The air in the richly appointed room was heavy. Five men sat on plush armchairs arranged in a circle and each chair was a priceless work of art. Their padded seats were embroidered with the Markvist coat of arms, a crowned crimson eagle, and intricate patterns were carved into the wood of the arms and legs to make the chair look like a living tree. Lining the wall across from the door were large bay windows, offering breathtaking views of the lake and mountains beyond.

“We should replace General Penolith at once!” exclaimed a florid bald man with bushy white eyebrows. He was dressed in a pale blue jacket over darker blue trousers. He held a crystal snifter filled with brandy that swirled and splashed about as he spoke animatedly, “he’s lost his nerve in his old age, throwing away a promising position in the face of a little resistance.”

“The Renfians outnumbered us two to one, Margrave Nisteril,” Kotro niv Markvist pointed out, as he took a puff from a cigar. He watched the smoke spiral up to the large crystal chandelier that hung from the high vaulted ceiling.

“We could have won,” the Margrave of Norinvia insisted, “we had half again as much cavalry as they and each Markvist soldier is worth at least five Renfian peasant infantrymen.”

“General Penolith made the correct decision in my opinion,” Lepon Wilvist offered. He was a thin, distinguished man with a head of sparse grey hair. He wore the high collared white shirt under a modest red jacket, “if our forces had been defeated, the Renfians could have crossed the Sinlet unopposed to threaten the Lowash Plains.”

“A peasant would side with those Renfian upstarts,” Nisteril scoffed, “they would have been the ones who were defeated and cast out of our lands if Penolith hadn’t retreated like a cowardly Siaron.”

“It is sometimes the wiser decision to retreat,” Lepon replied serenely, pretending not to notice the jab at his lowborn birth.

A man with a head of rich blue-black hair listened to the proceedings with a grave face. He wore a snow-white overcoat lined with gold-threaded embroidery. He inhaled audibly, and everyone fell silent, giving him their full attention. He was Solon niv Markvist, the ruler of the Principality of Markvist, which was the richest, largest, and arguably most important member of the Nescovian League.

“Master Lepon is an important chancellor in my court,” Solon began, “his advice has always been sound, and I will thank you to treat him with the respect his office merits.”

“I meant no offence,” Nisteril niv Docast said, bowing his head, “forgive me, but I am most distressed by our performance at Vestervin, and the shame it has caused the League.”

“No offence was taken,” Lepon said with a wave of his hand, “we are all deeply concerned by the events at Vestervin.”

“How many men do you think it will take to dislodge the Renfians?” Solon asked, directing the question at his second son.

“Perhaps twenty thousand?” Kotro offered, “we’ll have to attack across the Sinlet this time, which will be no easy task.”

Solon grunted and gave Lepon a knowing look. “That’s what General Penolith suggested. Unfortunately for us, our contract with the Landteers expired with our withdrawal, and the Renfians have already snatched most of them up, offering double what we did with the promise of safe, rear echelon postings.”

“Those carrion have no loyalty,” Nisteril spat, “it is frankly shocking.”

“Yes, so we will have to raise the bulk of these armies from our peasantry,” Solon said tiredly, “we’ll have our work cut out for us tonight, to convince our peers to go along with it.”

“I dare say,” Nisteril said, as his eyebrows soared, “the Renfians are playing with fire, trusting their peasantry with arms. We should only do the same with utmost caution.”

“Indeed, My Lord,” Lepon said, “being conservative in sending our first response has cost us dearly and I fear the good lords of the League may be hesitant to commit more soldiers.”

“The Renfians will capture half of Norinvia if we don’t retake Vestervin!” Nisteril exclaimed, “isn’t the reason for tonight’s ball to canvass their support?”

“We will try, Margrave,” Solon soothed, “tonight is important. We must show Renfy, and the world, that the League will respond decisively to any aggression, or I fear this may be the first of many incursions of our borders.”

“A few of the lords in the southwest say they can’t send any men on account of the uprisings,” Nisteril snorted and cast an accusatory look at Lepon.

Lepon lidded his eyes, unmoved by the barb in the margrave’s words. “As I said, it would not be wise for us to get involved in that. It might cause hard feelings when it comes time to raise infantry in future.”

“Just toss them a few coins and all will be forgiven,” Nisteril sniffed, “just a bunch of money grubbers is what the peasantry are.”

