Frederick sat at his makeshift desk, an old door laid across two barrels, looking at the disposition of the Triestian forces guarding the Alasceian border. He’d been here a month now, along with Blondel, and it wasn’t a pretty sight he’d found. Their forces were understrength, despite what was in the records back in the capital, they were under equipped and their field doctrine was severely lacking, training rarely conducted. Their defences, even here at the principal fort of the border, were rotting, having not been properly maintained. Blondel had already sent dispatches to court and dismissed about half of the officers and was engaged in the task of finding some competent knights to promote.

Frederick, meanwhile, had busied himself in trying to sort out the supply issues. Truth be told there were so many supply issues that a supply disaster would be a more accurate description. So far he’d had to request the royal armoury send new swords, armour and spears at such volumes he knew would empty the last of the reserves of equipment. He has already taken the men-at-arms, who made up the archers, off normal duties and put them to work crafting new bows and stocks of arrows which hadn’t been replenished in months. The next set of problems were food and fuel, both of which had been nearly exhausted over winter with little action taken to resupply in the spring. It was maddening - what had the officers here thought would happen when they ran out of food? All he’d got out of them was increasing hunting and levying the local farms and villages - something that would have probably seen them facing a revolt, and even if it hadn’t he doubted what they’d gather would have lasted more than a couple of weeks.

All in all the Alasceian border was an army in name only - right now a well organised group of bandits would be able to cause chaos. It was lucky that the extent of the problems weren’t widely known - and that was only because the officers had rarely sent their men out on patrol, preferring to stay in the comfort of their camps and forts. He was still at his desk as night began to fall and Blondel returned clattering into the tent they were sharing and stirring Frederick from his work.

“It’s pissing it down out there,” Blondel said, shaking the water from his greatcoat before hanging it up and entering the tent proper.

“I can see,” Frederick replied, smiling faintly at the sight of the Knight Commander looking like a bedraggled cat.

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“How are you getting on?” Blondel asked.

“Much the same, the moment I sort one issue I find another. I mean I’ve got a new supplier for of charcoal but I don't have enough wagons to collect and distribute it. How about you?”

“Equally as frustrating. I interviewed twenty Knights today and there was just one I thought would make officer material. I’m nearly at the point of interviewing the men-at-arms like I was Malinese. Speaking of which, a letter from there arrived for you.”

“Must be Estelle,” Frederick said, as he took the letter from Blondel’s hand, before picking up a letter opener and laying the letter out on his desk. He read quickly and then his breath hitched.

“Anything the matter?” Blondel asked.

"Someone tried to kill her," Frederick said, shocked.

"Is she injured?" Blondel asked, concern evident in his voice.

"No, some sharp eyed Malinese knight put an arrow in the would be assassin before he could take his shot it seems."

"That's a relief."

"Yes but it should never have happened, and mother is going to have a fit when she finds out, especially with Estelle deciding to stay there."

"She's not returning?"

"It would seem not," Frederick sighed.

"Is that wise?"

"I wouldn't have thought so, but you know Estelle once she's set on something there's no dissuading her."

"We're not that far from Malin, you could be there in a week, two at the most."

"No," Frederick said, "we both know the army here is on the verge of falling apart, I can't leave now. I'd come back to find the men at arms had murdered the knights in their beds and half of them gone home and the other half turned to pillaging the countryside."

"Yes you're right," Blondel said, "but you have me, if you feel you need to go I will hold down the fort, so to speak."

"That's kind of you, but the task is too much for one man."

"I know but as Knight Commander, I must take responsibility for my failure here."

"Blondel, you've been Knight Commander for less than a year and a half, during that time my father has insisted you remain at court until now. The responsibility lies with the officers who did not perform their duty, who lied to you, and your predecessor who appointed them."

"Even so, I'm the commander of Trieste's forces if I'm not accountable who is."

"My father," Frederick said, "unfortunately there is no one to hold him accountable."

"Do not think ill of your father, no man is perfect and to rule is a great burden. One day you will rule in his place and no matter how wise and just you are, I believe you will need the same understanding from your subjects."

"Yes you are right, of course dear friend," Frederick sighed again, "such talk is meaningless anyway. We will do our duty, bring this army to order and secure the border once again."