Amap of Dagome lay across a heavy oak table as my commanders discussed the relocation of our army. I stared at it, but all I could see was the line cutting my kingdom in half, separating the south. A line of srebrec pillars – a festering wound that wouldn’t heal until I tore it apart.
‘It’s going to be difficult moving the heavy cavalry through that area, sire. They’re still stuck in the Wiosna mountains. The blizzards there…’ Ivar said loud enough that I noticed he was addressing me.
‘And the mages can’t even come close to those things,’ Marius said, his lips twisted in disgust. ‘Every mage I sent there collapsed within hours.’
I nodded, my mind drifting to Sana’s proposal. I’d dismissed it initially, but the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that was exactly what we needed: time, spring, and allies.
‘What should we do, sire?’ Ivar asked when I didn’t comment on their initial revelations.
‘Move the army from Wiosna, but in small units. That will give the dwarves a chance to pull themselves out of the hole Mlot left them in.’
Ivar frowned. ‘But sire, the winter–’
‘Winter shouldn’t stop a well-trained army. Take it slow and give them plenty of rest, but I want them in garrisons near the Tivalaran border within a month.’ I turned to Marius. ‘Same with the battlemages; move them as close to the border as it is safe.’
‘Yes, sire,’ he answered, the tight set of his jaw expressing his disapproval.
‘Would you prefer searching for void cubes with the Brotherhood and the university mages?’ I asked casually, and his face drained of colour.
‘Your orders will be completed within two weeks,’ he said.
I issued more orders, concentrating on securing the new southern border, before dismissing my commanders and leaving Riordan and Ivar in the room.
‘Speak freely,’ I said, pouring wine into three goblets and pushing two in their direction.
Ivar looked uncertain, but after taking a sip, he blurted out: ‘We can’t have another winter campaign. The men are exhausted, and with all this srebrec malarky, the brunt of the fight will fall onto the common soldiers’ shoulders.’
‘And what do you say?’ I looked at Riordan.
‘The Brotherhood Observers report Tangra soldiers gathering everywhere in Tivalaran. Even without bringing their main force, it doesn’t feel like our land anymore.’ He sighed. ‘Did anything Roksana retrieved tell us the location of these Wey Gates?’
I nodded, pointing to a small plateau between Piran’s Swamp and the salty marshes of Reva Town. The place was difficultto access and close to the Lumivitae borders, with a small population of Light Fae.
‘There’s only one as far as we know. You’re right, we can’t afford another winter campaign, and we can’t attack with srebrec towers active… so we will have a ball.’ I finished with a grin while both men looked at me as if I’d descended into madness.
‘Now’s not the time…’ Riordan started, but paused, seeing my smile.
‘It’s exactly the right time. As much as I’d love to march to Tivalaran and hang that old bastard by the balls outside his city walls, we need to delay the confrontation.’ I let my voice trail away before ringing the bell and asking the servant to fetch my scribe. The young man entered, bowing to us as he positioned himself next to the desk, awaiting my orders.
‘Draft an invitation for the Gromnitca ball,’ I said, enjoying way too much the scowl on Ivar’s face. ‘Invite the Lumivitae court, especially the herald and his wife. Make sure Lord Tivala gets one, and add a note that the Tangrean preceptor is welcome to join.’
‘Reynard!’ Riordan’s response only deepened my smile.
‘I will speak with Veles himself if this buys us time.’ My harsh answer left both men staring at me in shock. ‘We don’t have the resources to fight right now, and I need a Light Fae to decipher the Wey Gate schemata. The only one I trust is Lilliana, who, by chance, is the wife of the Lumivitae herald and my future wife’s best friend.’
They understood the plan, but neither looked happy. I must have looked the same when Roksana had charged into my office with her insane proposal. I hated it with every fibre of my being, but Sana was unyielding, and I’d come to agree with her.
‘But sire… Tivala? Tangra? What message will it send to our men, to the nobles?’ Ivar asked, but I had my answer for him.
‘It shows them we are not afraid. That standing between his daughter and the woman who killed his son, I hold the power to destroy the south, while he’s just a puppet of an enemy empire.’ I raised my goblet in a mocking salute. ‘And while he chokes on my hospitality, I’ll have men crossing into Tivalaran by the very swamp he failed to guard.’
Riordan exhaled and raised his glass too. ‘I see you’ve thought it all through. I’ll drink to your plan’s success, and to the woman who tamed a berserker’s heart without even trying.’
Ivar didn’t move, but the look he gave Ri could’ve melted steel. I frowned, unsure where he was going with that comment. Riordan’s smug expression didn’t bode well for me. ‘Even planning a campaign, you can’t stop thinking about what ring to give her. My advice? Ensure the stone is green; Roksana will care little about anything else.’
I wanted to curse the damned psychic mage for peering into my mind. He’d chosen the moment I imagined I announcing our betrothal, staring right into Tivala’s face, and forcing him to kneel for Sana. My Viper, though, wanted to put the ordeal behind her. I wasn’t sure I could. Last night, as I held her trembling body in my arms, I promised to destroy the bastard and do it slowly. Death would never be enough. I wanted him humbled, on his knees, begging for her forgiveness, for a mercy that would never come… and gods, I would revel in his suffering.
‘Well, that escalated quickly,’ Riordan muttered, and I realised he was still attuned to my thoughts. One sharp look, and he raised his hands in surrender. ‘I never said you were wrong, just… You have an interesting view on the betrothal party.’