Atri sat up in his chair, debating whether he should interject, then sank back, feeling it wasn’t his place. He was surprised to be present amongst such company at all.

“However, there is of course the other reason the League has refused to act against the rebellions…” the margrave continued.

“The reason that should remain unsaid!” Solon said sharply. His eyes bored into Nisteril who shrank back into his chair.

“We shall have to stress the importance of a show of force upon your guests tonight,” Nisteril said quietly. He then drained his snifter of brandy before sinking back in his chair to brood.

Everyone in the room knew the other, a reason that was an open secret to all in the League. It was to undermine the minor lords, who many felt contributed little militarily, so the more powerful lords could take over their lands. It had already happened in a few lands where the minor lords were so destitute that they were forced to sell their hereditary lands and live as commoners to make ends meet. To the wealthier lords, these mostly agrarian lands were barely worth the effort of managing. This was of course left unsaid. If the more powerful lords openly undermined the others, it could cause the entire League to collapse, which would embolden their aggressive neighbours who were always looking to expand their borders.

“Lord Atri,” Lepon said, breaking the awkward silence, “you’ve been awfully quiet. Do you have anything to add?”

Atri blinked and tore his gaze from the lake’s shimmering beauty. He took a deep breath and decided to speak frankly since he had been asked.

“Only that I feel that infantry should make up a bigger portion of our forces on any future expeditions west. We have too much cavalry that we struggle to make use of them all.”

“Nonsense!” Nisteril scoffed.

“How was your first battle, my son?” Solon asked kindly.

Atri and Kotro had been permitted to leave the front once it became apparent that a stalemate would take place. It had been two days since he returned to the palace at the Markvist capital of Gradja, and this was the first time Atri had been in the same room as his father.

“It was a sobering experience,” Atri admitted, “and showed me just how little I know about the art of war.”

“Then it was worth sending you,” Solon smiled, “I heard you distinguished yourself.”

“The Second did all the work,” Atri replied frankly, “we just seized the opportunity their sacrifice created.”

“That’s a very mature view of the situation,” Lepon remarked, “but you sell yourself short.”

“Why do you think the League’s forces failed?” Solon ventured.

Atri knew it was a test and grappled with giving his honest opinion. He knew this could be his only chance to speak frankly with his father and took a deep breath.

“Because the League is weak,” Atri replied with conviction. In the corner of his eye, he saw his brother wince.

“That’s a controversial opinion,” Solon remarked with a raised eyebrow. The Prince of Markvist was the Chairman of the Nescovian League, and an ardent supporter of the alliance.

“But it’s true,” Atri asserted, “there are too many conflicting interests at play in the League. Look at Siaro, Renfy and Fluvia. They are ruled by kings who hold absolute power and can thus focus their people on a single purpose. We will always be at a disadvantage against them.”

“Their situations are different from ours, and we have kept all these kingdoms at bay for years” Nisteril cried, almost leaping from his chair, “besides, we already have an Emperor!”

Everyone in the room knew full well that the Nescovian League was nothing as cohesive as a kingdom. It was merely a mutual defence pact between the Gothrian speaking lands of the central continent. These were ostensibly a part of the Holy Calfurion Empire which had grown weak and fragmented. In truth, the Calfurion Emperor was merely a figurehead who wielded little if any influence in any part of their Empire.

“Times are changing,” Atri said gravely, “the cavalry that the League was once so feared for is no longer the dominant force on the battlefield.”

“Are you trying to say that the peasants are?” Nisteril scoffed.

“Infantry, yes,” Atri replied as he leaned forward in his chair, taking the bit between his teeth, “infantry that needs little training compared to a cavalryman, and which can thus be deployed in greater numbers for a far smaller cost. That is the future of war.”

“What you’re implying is that war will soon be decided into whoever can throw the most bodies at one another!” Nisteril roared, “God forbid so vulgar a thing ever comes to pass!”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room and the margrave bored his eyes into Atri who looked back without fear.

“Vulgar or not, this opinion is shared by many of the foremost minds of the Empire,” Lepon pointed out at length. His voice seemed eerily quiet compared to Nisteril’s.

“What you are suggesting is impossible, my son,” Solon said at length, “the League fought long and hard to free itself from the influence of the Calfurion Emperor, and there is little appetite for those days to return.”

