“They’re gathered together, as you ordered,” said Fryga, pushing back a lynx-fur calpac. “The entire hamlet.”

“Silence them.”

The crowd were quietened, not without the help of knouts and staves. Shevlov went closer.

“What do you call this dump?”

“Woodend.”

“Woodend, again? These peasants don’t have a scrap of imagination. Lead the builders on, Sperry. Show them where they’re to drive in the post, because they’ll get the place wrong again.”

Sperry whistled, reining his horse around. Shevlov rode over to the huddled villagers. Fryga and Poker flanked him.

“Dwellers of Woodend!” Shevlov stood up in the stirrups. “Heed what I say! By the will and order of His Majesty by grace here reigning King Vizimir, I inform you that this day the land up to the border posts belongs to the Kingdom of Redania, and His Majesty King Vizimir is your lord and monarch! You owe him honour, obedience and levies. And you’re behind with your rent and taxes! By order of the king you are to settle your debts immediately. Into this here bailiff’s coffer.”

“How so?” yelled a man in the crowd. “What do you mean pay? We’m paid!”

“You’ve already fleeced us for levies!”

“Temerian bailiffs fleeced you. And illegally, for this is not Temeria, but Redania. Look where the posts are.”

“But yesterday it was still Temeria!” howled one of the settlers, “How can it be? We paid as they ordered…”

“You have no right!”

“Who?” roared Shevlov. “Who said that? It is my right! I have a royal decree! We are royal troops! I said whoever wants to stay on their farm must pay the levies to the last penny! Any who resist will be banished! You paid Temeria? So you clearly think yourselves Temerians! Then scram, get over the border! But only with what you can carry, because your farms and livestock belong to Redania!”

“Robbery! That’s robbery and plunder!” yelled a large peasant with a shock of hair, stepping forward. “And you aren’t the king’s man but a brigand! You have no r—”

Escayrac rode over and lashed the loudmouth with a bullwhip. The loudmouth fell. Others were quelled with pikestaffs. Shevlov’s company knew how to cope with peasants. They had been moving the border for a week and had pacified plenty of settlements.

“Someone’s approaching at speed.” Fryga indicated with her scourge. “Will it be Fysh?”

“And none other.” Shevlov shielded his eyes. “Have that freak taken from the wagon and hand her over. And you take a few of the boys and ride around the place. Various odd settlers remain dotted throughout the clearings and logging sites, you need to inform them as well to whom they’re now paying rent. Should anyone offer resistance, you know what to do.”

Fryga smiled evilly, flashing her teeth. Shevlov sympathised with the settlers she’d be visiting. Although their fate didn’t bother him much.