Atri rubbed his bleary eyes and looked up at the sky. The mist had disappeared completely the day after the elves left, and now it was hard to believe it had existed at all. It was a clear day, the first one in weeks, and the sun was shining down into the chamber. The bodies of the distorted creatures decomposed almost immediately, and within minutes, only bones remained. Bones that looked disturbingly human.

All around him, men were busying themselves cataloguing and studying the numerous books that had been stacked in a corner. Atri’s eyes then went to the arch that looked like it was a part of the room’s architecture. He wondered if it was possible to dismantle it. Or if it was wise to do so.

“I must say, this is all rather disconcerting,” Lepon remarked.

He had been on a diplomatic mission to Loz, so it had taken a while for word of Atri’s discovery to reach him. The chancellor only arrived the evening before, and Atri had stayed up late into the night to bring him up to speed. Atri had been glad for the distraction. He had done little more than pour over the books. They were mostly religious texts that discussed the concept of hell and demons of the various religions that predated the Holy Church on the Continent.

“You weren’t here,” Atri said, “I saw things that made me question my sanity.”

“I wouldn’t have believed you if you hadn’t had several witnesses,” Lepon admitted, “even then, I’m more inclined to believe it’s a case of mass hysteria.”

Atri grunted. “I think I’d rather that were the case.”

He made a face before asking, “any updates on the identity of our dead cardinal?”

Lepon shook his head. “We’re checking, but it will take time. There are many cardinals in the Holy Church.”

“My lord, they’ve found something I think you should see.”

Atri looked up to see a man standing at the entrance to a passageway that led further down into the crypts. An initial inspection had revealed nothing but more remains laid out on shelves on either side of a narrow corridor dug out of the earth down there, but Atri had his people investigate them all the same. It was impossible to tell if the bodies were elves or human, all they knew was that they were ancient.

“What is it, Lorni?” Atri asked.

The short, thin man had worked as a helper in the Markvist’s stables for years and Atri knew him well. Most of the men who had been sent here had worked for the family for years and were trusted by his father. However, not many could read Nurinvian and so it had fallen to Atri and the handful of others to pour through the mountains of tomes they’d found.

Lorni stepped aside to reveal a boy holding a book in his hands. The cover appeared to be made from the bark of a white tree, and elvish runes were carved into it. Atri leapt to his feet.

“Could that be an elvish book?” he breathed. The runes shimmered in the sunlight, making the book seem alive.

“I don’t know, my lord,” Lorni stammered, “but it looked unusual enough that I thought you ought to see it at once.”

“It certainly does fit the description of one,” Lepon remarked, as he and Atri rushed over to examine it.

Few humans had ever laid eyes on an elvish book, for they were jealously guarded by the elves. It was said that the elf who wrote it imparted a portion of their immortal soul onto the book, granting it endless life at the expense of their own, and once the book was complete, the elf who wrote it would soon wither away.

“This is a dangerous discovery, if it is,” Atri remarked as he took the book into his hands.

If the elves learned that a human was in possession of one of their books, they would certainly demand it be returned. There had been tales of wars waged over these books between elves and the then-nascent kingdoms of men.

“I didn’t know you could read elvish,” Lepon remarked, as Atri flipped through the pages. He knew the book could be thousands of years old, but each page was in immaculate condition, as were the runes.

“I can’t,” Atri replied, marvelling at the feel of the pages. They were smooth and as white as freshly fallen snow. The runes were of a deep indigo hue that shone brilliantly off the pages, “but some of the runes look familiar.”

He frowned and reluctantly handed the book to Lepon before rummaging amongst a pile of books he had already read. After a few minutes of searching, he found the book he was looking for and brought it back to Lepon. He flipped to a page and compared the runes there to the one on the tome. They matched.

“The War of Ashes,” Lepon muttered, reading the Nurinvian script, “do you think this book is a translation of the elvish one?”

“It could be,” Atri replied, “but I must confess, I haven’t given this book much attention because I thought it was a fable.”

“Perhaps it warrants a closer read,” Lepon suggested.

Atri read the translation while Lepon examined the Elvish book. A chill went down his spine as he read the first line, “let this chronicle be a warning to any human who reads it.”

By the time he finished, his head was pounding. He remembered why he’d dismissed it out of hand the first time he’d read it. It all seemed so farfetched. He turned his gaze to the arch and shuddered as he recalled the beasts he’d seen. Rather than take this tome as a cautionary tale, whatever maniacs were behind the return to this site had decided to use it as motivation to bring those horrors back to the Continent.

“That was quite a read,” Lepon sighed as he pulled his reading glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly, “if the translation is accurate, I’d say this is most concerning.”