“I am not saying that we bring back the Calfurion Empire, only that we somehow unite,” Atri blurted, “otherwise we condemn ourselves to being the sick man of the Continent

“Trust that we are working hard so that doesn’t come to pass,” Solon said, unmoved by his son’s passion, “trust in the League. They will come around and band together once a large enough threat appears. They always have.”

“And this Renfian invasion is just such a threat,” Nisteril said agreeably, “we’ll raise an army and smash them, show those mongrels their place.”

There was a discrete knock on the door and everyone’s heads turned. “Enter,” Solon ordered.

A white side door opened to reveal a thin man with greying hair dressed in a black overcoat and trousers. His clothes were immaculate, and he carried himself with immense dignity.

“Duke Velus is here and hopes to have a word before the ball begins,” Stevio, the Prince’s personal butler announced.

Solon looked out the window and saw that the sun was low in the sky and nodded. “Very well, I shall see him in my study.”

“Very good, Sire,” Stevio said. He bowed his head deferentially before closing the door.

Solon turned to the others before getting to his feet. “Well gentlemen, if that will be all, I’ll see you at the ball.”

“Kotro, a word, if I may,” Nisteril said once the prince left the room.

Kotro nodded and the two men left as well to talk privately. Atri walked over to the window and watched horse-drawn carriages travelling up and down the paved road that circled the lake, grateful for a moment to be alone. During the ball, he would be expected to entertain some of the most influential men and women in the League. That was Kotro’s forte, while he found such social events exhausting. I’d much rather be amongst my men preparing for battle, he thought to himself absently.

“Master Atri,” came Lepon’s voice from behind him.

Atri jumped, completely unaware that the chancellor had remained.

“Sorry to startle you, My Lord,” Lepon said, “I was hoping you would give me a few minutes of your time.”

Atri cleared his throat to hide his embarrassment. “Certainly.”

“You said some very wise things just now,” Lepon said, as he stood next to Atri and took in the view.

“You’re too kind,” Atri said politely. Lepon Wilvist was his father’s most valued advisor, and Atri respected him greatly.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re right,” Lepon said in his usual matter-of-fact tone.

Atri turned and looked at the older man who was two inches shorter than he. “About what?”

Lepon’s eyes lidded. “About the League being ineffective.”

“My father and the Margrave looked like I’d blasphemed when I said that,” Atri said ruefully, as he smoothed a fold in his already meticulous jacket, “so I think it’s safe to say they do not share your view.”

“I’m afraid the League is going the way of the Empire. Greater Gothria needs to be united under a single man,” Lepon said, referring to the informal name of the Gothrian speaking region that made up the central part of the Continent, “or we will be left in the dust, or worse, conquered and divided up between our stronger neighbours.”

“But who would lead this new kingdom?” Atri asked, intrigued, “who could? My father is one of the most powerful men in the League, and even he doesn’t have the power to make all submit. Not that he has sought to.”

“Conditions aren’t right yet,” Lepon agreed. He appraised Atri briefly before adding cryptically, “but they soon might be.”

Atri frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Gothria has everything it needs to become one of the great powers on the Continent,” Lepon said, ignoring the young lord’s question. He turned his gaze to the soaring snow-capped peaks beyond the lake, “all she needs is the right men in charge.”

“That is dangerous talk,” Atri warned.

“It is more dangerous for us to remain as we are,” Lepon replied serenely, “I think you are beginning to understand that now.”

Lepon bowed his head and excused himself, leaving Atri to ponder his words. There was a truth to it. The population of Greater Gothria rivalled that of Renfy and Siaro and dwarfed Fluvia’s. The plains and valleys carved out by the great rivers that crossed the region made for fertile farmlands, and iron ore was plentiful along the Sinlet Valley. The downsides were that they were surrounded by powerful and ambitious rivals.

He then thought about the growing role of the infantry. Guns made the role of infantry drawn from the ranks of peasants more important. That was a fact. They were already a more important part of an army than the expensive to train and maintain cavalry. War on the Continent was already being fought by armies numbering in the tens of thousands. It seemed inevitable that war would soon be fought by armies numbering in the hundreds of thousands or perhaps even millions… War on an industrial scale.

