As they camped at Jayderest, their numbers had swelled to over two hundred mounted mages across twenty lances. Nearly a quarter of their host was winged too, which was more than one might expect from a party of their size if not for the fact that they rode beneath the banner of House Kolchis. Raising pegasi was their lifeblood, the very act of which raised Noeh the Knowing into lordship in centuries past.

Perhaps more important than the strengthening of their host was Perdiccas’ success returning with the wandering hystor. Finding the enemy was as important as fighting the enemy, and few other mages could match the tracking ability of one with a flying familiar.

Faced with such a muster of the steelborn and their oathsworn, none of the tribes could hope for victory on the field.

The high lords of the host slowly trickled into Aspyr’s tent throughout the morning, warmed by the fur carpets and hearthstones and the tea being served. Secluded in the corner was Hystor Adryan, his eyes rolled back into his skull as if seeking out his very thoughts. Two trusted mages-at-arms stood guard over his empty body and cocooned him in a sound-tight sphere of wind. The slightest disturbance might cause his sliding to go awry, and Aspyr feared his self might never settle well within his own flesh if that were to happen.

Some of them, like Lord Nominal Attaginus, made a show of appreciating the decor. As a good host, Aspyr could only smile and give his thanks even as his teeth ached grinding against each other.

“I dare say your things are even finer than that of Lord Principal Tytus,” Attaginus said, sinking into a cushioned chair that creaked beneath his weight.

Aspyr craned his neck to look down at him. The man barely reached his chest while standing as it was. “Are you so familiar with House Pleion?” Aspyr asked frostily.

Attaginus smiled. “Lord Tytus has extended great courtesy to me as of late when I visited his court. I do not wish to be impudent, but I do like to think of him as a friend. He has even offered me a great sum of bright silver on credit, should it be needed.”

“A boon to be sure.” He recalled what Mydea had said. Attaginus had aspirations to expand the cavernous complex from which he ruled. It would take gold to find gold though, for the task was not simple. Hystors would have to be invited to survey the place lest they collapse the mountain on their heads. Afterwards, the necromantic fees would need to be paid to raise the corpses for the grueling work of mining.

“It does make one wonder if such generosity truly exists in the world,” Aspyr continued.

“You doubt his capacity?”

“Who could doubt it?” Aspyr asked. House Pleion was distant kin to Pleonexia, such that even were they not wealthy in their own right from trading with Nysia, the deep vaults of a house eminent were open to them. The terms would be favorable too if it meant Kolchis weakened and its vassals divided in loyalty.

Or worse, if fealty could be stolen away altogether.

It would not be done lightly, but Aspyr was an untempered steelborn in the eyes of many. If the coming battles were not handled well, it would give Attaginus all the pretext he needed to seek a new master, and a dispute between the great lords of the Deeplands could only be settled by Lord Pleonexia.

Not even the absolute right to private war that Kolchis possessed in theory as a house external would allow them to turn their swords and sorceries against another stoneborn house.

“Then you doubt his sincerity?” Attaginus asked.

“How can I claim to know his mind?” Aspyr asked. “Yet, while Lord Tytos may be generous to you today, who is to say his heirs will treat you well tomorrow?”

Attaginus shifted in his seat. “I would be their father’s friend.”

Aspyr showed him a thin smile. “I am sure my grandfather would be delighted to hear that friendships last after death.” He had, after all, accompanied Lord Pleonexia’s late father in every venture save their last. “Kolchis is not without means itself, Lord Attaginus,” Aspyr said, “but I have only just succeeded into my seat. Has even a year passed since Lord Eminent Pleonexia turned to me the turf and twig and gave to me my livery?”

“Not even half a year in truth since you paid homage and relief.”

“Then I hope my lord understands why I can be of no help for now,” Aspyr said. “If my grandfather’s life has taught me anything, it is not to rush when war and wealth are concerned.”

“I thank you for your words of caution. I shall ponder this matter deeply.” Attaginus said hastily.

That would stave off the vultures for now, but not forever. Much depended on a successful showing against the Tuskar.

At long last, Hystor Adryan stirred to life and the steelborn quieted as the magic surrounding the man dissipated. “I have seen eight parties venture south of the Aigean Range,” he said, accepting a cloth to dab the cool sweat off his face.

Murmurs broke out among the steelborn at his words. The Tuskar were other to them, each tribe doing as they willed with no regard for the others. They lived as the Empire did during the Terror of the Thousand Tyrants, when the Emperor was but a title. Only the Tuskar did not even have a king, and so their raids would not come all at once, but in waves throughout the winter.

For there to be this many in the first wave alone made it one of the largest attacks in recent memory.

As if even the tribes know that I am of age to be truly tested, Aspyr thought, warming his throat with a cup of tea. Tea had always been Mydea’s choice of drink, while he preferred sweeter spirits like ambrosia, but only fools drank before a battle. Whilst facing the Tuskar, they might be forced into a fight any day too, and so he abstained entirely.

