In between Pacha's fingers, the paper of the letter weighed heavily. Nothing good had come of this blasted message about his brother's invasion, even beyond the invasion itself.

King Pachacutec, King of the Central Kingdom, rightful ruler of the Medala Empire and hero of heroes, was annoyed. Once again, he sat on his throne within his army's now less than temporary camp and had to listen to the careless complaints of his servants around him, those servants who did not understand his difficulties. Shouldn't the subordinates of an emperor be more obedient? Weren't the Yaku beholden to their code of honor? Yet all these self-titled lords had on their minds was how to make trouble for him.

“King Pachacutec, this lord needs to emphasize again the severity of the southern king's invasion. This is an outrageous attack on our home and land! We need to fight back right away, or we will be considered a laughing stock by the other estates! How could men of honor let such a slight go by unanswered?” This superficially reasonable concern had come from Lord Fulcinius. Of course, the lord would not truly be interested in honor, Pacha knew that much.

Rather, the estate of Lord Fulcinius lay along the southern coast and was under threat by his brother's troops. Why else would a man like him speak of honor when he had only spoken of the spoils he could gain from their expedition so far, eager to gain a foothold on both sides of the Narrow Sea? Rather than answer, Pacha only stared down his uncouth servant until he would get uncomfortable. In a one on one conversation, it would have been enough to quiet down the coward, but today, he had support.

“This lord concurs. King Pachacutec hates the southerners more than anyone. King knows just as well as us that they are beasts who only respond to harsh punishment. We need to show strength and deal them a heavy blow right away, to prove the superiority of the north.” This time the speaker was Lord Rupilo. How could the least honorable man in the Empire dare speak on such an issue with such careless words?

Of course Pacha knew: Ever since he had broken his support for the southern king and joined the central kingdom's invasion force for his own selfish reasons, the frightened Rupilo had been afraid of Corco's retaliation. With their recent landing in the north, he expected the southern king's revenge to be close at hand. Thus, rather than face his own crimes, Rupilo preferred to send his king's warriors ahead to die for a lowly lord's cause. Still, despite his disgust, this was not something Pacha could speak of. Against his wishes, he had to keep this collection of opportunists satisfied, lest he face the entire south by himself. So instead of a sharp reprimand for Rupilo's insolence, Pacha tried his hand at logic.

“We have only just received word of the enemy attack, and have sent out scouts for further clarification today,” he said, as his regal view nailed down each and every one of the cowards. “Any move-out at this time would be more than foolish. We will not begin our march until we know that the southerners have not laid out any more traps for us, not after the humiliation this king had to suffer at Qarasi Castle. Rupilo, your advice so far has done more harm than good, so this king would expect you to restrain yourselves at least this once.”

With a reference to their last attack, when they had tried to waste the enemy powder through the use of forced peasant levies, at least the originator of the plan, Rupilo, would be silenced. Even so, there were many more interested in a rash attack. This time, Lord Makipura, ruler of the local estate had spoken up. As the siege had dragged on, he had become more and more disgruntled.

“Whether or not the southerners have laid out any traps is impossible to know. In fact, could our lack of response not play right into their hands? Imagine if the southern army uses our time of indecision to raze the estates around the southern coast before they retreat with the spoils? Maybe that was their plan from the start, and they exploit our hesitation to gain more time for their evil deeds. After all, they are nothing more than pirates.”

“True enough! They need to be stopped!” Fulcinius shouted again, fearful of the treasury at his southern estate. In response to his obvious bias, Pacha sneered.

“In the first place,” Makipura continued as he looked around the room, “we need to understand that the southerners have no power in the north, and no knowledge of the terrain to boot. Not even during the civil war did the southerners launch an invasion on Sinchay lands. All they managed were a few coastal raids, not a proper inland attack. Not only is their attack now a slap in our face, a way to show that we do not have the strength of our fathers-”

“Is that not what it is!?” Rupilo called out of turn, eager see his foes killed by Pacha's hands. This time, the king had to control those very hands or he would have thrown his axe at the turncoat's face.

