining pots?" Lothar asked, confused. "But... they sit upon carts. I saw them rolled past the gates."

"The carts are to move them," Konrad corrected. "Bearing such weight across the rocky quarry requires strong axles... They are tools of the earth. They cannot strike a moving man, nor break a stone wall."

Lothar nodded, taking the bait. It made sense. A ruined Lord would seek iron and silver, not a hopeless war against the League.

"I see... It is wise to tend to the earth. The League will surely respect a rich mine."

"Indeed," Konrad replied, turning a page.

Later that morning, Konrad walked down to the forges.

He came to a cleared field near the river. His new watch were drilling. Yet, their numbers had grown. There were now near a hundred men in the ranks.

When the serfs saw Konrad paid his guard in true silver, they flocked to him. Konrad had chosen the strongest and most steadfast men to join the core of veterans.

They were not knights. They wore no armor, only wool cloaks and leather boots. But they bore the short wheel-lock pistols, and they were learning the rhythm of the volley.

Master Dieter stood near Konrad, watching with dread. "They learn fast, Lord Konrad. But they wear no steel. If the Swabian pikes close upon them, they will be cut to pieces."

"The aim is to keep the pikes from closing," Konrad explained, watching as the first rank fired as one into a line of wooden targets, then dropped to a knee to load, letting the second rank fire over their heads.

"The wheel-lock lets them keep their pieces primed and hidden," Konrad continued. "We will not meet the League on an open field. We will use the deep trees of the northern pass."

Dieter nodded slowly, grasping the bloody truth of the plan. It was no honorable war.

Suddenly, a roar shook the ground, followed by the sound of breaking wood.

Konrad and Dieter turned to see one of the new falconets at the edge of the field.

The gunners, a mix of veterans and strong stone-breakers, swabbed the smoking barrel.

Fifty yards down the field, a log had been shattered. The iron ball had punched straight through the timber, showering the ground with broken wood.

The men drilling nearby stopped and stared in silence. They had seen siege guns before - great, heavy beasts that took hours to load and fire.

They had never seen a gun this small strike with such ruinous force, nor one set on a light cart that two men could quickly move.

Konrad judged the strike. "We must tweak the aiming wedges for rough ground, but the first trial is a victory."

He turned back to Dieter. "We must finish the other three falconets by the week’s end... The League will not wait upon our ease."

Returning to the keep, Konrad found Lady Katarina waiting in the hall. She held a parchment.

"The brimstone has crossed the border," Katarina announced. "It reaches the northern pass by tomorrow’s eve."

"The hour is good," Konrad noted.

Katarina placed the parchment on the table. "Yet, my father’s spies report that Baron von Waldburg marches from Ulm. He brings two thousand footmen, five hundred armored lances, and a train of great siege culverins. He claims to march against the peasants."

They were fewer than Lothar had boasted, but the great culverins were a grave peril. They could strike from far beyond the reach of his falconets.

"The culverins will drag their march..." Konrad reasoned. "They are too heavy to move swiftly through the mud of the main roads. Their vanguard will ride two days ahead of their great guns."

Katarina stared at him. "You reckon their speed while they bring a host to destroy you, Konrad? Even without their guns, two thousand veteran pikes will break your unarmored watch like a wave."

"...I must go to see the final setting of the iron shells."

He stood, turning to the doors.

"Konrad," Katarina called out, stopping him. "My father is a cold man. He sees the worth in your arms, but he will not throw coin at a lost cause. If you fail to hold the northern pass, the Bavarian pact is broken. I will ride for Munich, and you will stand entirely alone."

Konrad paused, looking back at the Duchess. "The pass will not fall as long as I draw breath."

With that, he walked out of the hall.