“Eight warbands at the least.” Lord Andras Pyli’s voice cut through like the chatter like runesteel, having arrived at camp just that morning with his son and his sorcerers. “Before I departed from Northgate, Lord External Yberia sent word of attacks on his territory as well.”

“How does my uncle fare?” Aspyr asked.

“He did not sound concerned,” Andras answered.

Aspyr expected as much from the Knight Eminent of the Order of the Stone Shield, but thought to ask after his grandmother’s maternal family anyway. Though their lands were not next to each other, theirs were both houses external against the Tuskar, alongside Aeria.

“Where have the Tuskar struck us?” asked the fair-haired Sir Syrus, looking at Hystor Adryan.

The hystor answered perfunctorily, rattling off the names of villages, hamlets, and farmsteads too small for Aspyr to have ever heard of.

“Where are these places?” Aspyr asked.

It was Alkaios Pyli who pointed them out on the map—a clustering of attacks on those who paid dues to House Pyli or Sir Lorne of Lone Stone. “It may have been easier to say where they haven’t attacked,” he said, frustration seeping into his tone. “Some of their deeds we saw on the road, but we could not stop all of them ourselves.”

Not yet a man grown at nineteen, yet already permitted by his father to speak for him in a council, while the older brother was left behind to watch Northgate. It was clear who the future lord of House Pyli would be.

“We ought to ride for the keeps of Northgate and Lone Stone then,” said Sir Syrus. “The tribes will withdraw either through the mountain paths or through the Pass of Perasma itself if they are so heavily burdened. Weary and weakened after their raids, we will smash them before they can truly profit from plundering and cut off their means of retreat!”

“We might also call on more mages. This host is truly larger than any of us expected,” added Attaginus.

Those stoneborn south or west of Aigis—and the Weeping River—made noises of approval, but only them.

Aspyr could not field his forces indefinitely. There were only so many days of knightly and magely service he was owed in a year, and to ask for more would be resisted by those not imperiled. The steelborn under threat like the Pylis and the Lornes would continue to fight with him, but they would not be enough. Nor could a greater muster be called on, lest he spend too much of his strength now and leave nothing for the raids later in the season.

If he had not given relief so generously to Lord Pleonexia, he might have the coin on hand to pay for knightly services beyond what he was entitled to…

“You wish to give them a free hand to act as they please until then?” Alkaois bristled, before turning to Aspyr with a look. “My lord external, this cannot be done!”

That he had addressed Aspyr as his lord external was not merely out of deference, he knew by now. It was calculated—a twist on the same show he had tasked Lady Hermia to act out before Lord Pleonexia. What use was there for a lord external who was content to wait out threats in stone keeps as the strawborn suffered? His southern vassals might not think any less of him for doing so—it wasn’t their lands that would suffer for it.

But his other lords and ladies would never think kindly of him if he were to shy away now. All that Mydea had toiled for while he was at Aelisium torched in a single moment. Even now she risked her very life for his sake.

His shoes dug into the soft bear rug carpeting the floor. How can I be worthy of the lordly seat she’d ceded to me if I do otherwise?

“Each of the warbands have but two paths before them,” Marshal Perdiccas said beside Aspyr in a low voice. “To keep raiding, or to retreat beyond the Aigean Range.”

“They will not retreat yet,” Aspyr said, sure as the seasons. He offered his marshal a smile for his guidance. “They have struck at wayward villages and farmsteads till now, but the true prizes they seek have never been there.”

Raiding was not about food, though they’d certainly help themselves to any sheep or strawborn they came across. No, when they came, it was for the Empire’s silk and steel and for the bronze sword at his side or Mother’s runesteel rapier with Mydea; for tools and tomes and every good thing they could not make. The Tuskar had no cities, and what few settlements they had were too small for great works of smithing, though it was said that mending was within their means.

“My lords and ladies, I must confess I have never been too patient of a man,” Aspyr continued. “To come all the way north armed and armored, and then to wait for my enemies to come to me?” He glanced at the southern stoneborn who huddled together to his right, closer to the pyrestones that warmed his tent. “We face the Tuskar, not the Thragian legions or even the Pyrian phalanxes.”

“It is well and good to attack,” Lady Leah Lorne said, thin brows coming together. “But where first?”

“For the moment, the tribes have done us the favor of huddling together in one place,” Aspyr said. “When they disperse at the first sight of our host, we will run down those closest while harassing the rest from the air,” he said with more confidence than he felt. His gaze shifted toward Lord Pyli. “My sister has spoken to me at great length about your family’s newest keepsakes.”

At last, Lord Andras, who had been silent all the while, spoke, “When she visited me at my keep, Lady Mydea seemed quite keen to know about how I’d taken a fang from a mythuselah.”

Aspyr recalled all that Mydea had told him about this man—that it was a point of pride for the Lord Nominal of House Pyli to have become a mythslayer. Enough that he had offered to hunt one with House Kolchis come the raids. “Do you suppose we shall come across one this season?” Aspyr asked.

“With so many warbands coming, it is almost certain,” Andras said.

“Then let us test their claim,” Aspyr said, sharing a smile with his vassal. “Let us see if they are worthy of being called myths.”