A lump appeared in Atri’s throat, and he swallowed to clear it. “God protect us from that nightmare.”

The languid lilt of a string quartet mingled with hushed notes of private conversations while smartly uniformed waiters walked between guests bearing silver platters of finger food. Women in flowing gowns twirled gracefully with well-dressed men, many of whom were wearing military uniforms on the marbled floors of the huge ballroom. It was dark outside the massive thirty foot high windows but the room was well lit by the six enormous crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling.

Atri watched the dancers as they glided across the floor like clouds absently as his mind pondered the issue of unifying Greater Gothria. There must be hundreds of independent lords in the region, all out to protect their own interests. Bringing them all to heel without bloodshed would be impossible. Was Markvist powerful enough to unify them through whatever means? Certainly not. Perhaps if a few of the most influential lords banded together…

No, there was too much rivalry and bad blood between them. The Convention of Noretor had only been signed five years ago, clearly defining the borders of each member, and included the solemn agreement that there would be no more tussles for land between members of the League. Before that, skirmishes and even open war had been common. Try as he might, Atri could see no path to unification. If there was one man in the League who knew how to bring that about, it was Lepon, who was deep in conversation with the Baron of Lobardin and the Earls of Breecont and Vingeter.

He then looked over to his father who was surrounded by the cream of Gothrian society, all vying for his attention. Many of them were great lords in their own right. Allies for now, but also rivals. None were likely to support the other as sole ruler. A rule by council perhaps? No. That would be little different from the League that existed now.

“No one’s going to approach you with that scowl on your face.”

Atri blinked and turned to see Kotro beaming at him with two snifters of cognac in his hand. He offered one to Atri who accepted it and took a sip.

“Perhaps I’d rather be alone,” Atri stated flatly.

Kotro’s eyebrows soared. “You’re the only unattached son of House Markvist and therefore the most eligible man here.”

Atri looked balefully at his brother. He was married to the daughter of the Prince of Ingolin of one of the kingdoms in Vetory, which was a collection of kingdoms south of Gothria, beyond the Lud Forests. The marriage was a political one and there was little love between the couple. His brother was also a notorious womanizer, much to the irritation of his father.

“Anyway, it’s my pleasure to introduce you to Lady Doriny niv Salini, daughter of Duke Vilnist,” Kotro said as he stepped aside to reveal an attractive blonde-haired young lady wearing a flowing sea green dress embroidered with gold thread. She lowered her head demurely as she curtseyed before Atri.

“The pleasure is all mine,” Atri said. He gave his brother a quizzical look as he offered the lady his hand.

“Lepon says the two of you share the same views,” Kotro replied. The look on his face told Atri that he didn’t fully understand why he was introducing her either, “and that it would be good for the two of you to meet.”

Doriny set her hazel eyes on Kotro expectantly. The vice general broke into an easy smile. “With this, my job is done,” he said, bowing expansively, “I’ll give the two of you some privacy.”

Once he had gone, Atri looked a Doriny and smiled nervously. “How may I be of service, my Lady?”

Doriny cocked her head to the side and appraised Atri with a critical eye. “Not bad, I suppose. You might do.”

“Do for what?” Atri asked, completely confused.

A gaggle of ladies chittered and laughed as they walked past, with a pair of tired looking manservants in tow.

“Perhaps we should discuss this somewhere private, Atri Niv Markvist,” Doriny suggested.

Atri blinked, still clueless as to what was happening and willed his mind to work. “This way, My Lady,” he said and flinched as she took him by the elbow.

“Well?” Doriny demanded as he looked at her in confusion, “lead the way.”

“Of… of course,” Atri managed.

He started for the double doors of the ballroom before realizing his grievous error and veering towards the open doors that led to the veranda.

“Were you really going to lead a lady you had just met to a private room?” Doriny asked with an impish smile, “I know your brother has a reputation. Perhaps it is a family trait.”

“Of course not,” Atri lied unconvincingly and shook his head. He had to keep his wits around this one.

There were a few men on the veranda, their heads were down, deep in serious discussions, but it wasn’t difficult to find a quiet spot overlooking the palace gardens. Lamps had been set about in the garden casting delightful shadows and highlighting works of art that the prince was particularly proud of. A few couples walked the freshly swept paths in between immaculately tended flower beds.