“...but even more, their lack of knowledge in Sinchay denies them any means to set up an effective ambush in the first place. Whatever they needed for one, be it maps or supplies, cannot possibly be prepared on enemy lands without our knowledge, so there should be no danger in our advancement. We should break up our tents right away. If we act now, we can be on the move by noon.”

Again, Makipura's motives were far too transparent to hide them behind his weak arguments, his laughable trickery. Pacha could only offer another sneer in response. How could his brother Corco, the clever deceiver, be under-prepared for his attack? How could such a massive expedition aim at nothing more than some plunder? All Lord Makipura wanted was for the central army to leave his lands as soon as possible. While it was true that the king's warriors had done some damage to the commoners of the lord's estate, they were only commoners after all. Makupira should have felt honored to host a king on his lands, and yet all the lord did was risk the king's armies in a pointless attempt to save the lives of a few worthless peasants.

“Enough,” Pacha shouted and stood. Although his arm would never be as it was before, although he had lost his prowess in combat, his head still stood above anyone else in the room, his figure still had its imposing might. Instinctively, the cowards around him recognized their leader and shrunk back in submission.

“You say that the southerners are unprepared in their attack of the north?” Pacha asked. “In that case, they would also lack supplies, would they not? This king has already instructed Uncle Divitius to blockade the Narrow Sea.”

A lie, but a necessary one. After all, how could a subordinate of the king be allowed to act on his own? He was sure Divitius would play along. No, he was sure his clever uncle had planned to sell him this favor a long time ago.

“With the blockade in place, the southern invasion forces will run out of food soon enough. By then, they will fall by themselves. We could win the war without a single battle. Once the time is ripe, we only need collect the emaciated corpse of King Corcopaca from our shores.”

“However-” Makipura tried again, but the king's fist struck the table to end all discussions.

”This king has made his decision and will hear no more of the matter. All of you are dismissed.”

Although still unwilling, no one dared speak up again as they trudged out of the tent. Once the issue was resolved, Pacha sank back into his uncomfortable throne and looked at the letter which had caused all of these troubles. From within his silken robe, he drew a second letter and placed it beside the first. Both had arrived around the same time. In truth, the king had wanted to see his troops storm out as well, to face his brother in honorable combat on an open field for once, to prove his worth in battle and wash away his shame with blood. Yet with his worries and concerns, his advisor had forced Pacha to stand down. Even though he did not like the inactivity, he saw the wisdom within. Even further, he understood that he could not rule alone. He needed to trust someone, and so far, only Pallatio had proven an honest servant, far more worthy than any of the so-called lords around him.

For now he would sit still, and wait until Corco starved to death. Though of course, his patience was limited. As soon as he had more information, as soon as he knew that the coast was clear, he would take his army and crush his enemies beneath his heels. Maybe he could send his cowardly underlings to the frontlines in the initial engagement. That would be nice. At the thought, Pacha's mood lifted. Just a bit of patience, and everything would be fine.

To Arnao's left, he could see a string of ships, with about two miles of space between them, stretched all the way to the horizon. To his right, the sight was the exact same.

When he looked upon his fleet, Captain Arnao d'Ichilia felt great pride. These were the most advanced vessels in all of Medala. Fittingly, upon these great ships rested Medala's greatest warriors. Some nasty tongues would pretend like House Pluritac or House Rubria had greater warriors than House Ichilia, but they understood nothing. When it came to naval warfare, no one could hold a candle to their mighty house, and this great fleet proved it.

Let the Pluritac brats battle it out for the moment, he thought. Soon enough, they would have bitten each other half to death, and then it would be his master's time to strike. In the end, House Ichilia would come out on top and become the driving force of the empire. Already, this was shown by his master's clever prediction of the southern king's movements. And as the great Divitius Ichilia rose to power, it would all be Arnao's achievement, at least in part.

Who else but him would have acted this decisively, as soon as they caught wind of the southern attack? Who else could have hidden their ships so well and kept them out of sight of foreign spies? With great care, he had distributed his fleet in villages all across the coastline, to prevent early discovery, and to spread out at a speed unimaginable by their foes once the time was ripe.

