Di Pfalen spun and spoke to his officers, voice low and urgent. Winter caught, “Mad! The man must be mad!” and “Can’t be bluffing. We heard their men marching in.”

“Eh? What’s going on?” de Ferre said.

“I think you’ve disconcerted them,” Fitz said. “They’re considering your offer.”

Finally, looking a bit ashen, di Pfalen turned back to the Vordanai.

“If we surrender,” he said, “we require guarantees of safety for all ranks, as well as for the personal property of officers.”

“Agreed,” Fitz said. “Your men will surrender their arms and all equipment within the fortress intact, and give their parole not to fight against the Vordanai for a period of one year. All who agree will be permitted to depart immediately, with provisions and personal property.”

“What?” de Ferre said.

“Done,” di Pfalen said, looking pained. “But you should know that as soon as I return home, I intend to publish an account of your tactics. The world will know of your infamy.”

“Is he insulting me again?” De Ferre raised a fist. “Tell him to step up, if he’s half a man.”

“The general accepts your surrender,” Fitz extemporized to di Pfalen, “and, if you are unhappy with the terms, extends an invitation to personal combat, armed or unarmed, as you choose.”

“Mad!” one of the other Hamveltai officers said. “A bloody mad dog!”

Di Pfalen himself bowed at a shallow, correct angle and turned away. The other Hamveltai fell in behind him, leaving de Ferre looking deeply confused.

“Warus? What happened?”

“They offered their surrender, sir,” Fitz said. “The fortress is ours.”

“Surrender? Really?” De Ferre looked back at the waiting ranks of Vordanai troops. “Well, I suppose it’s for the best, but you wouldn’t catch me giving in so easily.” He sounded almost disappointed.

“Fitz,” Winter said when they were back in the safety of their own lines, “I could kiss you. That was fucking brilliant.”

“I think di Pfalen was ready to topple,” Fitz said. “I don’t blame him, with what he’s been through. I just gave him a little push.”

He smiled modestly. Winter, bouncing on her heels with released tension, fought a strong urge to hug him.

Around them, cheers and shouts were spreading, and the formations were breaking up as the news spread. Men less reticent than Winter tossed their muskets away and hugged one another, or sat down heavily in the brown grass, or professed disappointment and boasted about what they would have accomplished. Across the way, white flags were rising from other places along the fortress walls.

“I’d better get things organized,” Fitz said, watching the Colonials celebrate. “There’s several thousand men in there who need to give their parole, not to mention all the equipment.”

“Go ahead. I’m going to give my people the news.”