“I am looking to marry into House Markvist,” Doriny began abruptly once they were alone.

Atri blinked. “What?”

“Your other brothers are already married off,” Doriny continued, “from what your chancellor tells me, you have some mature views on the kingdom, which is more than I can say for a large portion of the nobility.”

“So you seek power?” Atri asked, entirely at a loss with how to deal with this daughter of their influential western neighbour.

“I understand you wish to unify Greater Gothria,” Doriny said, standing too close for Atri’s comfort, “so do I. I believe it’s the only way we can grow strong enough to protect ourselves from our neighbours.”

Atri’s eyes widened. Lepon worked quickly, the thought of unification hadn’t even occurred to him until two hours ago. “I understand that it’s still a very novel view and one that isn’t very widely accepted,” Atri began.

“It’s the logical choice,” Doriny asserted, “our Houses are two of the most powerful in the League and dominate northeast Gothria. By joining them, we will rival the influence of the Haroways and if we can get those inbreds on our side, that’s almost half of Greater Gothria unified already.”

“Hold on,” Atri protested, shaking his head to clear it, “first and foremost, as I understand it, neither of us is in line to inherit power. Secondly, getting the Haroways ‘onside’ as you say is easier said than done. They’d be far more interested in restoring power to their Empire than unifying Gothria.”

The various branches of the Haroway Imperial Dynasty now controlled scattered regions throughout the Continent which included large provinces in Greater Gothria. On paper, they were still a major continental power. However, their power was not monolithic and various succession crises had strained relations between the various branches of the family.

Doriny gave Atri a look of disdain, as though he was struggling to understand the most basic premise. “Our union would only be the first step towards unifying our Houses and our lands.”

“You are aware that I’m the third son in my family, and so far down the line of succession that it barely merits mentioning, don’t you?” Atri pointed out.

Doriny looked at Atri as though he had just told her that the sky was blue. “As I said, it’s the first step towards unifying our Houses,” she repeated, “the first of many steps.”

The gears turned in Atri’s head as he struggled to understand what she was proposing... Besides marriage. “It could take years, decades for your plan to bear fruit if this is a first step.”

“Better to get started on an incomplete plan than complain it’ll take too long and do nothing,” Doriny snorted, “perhaps I misjudged you.”

“What would your next step be if we got married, then?” Atri asked, deciding to humour her. He had already decided to turn down her offer of betrothal. To call this scheme half-baked would give it too much credit.

“With our families linked, it would be easier to push for a union between our houses, wouldn’t it?” Doriny replied confidently, “our fathers are reasonable people and will see the benefits. Individually, our Houses are already two of the most powerful and influential in the League together, combined, well, that’s most of North East Gothria unified already and an excellent base of power for further expansion.”

Atri thought it over and saw the wisdom in what the young lady was saying. Markvist and Salini combined would be a formidable power in the Continent, not just in the League. Perhaps a greater one than the kingdom of Ekestron that lay between Gothria and the kingdom of Siaro to the east. Relations between Ekestron and the League were good. Both needed the another to fend off the hegemony of the Siarons so this new state’s power would be secure… if it could be brought about.

Atri nodded. “I suppose you have a point. As a first step, it’s not bad.”

“So, what do you think?” Doriny asked excitedly, “this would be a political marriage. There needn’t be feelings involved.”

Atri looked at the girl and raised an eyebrow. “Only political?”

“We scarcely know each other, though I suppose that’s not unusual for marriages in families of our stature,” Doriny said thoughtfully, “if it grows into something more, we can consider it a bonus.”

As she thought it over, Atri noticed how young she looked, probably two years younger than he, the same age as his sister and couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity.

“What is it?” Doriny demanded.

“I’m sorry, it’s just that it’s so unusual to see a girl your age asking to be married off in a political union,” Atri said, once he had regained his composure, “shouldn’t you be dreaming of a knight in shining armour coming to sweep you off your feet?”

“The Continent is going through a change, Atri niv Markvist,” Doriny said, boring her hazel eyes into Atri’s, “and there are three giants at our doorstep, four if you include the Darman Empire to the south-east, though they will have to go through the Siarons before threatening us. If we remain divided, we will be swallowed up.”

“I must say I agree,” Atri nodded.

“Atri is that you?” boomed a familiar voice.