Yes, soon enough, once they had starved out that southern king, they would be able to destroy his army. Then Arnao would have reaped the greatest achievement in the war. Soon, he was sure, he would be called into Huaylas, to serve at the side of Master Divitius. Soon, his family would become part of the new ruling class of Medala. Was it too much to dream of his own piece of territory within the south? Arnao felt it would not be an excessive reward for his continued service.

“Captain Arnao, we need to pick up some additional supplies soon.” An overzealous servant broke right into his plans for the future. Although Arnao frowned, he knew his first mate was right. Before he could reap the rewards for his great contributions, the captain would still have to achieve them through effort.

“Very well. We will travel north ourselves, to restock at our supply storage in Antsan village.” Luckily, Arnao had shown the foresight to arrange for a number of silos within the villages along the coast of the Narrow Sea. Of course there was no reason to bother a great captain of his caliber with such a menial task. However, if he went himself, he would appear more proactive. Another good chance to distinguish himself in front of his master, or so he thought.

After they had signaled the ships around them to plug the hole in their formation, their own vessel had turned north and rowed to their point of contact. This was another of his ingenious ideas: Before the blockade, he had split their fleet into several smaller, independant groups. Every few days, one ship from among that formation would split off and pick up the supplies for the rest of their group at a prearranged point, while the remainders held the formation. This way, they could establish a blockade across several horizons, even without any easy way to coordinate over such distances.

However, when Antsan village came into view, the experienced captain sensed trouble straight away. Before he even saw the coastline, he noticed the smoke rise in the distance. Soon after followed the familiar rooftops of the village, but then he spotted something he had only heard of so far. In the cold winter breeze blew the lavish new banners of the southern king, silver on purple. Who knew how the southern paupers had managed to purchase this much purple dye for their banners, but soon all that wealth would be Lord Ichilia's.

Undeterred by his foes, Arnao tasked his men to press on. Of course he was a bit worried about potential enemies in the village, but his were the best warriors in all of Medala. Even more so: What else could he do? They had come this far, so they had to at least try their best, or go back without food and starve. Maybe these visitors were nothing but a coincidence. Maybe they were only scouts of the southern king, resting in the village before they moved on. In that case, it would be easy enough to overpower a handful of warriors.

However, his hopes were shattered from above, were their eagle-eyed warrior scanned the landing area.

“The storage has been burnt! The storage has been burnt! The beasts want to starve us!”

Although he could feel his hands tighten in his long sleeves, the situation could still be salvaged. They wouldn't burn all that food, would they? It was far too valuable for such a brutish act. These southern scouts must be holding the food in their possession for now. It was an easy take. Even if they had already transported the grain inland, there was still the village itself, wasn't there? Those villagers must have their own supplies for the winter, more than enough to feed Arnao's troops for a while longer.

“Keep ahead! Let's make them pay for their crimes!” More than anything, Arnao wanted to punish the arrogant king who dared get in the way of his own glory! As their ship drove in closer, an atmosphere of grim determination spread from the captain to his men. “Soon the land is upon us, and with it the cowardly foes! Let no one li-”

A burst of thunder broke through his fervent speech, and then another. As the water splashed around them, he ducked beneath the ship's railing.

“Cannon fire!” his outlook shouted.

What's the point of such a call? an annoyed Arnao thought. Who wouldn't have heard the cannons?

“Hold fast and keep ahead!” he shouted at his men, himself hidden beneath the ship's railing. Only a few dozen pulls from the oars and they could land to close the distance. Then those cannons would be a deterrent no longer.

“Hold fast I said!”

However, his cowardly men had hidden as well, no one willing to face the enemy fire and just row.

Bastards, he thought. Before he could educate his men on their failures, something smashed against the side of the ship to take away his thoughts as well as his balance. While he crawled across the floor to reach the relative safety of his cabin, he heard his men's screams turn into an irritating mess.

“Starboard rudders damaged!”

“We're drifting!”

“Hull has been damaged and is taking water!”

This was outrageous. He couldn't die here, not him! What about his future, his glory? Faced with a difficult situation, Arnao made the only correct decision.

“Retreat!”

Sometimes, a tactical retreat was the best, most glorious choice. For now, he still had food enough aboard the ships. They could just take the village any other day. As he thought about his achievement in saving Lord Ichilia's ship through his swift, tactical retreat, he dreamed of revenge.