As a tense day drew to a close, Divitius Ichilia left his study to enjoy a glass of mulled wine with his wife son. It was something he always enjoyed, even more so on these cool days of winter, when even Huaylas, city of eternal spring, could be described as 'frigid'. However, just as the door closed behind him, his most recent guest ruined all of his plans and extended his day further.

“I know, brother. I have heard.” There she stood with her usual composed posture: Spuria Ichilia, the self-proclaimed empress mother. Though the title was unjustified, Divitius let his sister have her little vanities.

“Heard what, dear sister?” he asked calmly. Back in the day, back when she had begged and pleaded their father to become the emperor's second wife, Divitius had been against the decision. How could the young lady of House Ichilia be second choice to some southerner brat? However, she had insisted and eventually gotten her will. In the process, their relationship had been damaged as well. They barely had any contact until a few years back.

When they reunited, she had come to him with her megalomaniac plans to take over the throne. Ever since she had begun her affair with that numb skull Caelestis, Spuria had become a different person. Her new-found perspective, as well as decades of unrequited love, had made her bitter, self-satisfied and greedy for power. While the first two were little more than annoyances, the third was deadly.

“That little bastard boy has somehow managed to sneak his way past the lonely islands, and he has landed an army. On our land! How dare he!?”

Although the woman had lost control, they had found some strong allies and had gotten lucky a few times as well. This, bit by bit over two decades, they reached a position where for the first time in centuries, the throne was within reach of House Ichilia. All he had to do was reign in his sister, her weak husband and her spoiled son, until he could do all the heavy lifting.

“You are well informed, sister,” he said with a smirk. “Much better than one could expect form a woman who is only a visitor in this place. Where did you hear that?”

Although she shrunk a bit under her elder brother's gaze, her posture soon returned to the prideful stance of the empress mother.

“This empress has to be informed, since her own brother is unwilling to support her, or her son. His own nephew.” Sometimes, he really felt like he had undertaken a thankless task.

“And how could I show support, even if I was willing? Your precious son, my nephew, has declined any help I have offered him. What else can I do when the brat does his best to push away his family, his firmest support?”

“Do you dare call my son a brat again!? That brat will remember those words once he ascends the silver throne at last. Then you will be sorry for your slights!” There it was, her beastly scream. With her raised finger, she looked like she was about to put a curse on his immortal spirit. Really, what had those Pluritac bastards done to his idealistic sister?

Of course, he could have told Spuria that Pacha's ascension was anything but guaranteed. That her title of empress mother was unreasonable and completely broke with tradition. That their constant breach of customs had caused him all sorts of headaches with the lords under his control. Or maybe he could have mentioned that the brat obey the command of House Ichilia whether he liked it or not; because if Pachacutec became emperor, it would only be with his support, only with his help, and only utterly reliant on Huaylas. However, for now, he would sit and wait, to see that brat be taught a lesson and learn some humility. So in the end, he held back his real thoughts.

“Please excuse my indiscretion, dear sister,” he said and bowed. In the process, he pretended a frown. This new Spuria always enjoyed when she could force others to act against their convictions.

“When you show such deference, how could this magnanimous empress mother not forgive?” she answered with a self-satisfied smile. “As for your previous excuses: Even if my young emperor has not asked for your support, it can still be given.”

“The problem is not so much that he has not asked for support. He has expressly forbidden his own house from any interference. And he has surrounded himself with sycophants who wish to escape the influence of Huaylas, the influence of House Ichilia. Even if I look beyond this insult and decide to work together with these local lords, what happens if I offer support now? House Ichilia will only be perceived as weak, and our influence will be reduced further. Have you come to know me as a man who is wont to be pushed around, dear sister?”

As she understood that she would not easily get what she wanted, Spuria pursed her lips like a child. Unsightly for such an old woman.

“Already the false king has taken his barbarians and brought them north, all the way across the Narrow Sea. He has been brazen enough to attack the northern lands, so who knows if he will be brazen enough to go further and march onto Huaylas. A single day of forced march could bring him all the way here, so this is no longer an issue that only concerns the kings of the Triumvirate. I understand that Pacha can be a bit prideful, but there is no time to change his mind. Brother, we need to act, and we need to act now.”

“We do not need to do anything.” he waved off her words and began to walk away, to enjoy his well-deserved rest for the day. “They are my men, and I will well and good do with them as I please. Even if your son becomes emperor, they will still be my men. You would do well not to forget this.”

For him, the matter was done with his final word, but the empress mother had other ideas. With small steps to retain her straight posture, Spuria walked alongside her brother.

“Divitius Ichilia, do not forget yourself. You speak of me and my son as if we were strangers, as if we had forgotten our commitment to the family. Yet it will be due to us that the house will ascend and become the greatest force on the Twin Isles. It is only your pride that it would not be you to prevent you from seeing the truth. Your pride has always threatened to hold you back. In that regard, you are quite similar to your nephew, in fact.”

At the uncomfortable comparison, Divitius stopped and turned to face his sister. The least he could do was hear her out.