Atri turned to see a tall, square-faced man approaching them. His large belly seemed to shake as he walked. Atri groped through his memory to match the face to a name. “Baron Lest,” he said at length, “it’s good to see you.”

A knowing grin crossed the baron’s face, “you got there in the end, that’s what’s important.”

He stopped in his tracks upon noticing Doriny for the first time. “Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’ll come back later.”

“It’s quite alright Baron,” Doriny said as she curtseyed politely, “I was just about to look for my father.”

“Think about what I’ve said,” she added softly before walking away.

“She’s Vilnist’s second daughter, isn’t she?” Lest Dorvar remarked, watching her walk away, “a bit young for you, don’t you think?”

“Oh, she approached me,” Atri replied guilelessly.

Lest paused and gave Atri a shocked look. “Is that a fact?”

The baron shook his head and smiled when Atri nodded, “girls these days certainly are bold, aren’t they?”

“I hear the uprisings are bad in your region,” Atri remarked, wanting to change the subject.

Baron Lest’s lands lay to the south of Markvist, bordering some of their closest vassals, and close to the heart of the peasant uprisings. So far, they had been contained to the Boverlind region and hadn’t yet spread to Markvist lands. Had they spread to Salini? Atri wondered absently.

“A few of the minor lords nearby have been overthrown, but I’m cracking down in my own lands,” Lest said with a wave of his hand, “I’ve had to come down harshly on some of my own peasants, but like I told your father, Loz will fulfil its obligations in helping to throw those cheeky Renfians out of our lands.”

Atri had an idea of what the harsh measures were. He and his men had passed through a few of the rebellious provinces and seen what the local lords had done to those they caught. It was not something he cared to remember. How men could inflict such indignities on one another he could never tell. It wasn’t like war. At least that was honourable. Staking one’s life to win the day. Both sides knew what was at stake. He then recalled riding down the fleeing men at Vestervin. Had that been honourable?

“Excuse me?” Atri said. He had been so lost in his reverie that he had completely missed what the baron said.

“I said I hope that Lepon knows what he’s doing,” Lest said, looking back into the ballroom. The string quartet was on their feet bowing to the applause of the guests which meant the ball was winding down to a close.

“What has Lepon done?” Atri asked.

Lest blinked. “Oh that’s right, you were fighting at Vestervin. Your father’s chancellor told me not to help put down the uprisings in my neighbouring lands. He said the time wasn’t ripe yet.”

“Oh,” Atri said, “he’s not mentioned anything about that to me.”

Lest drained his glass of wine and beckoned to a waiter who quickly exchanged it for a full one. “It’s a dangerous game he’s playing, eh? If these uprisings get out of hand, they could swallow up even Markvist lands, couldn’t they?”

“Is there anything I can help you with, Baron?” Atri asked, feeling the time was right to get to the point. The Baron was as genial as most towards his family, mostly due to their stature, but they weren’t close personally. For him to approach Atri meant he was after something.

Lest’s eyes weighed Atri briefly. “Lepon and your father, the prince, have been swarmed all evening making it impossible for me to approach them.”

“Is there a message you wish for me to pass along?” Atri ventured.

“Just that I may have to take more… extreme… measures to pacify the peasants in my lands if they want my armies to march to Margrave Nisteril’s aid,” Lest paused to let his words sink in, “measures that may violate the League’s constitution.”

A bead of sweat ran down Atri’s neck as he remembered the gibbets and the stench of rotting flesh in the provinces where the uprisings were particularly bad. “I’ll pass the message along.”

“Thank you kindly,” Lest bowed stiffly and walked away, leaving Atri feeling complicit in a great atrocity.

Atri dwelled on the implications until a neatly uniformed servant appeared on the veranda and said in a loud, clear voice, “Prince Solon wishes to make an announcement. It would be greatly appreciated if you all went inside.”

Atri put Lest and his people aside and followed the others inside. His father was standing in the middle of the room flanked by Lepon, Kotro and Nisteril.

“Ladies and gentlemen, silence please,” Margrave Nisteril boomed with his best parade voice, “the prince has a few words for you.”

