The days following the fair were a time of hidden building.

The Imperial Inquisition marched from Nuremberg.

A slow beast of churchmen and knights, wholly blind to the truth that they marched into a valley that had leaped centuries ahead in the art of war.

Konrad knew he could not meet the Inquisition with powder and shot without sparking a holy war across the Empire. He had to break them with coin and trade, using the Fugger pact as his shield. The fair had been the first strike: turning the greed of lords into a wall.

The task now was to finish the new works.

Master Dieter, driven by fear, had perfected the water-driven cutting engine. The forging of the grooved long-arms was now steady, though slower than the common wheel-locks.

Captain Eckhard was drilling a chosen band of thirty marksmen. These were men picked for their calm eyes and steady hands, tasked with bringing the deadly reach of the new guns to bear.

Konrad was not at the forges today... He sat in his study. Spread across his desk were complex drawings of stone and wood.

The old ways of lords and keeps were foolish and slow. A castle was a wall to hide behind, not a beating heart of trade.

To draw the most from his forges and speed the flow of iron and powder, he needed a strong, ordered town, built around the river and the fires.

A sharp knock at the door broke his planning.

"Enter." Konrad commanded.

The door opened, and Lady Isolde stepped into the study. She closed the door and stood before his desk, awaiting his word.

"Speak of the Württemberg gathering," Konrad instructed, rolling up the drawing.

Isolde stepped closer, "My uncle has failed to raise a great host, my Lord. The tales of the slaughter in the gorge have terrified the common folk. Yet... he has pledged two hundred heavy horse to ride with the Inquisition when they cross into Swabian lands."

"..." Two hundred armored horsemen riding with the churchmen changed the shape of the coming threat... They brought a crushing weight that the churchmen lacked.

"The heavy horse is a heavy burden for the Inquisition," Konrad noted. "They need vast stores of hay and grain... It will slow their march."

"Yes, my Lord." Isolde nodded, her eyes fixed on him. "But there is another matter... A more... hidden threat."

She hesitated. This halting was strange; she was usually swift with her tidings.

"Speak the truth, Isolde." Konrad demanded, his tone sharpening slightly.

Isolde swallowed hard, taking a small step closer to the desk. "It touches your uncle, Lothar. And your sister, Elise."

"..." Konrad’s eyes narrowed.

Lothar was held in a barred but fair room in the lower keep, awaiting his final doom. Elise had been guiding the planting and harvests with surprising skill.

"Speak." Konrad said.

"I have watched the letters passing to the lower keep, as you bade me," Isolde reported, "Lothar has not been idle. He has sought to send word to the Swabian League captains who lived to flee Rothenburg."

"That was foreseen." Konrad replied. "He seeks to buy his life if the Emperor’s men break our walls."

"Yes." Isolde agreed. "But he has changed his aim... He knows the League cannot break the pass by force of arms. He seeks to strike from within."

She reached into a hidden pocket in her gown and drew out a small, tightly folded parchment. She placed it carefully on his desk.

"I caught this yesterday," Isolde explained. "It was meant for a friend of the League in a nearby village, to be passed to a Swabian captain."

Konrad unfolded the parchment... It was written in Lothar’s fearful hand.

’The builder is too closely watched. The walls are unyielding. But the girl, Elise, rides often to judge the fields with only a few swords. If she can be taken, she is the key. The builder needs his blood to hold the lands. Take the girl, and we set the terms.’

Lothar, having failed at murder, now sought to steal his blood to force a parley. It was a base, desperate ploy, but if it worked, it would tangle his plans terribly.

"...the taking of a key hand in our harvests is a risk I will not bear."

Isolde watched him closely, a flicker of dark hunger in her eyes.

"Shall I bid Captain Eckhard to take his head, my Lord?" Isolde asked quietly. "It would end the threat entirely."

The axe was swift, but it wasted a useful tool. Lothar’s hidden letters, though dangerous, were a clear path straight to the remaining Swabian captains.

"We need a sharper blade... We will use Lothar’s own hidden path to feed them a deadly lie." Konrad decided.

He pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward him and picked up his quill. "We will let a twisted shape of this message reach the Swabian League. We will name the hour and place of Elise’s next ride to the fields. We will give them their prey."

"This..." Isolde’s eyes widened slightly as she grasped the snare. "You lay a trap, my Lord."

"The Swabian League needs a final lesson to break their spirits before the Inquisition arrives... We will give it to them." He looked up at Isolde. "You will mimic Lothar’s hand. You will write that Elise rides to judge the new flax fields near the southern bounds in two days’ time, guarded by only a handful of men."

"Yes, my Lord!" Isolde nodded eagerly. "I can copy his hand perfectly."

"Further, you will ensure Lothar knows nothing of our meddling... He must believe his plot runs true."

Isolde offered a low curtsy. "It will be done at once."

She turned and left the study, her steps light and swift, fed by thebloody cunning of the plan.

Two days later.

The Swabian sun beat down heavily on the southern flax fields. The new water-ditches were a great boon; the fields were a rich, healthy green.

Elise rode slowly along the edge of the fields, a wide straw hat shielding her face. She rode with only four guards, their pistols sheathed, seeming easy and blind to danger.

It was a perfect mark!

Rustle... rustle... From the deep woods bordering the fields, two dozen hardened Swabian League swords watched the small party.

They had received Lothar’s word... They were broken men, seeking a sudden stroke to win back their lost pride. Taking the sister of the terrifying lord would grant them the ultimate prize.

The captain, a scarred veteran holding a heavy crossbow, signed to his men.

They broke from the trees, running hard across the open ground toward Elise and her light guard, meaning to crush them by numbers before they could draw steel.

They thought the guards would panic, flee, or die swiftly.

They did not think the four guards would suddenly rein back their horses, turning as one, their faces showing no fear at all... And they surely did not think the green stalks of the flax fields would suddenly part.

From the heart of the fields, rising from hidden trenches dug between the water-ditches, thirty men stood up.

It was Captain Eckhard’s chosen marksmen... They wore the plain half-plate, but their faces were smeared with soot and mud to hide them in the green.

They simply raised the long barrels of the grooved guns.

The Swabian swordsmen froze, they were caught in the open, with no rock or tree to hide behind, fifty paces from a steady wall of fire.

"Loose." Captain Eckhard’s voice rang from the center of the line.

The crashing roar of thirty long-arms shattered the quiet day. A great cloud of white smoke instantly hid the fields.

The terrifying force of the spinning lead tore through the Swabian ranks. The heavy bullets shattered steel, bone, and courage in a single heartbeat.

When the smoke cleared, the Swabian swords were wiped from the earth. Not a single man had managed to close the gap to Elise’s horse.

Elise sat in her saddle, she had known of the snare. Konrad had spoken to her of the numbers of safety and risk. She hated the blood, but she was beginning to grasp the truth of her brother’s world.

Captain Eckhard walked through the slaughter, his sword drawn, ensuring the threat was entirely ended.

Back at the keep, Konrad sat in his study, reading the newest Fugger ledgers.

He had not ridden to the trap... It was a simple, small skirmish; his presence was entirely unneeded.

Now, he just had to prepare for the coming of the Emperor’s Inquisition.