“This time, there is no room for vanity. Now we stand at a precipice, the empire can develop in any of three directions. With the strength of Huaylas you will be king maker, if you wish it. I know you have already made your preparations along the southern shores, while Pacha himself has no presence in the Narrow Sea. Whether he wants your help or not, once you have given it he cannot very well deny it any longer. Don't let your pride get in the way of the family's advances.”

Without a word and without movement, he stared at his sister, immersed in thought. Her words were not entirely wrong. Long ago, he had already moved his fleet from the Verdant Sea into the Narrow Sea, ready for a maneuver like this. However, he had never even considered to just force his help onto Pacha. There really was no major problem with Spuria's line of thought. Still, there was a problem with the plan itself.

“Once we show our ships in the Narrow Sea, we will have broken ancient commitments of our forefathers. Ever since these rumors about Pacha have started, I have struggled to keep my more... old-fashioned allies in line. This blatant breach of custom will only weaken our position further.”

“Ever since we allied with the foreigners and the grand ancestor, we knew that a break with the traditional forces would be inevitable, so what difference does it make? If anything, the more blatant we are, the bigger our advantage. And should the southern monkey do the same to even the playing field, he will lose the only support he has in the north.”

Though he didn't like his sister much these days, her words still often managed to make him smile, as they did at this moment.

“You know, sometimes your insights are frightful, and sometimes they are just what I need. I will send a runner to my men in the south. King Pacha has asked Huaylas to stand down during his conquest, but since the king has no presence at sea, let us make an exception and show disobedience just this once.”

As he did every morning, Lord Cassius stood atop the slanted roof of his mansion, the countless voices of his subjects in his ear. Sun had risen over the lands of Quitaracra. Down in the streets, the day laborers congregated, in search for their daily bread. The merchants also went about their business, as they scoured the streets for opportunity. To the side of the roads, the craftsmen had opened their shops to drink in the cool morning air and show off their talents for all customers to see. Even further yet, the gold of the morning sun fell onto the great fields and roads which covered much of the estate. On the path to the city, one could already see young farmers, who came to the city to sell their grain, firewood or weaved wares.

Although the lordship in the south was small and close to the ocean, its lands were rich. After all, the Narrow Sea was barely saline to begin with, and the freshwater from the mountains in the east guaranteed a constant supply to the aquifer below. As a typical Medalan estate, Lord Cassius' lands had been growing at a steady pace, even though that pace was that of a snail. Like a sturdy tree, every year would add another ring, another layer of prosperity as his people toiled away uninterrupted.

Not even the civil war of the past could interrupt this peace, of that the lord had made sure. Cassius remembered it well, the time he had spent on the front lines in the service of Emperor Titu, to defend his peace at home, his little plot of heaven. Maybe his memories of days past were the reason he declined to join the war against the south again. Even more, he had no time for Pacha, who may or may not be the emperor's true son, but certainly had no respect for the legacy of Medala's last great ruler. Rather than that pompous brat, Cassius respected the southern king far more, but the location of his estate had put the lord in no position to support the young man who had grown up so well in his father's absence.

No, that is not the reason either.

With horror, the lord thought back to the battles of old, a time when losers were broken under the weight of iron, and winners under the weight of blood. Never would he forget the terrors of war, the desperate struggle the south had put up for survival, so far removed from the glory and honor they had heard about in the old stories. This was the truth: Cassius had no stomach for war. Though never had possessed one, he had still paid his dues thirty years ago. Now he was old, and he had chosen to stay away from political games. All he wanted was to stand here, atop his mansion, and observe his lands, watch his people thrive and prosper in the morning sun.

“Lord Cassius,” a voice ripped through the peace. Annoyed, he turned his head to the window which had served as his entry to the roof.

“What?” he asked personal servant with disapproval. “You should know I do not wish to be interrupted during sunrise.”

“Never would I dream of interrupting your private time, master. However, this servant had no choice in the matter. An issue of utmost urgency has come up.”

The old warrior had been with Lord Cassius since before his maturity rites. To the lord, the advisor was as much family as his wife and children, part of his little haven of peace. He was aware how important these hours were to Cassius, how precious. There was only one reason to interrupt the lord at this time. As he watched his servant's cramped posture, leaned half out of the window, the lord's eyes turned first big in disbelief, then in plea, then in desperation. However, the servant's mien remained hard as stone. At last, Cassius accepted his fate. He turned back again, to look at the golden glory of his people down below.

“Tell me,” he whispered.

“Master, there have been reports from our scouts along the shore. It appears as if forces of the southern kingdom have landed on our beaches and have begun to set up camp.”

For the last time, Cassius drank in the prosperity of his people, their daily toil, like a memory he wanted to grip for the rest of his life.

“What shall we do?” the servant urged.

“First inform the lords and kings we are obliged to, then send men to the surrounding village heads and get as many people behind walls as we can. Maybe we can weather this storm, maybe it will pass us by.”

With a tremble in his voice, Lord Cassius gave his orders, as his moist eyes closed on his little piece of heaven for the last time. The days of peace were over. War had arrived in Quitaracra.