A hush fell over the ballroom as Solon stepped onto a dais that had been brought out by a pair of servants.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I will make this brief,” he began, “as you all know, the Renfians have crossed our borders and captured the region around Vestervin. I am proud to announce that tonight, you members of the Nescovian League have resolved yourselves to send a message that we are a strong nation that will not stand to be bullied. Tonight, it is my great privilege to tell you all that you members of the Nescovian League have pledged to raise an army totaling fifty thousand men to throw the Renfians out of our lands and show the Continent once again that an attack on one of us is an attack on all of us and that the League is strong!”

Solon paused as a roar of approval greeted him. Soon it would be time to raise armies and Atri remembered Baron Lest’s vow. How was he going to raise infantry after brutalizing his people? Would he dare?

“It looks like you’re going to war,” Doriny whispered into his ear.

Atri hadn’t noticed her approach and jumped, “yes, it appears that way.”

“Fifty thousand,” Doriny remarked, “that will possibly be the largest army the League has ever raised.”

“We’d count our blessings if half that number turn up,” Atri replied, keeping his voice low, “the lords will send fewer men than they have pledged, citing the same tired old excuses; unfit men, insufficient funds and all the rest of it.”

“Oh,” Doriny blinked, “but Salini always sends at least the number pledged, sometimes more.”

“So does Markvist,” Atri said, “but the rest…”

Doriny looked up at Atri as he shook his head with a wry grin. “Still, an army of twenty to thirty thousand will send quite the message.”

“When can I expect an answer from you?” Doriny asked.

Atri was about to say that he would have a reply when he returned from the battle but stopped himself. His men often said that saying things like that before a battle was ill-omened.

“Soon,” he said instead.

Doriny smiled with amusement. “Remember, it’s impolite to keep a lady waiting.”

“Ah, there you are, young master,” came Lepon’s voice.

Atri and Carodin looked up from their conversation to see the chancellor approaching them, looking very tired.

“We can finish this up tomorrow,” Atri told Carodin. His second in command had found him just after his father’s speech and they had been discussing their preparations for their next expedition to the west.

“As you wish,” Carodin saluted smartly and nodded politely at Lepon before leaving them.

“I hear you had a chat with the Lady Doriny,” Lepon said with the faintest hint of a smile.

“She is quite the… interesting lady,” Atri allowed.

Lepon’s footsteps were quiet as he walked over to Atri. Around them, the ballroom was already mostly empty. Servants were tidying up and only a few military men remained in tight knots along the edges of the room to discuss the details of their upcoming commitments.

“What did you think of her?” Lepon asked innocently.

Atri’s eyebrows shot up. “Well, she is quite the aggressive young lady who knows what she wants… and she has some interesting ideas.”

“I suppose that’s true,” Lepon’s face was as impassive as ever except for his eyes which twinkled in amusement and Atri knew that Lepon knew about the proposal. In fact, if he were a betting man, he’d put money on Lepon putting that idea in her head in the first place.

“When do you set out for the west?” Lepon asked.

The abrupt change in topic caught Atri off guard and he had to take a moment to think. “As soon as possible, hopefully in three days,” he replied.

“That soon?”

“The Renfians are sure to hear of our new response soon,” Atri nodded, “they might try to cross the Sinlet, and we didn’t leave many men defending the crossing.”

“That is wise,” Lepon nodded, “but it might be worth taking the southern route through the Loz Valley to get there.”

Atri blinked. “That route’s longer and takes us through Boverlind.”

“Yes, perhaps your presence will calm things down a little there,” Lepon suggested, “give our allies some breathing room, and help them to raise their armies.”

“Or inflame things,” Atri said suspiciously.

“Ah, there’s no pulling the wool over your eyes,” Lepon said, breaking into a rare smile, “no, the actual reason I want you to go there is so that you might see how the people are treated.”

Atri frowned. “Why me?”

“You are one of the few to acknowledge the growing role of infantry in warfare,” Lepon replied, “perhaps you should also see the challenges of arming the common man and training him in the art of war.”

“I’ll think about it,” Atri allowed.

Lepon began to walk away but paused after two steps. “One more thing.”

“What is it?”

“You must not interfere with either side however tempted you might be,” Lepon warned.

“Why?”

“It is not yet time for House Markvist to interfere,” Lepon said simply.

“Which side of this are you on?” Atri asked.

“I am but a loyal servant of House Markvist,” Lepon replied, “that is whose side I’m on.”