The aftermath of the brief, brutal battle hung heavy in the air, a metallic tang of blood mixed with the scent of pine. Captain Corrado, kneeling in the dirt with his hands bound, spat on the ground before Alessandro.
"I am a professional soldier, boy," he snarled, his eyes filled with defiant hatred. "I do not betray a contract. Do your worst."
Alessandro looked down at the hardened mercenary, his expression unreadable. He did not order a whip or a hot poker. His approach was colder, more terrifyingly logical. He turned to his men.
"Separate the prisoners," he commanded. Marco and the guards hauled the seven captive mercenaries apart, keeping them out of earshot of one another. Alessandro walked to the first one, a young man trying desperately to hide his trembling.
"Your captain is a man of professional honor," Alessandro said, his voice quiet and reasonable. "I can respect that. But his honor will not save you. I offer you your life. A simple trade. Tell me the name of the man who hired you, and you will walk free. Refuse, and you will die here on this road."
The young mercenary, caught between his fear of his captain and his fear of the cold-eyed boy-lord before him, swallowed hard. He glanced at Corrado, then shook his head, unable to speak.
Alessandro sighed, a sound of mild disappointment. He looked at his Centurion. "Marco. Execute him."
The command was so simple, so devoid of anger or passion, that it was all the more chilling. Marco, his face grim but his hand steady, drew his short sword. The captive's eyes went wide with disbelief and terror. Before he could scream, the act was done. Swiftly and efficiently.
A wave of horror went through the remaining six prisoners. This was not the game they knew. There was no ransom, no posturing. There was only a simple, brutal equation.
Alessandro walked back to the kneeling Corrado, who had watched the execution, his face now pale beneath his beard. "Your man died for his loyalty to you, Captain," Alessandro said, his voice still unnervingly calm. "A waste. Their lives are in your hands. Their silence will buy them nothing but a shallow grave. Your silence will be the death of them all. I will ask you one last time: who hired you?"
Corrado stared into Alessandro's eyes and saw not the fleeting rage of a hot-headed boy, but the absolute, detached resolve of a hangman. He saw the terrified faces of his surviving men, who were now looking at him with pleading eyes. His professional honor was a hollow thing compared to the lives of the men who had followed him.
The captain's defiance finally shattered. "The Baron," he croaked, his voice hoarse. "The Baron of Monte San Giovanni."
Alessandro nodded slowly, a grim satisfaction settling in. He had it. The weapon he needed. Not just a rumor, but a witness. Proof.
His mind immediately pivoted from the bloody present to the political future. He now held a dagger that could be plunged into the heart of his enemy's reputation. Complaining to the Bishop was one option, but a better one was beginning to form in his mind. The Bishop had told him to check the Baron's power. An accusation of hiring mercenaries to slaughter merchants on a peaceful road was more than a check. It was a casus belli—a righteous cause for war that even the Bishop could not easily condemn.
"You have made a wise choice, Captain," Alessandro said. He turned to his men. "We will not kill the others. They are too valuable as witnesses."
He looked at the prisoners, then at his own victorious soldiers. A new, far more dangerous plan was blooming.
"Bind them securely," he ordered. "We are taking them all back to Rocca Falcone."
Enzo looked at him, confused. "My lord? What will we do with them?"
Alessandro looked past the carnage of the road, his gaze focused on a much larger battlefield. "The Baron gave me a gift today, Enzo," he said, a cold, hard smile touching his lips for the first time. "He gave me a reason. The Bishop told me to check his power."
He turned to look back down the road towards his valley. "Now I have the justification to shatter it."