“I don’t suppose elves write fiction,” Atri ventured, as he flipped through the elven book. He could feel the warmth emanating from the book and idly wondered who had written it.

“It seems incredible for the things in the book to have happened,” Lepon continued, “and that we humans have no records of our own.”

“We need to find out who’s behind all this,” Atri declared as he got tiredly to his feet.

“I’ll redouble our efforts to identify that cardinal,” Lepon said, “and put my spies to work. If they’re Gothrian, they should be able to get some leads soon.”

Atri nodded and wondered if he should update Gavik and his band on his findings. He sighed. He wanted nothing more to return to Gradja and discuss this at length with his father, but that would have to wait. He had a promise to keep.

“I’ll pack my things and leave for Gradja in the morning,” he declared, deciding to keep his relationship with Gavik a secret from Lepon for now.

“My lord, we have guests,” a man said, as he arrived breathlessly from outside.

Atri raised an eyebrow and looked up at the darkened sky. “At this hour? Who?”

“Elves, my lord,” the man said in a small voice, sounding as though he could not quite believe what he was saying, “they have asked to see you.”

Atri nodded. He had been expecting their arrival, and it was one of the reasons he was delaying his departure. If Gavik was with them again, that would be perfect.

“Let’s go meet them,” Atri said, trying to seem nonchalant and turned to Lepon, “would you like to come with me?”

Atri felt the room stir with excitement at the mention of elves. He studied Lepon’s face, anticipating his reaction, and was sorely disappointed. The wiry old man merely nodded slightly. “Yes, that should prove interesting.”

The Markvist chancellor paused and handed the elven book back to Lorni. “Hide this in the antechamber, please. I don’t think it’s time to return it to the elves.”

Lorni nodded and rushed to obey.

They walked outside where a pair of guards had been stationed. Standing amongst the trees were ten elves wearing their cloaks of shifting colours. He’d wanted to try asking them for one, though he was not hopeful of his chances. The elves were not known for their generosity. He recognized Lamak and Ila, but neither Gavik nor the boys were among their three human escorts, who stood close to the flares.

“I thought I told you to leave as soon as possible,” Lamak said brusquely as soon as he spotted Atri.

Atri was taken aback by the elf’s hostility, and his men bristled. “You also said we should discover who those people were and what they were up to. We are still in the midst of our investigation.”

“You can remove their items and continue your investigation elsewhere,” it was more of an order than a suggestion.

“But we may still discover more clues if we remain here,” Atri protested.

“You saw what things can be brought forth from here,” Lamak growled in a rare display of anger, “you must leave, at once.”

“Who do you think you are talking to?” one of the guards demanded with his hand on his sword.

“It would be unwise for violence to break out here.” Lepon’s voice was loud and authoritative and stopped the guard in his tracks. In the corner of his eye, Atri saw that a pair of elves already had bows in their hands, and had no doubts that they would not hesitate to kill.

“Stand down,” Atri ordered, knowing that they couldn’t afford to bring more attention to this forest until they knew more, “we are guests in these lands, and they have every right to ask us to leave.”

He returned his attention to Lamak. “My men will begin packing at once. In the meantime, perhaps we could have a chat in private.”

“The forest would be a good choice,” Lepon suggested, “away from prying ears. I can supervise the packing.”

Atri nodded at Lepon. He had already decided it would be better for them to hold onto the elven book for now, and to do so, they would have to keep the elves away from the chamber.

“Why?” Lamak asked suspiciously.

“Because I wish to discuss the War of Ashes,” Atri replied, deciding he had to show a little of his hand. He saw the elves’ faces change, except for Ila and another. So they kept it a secret from their youth. That was interesting. He knew Ila was only centuries old, and therefore born after the war ended.

“Come with me,” Lamak ordered, ashen-faced.

Atri followed the elf off into the trees. The others remained at the entrance to the barrows. None seemed keen to enter.

“What do you know?” Lamak demanded once they were alone.

“One of their books detailed it,” Atri replied, “I thought it was a fairy tale at first, but your reaction tells me it isn’t.”

Lamak fell silent, and Atri was filled with dread, certain now that the events outlined in the book did happen.

“You lived through it, didn’t you?” Atri asked.

“You must show me this book,” Lamak said at length, “how could they have known?”

“Can you read Nurinvian?” Atri asked, surprised. The elves disdained human culture and knowledge, and he was surprised they could even speak Gothrian.

“No,” Lamak conceded. His head dropped and he asked, “what did their book say about the war?”

Atri gave the elf a brief overview of the book’s contents, how thousands of years ago, long before the rise of men, the elven kingdom once spanned the Continent, from the western shores of Renfy to the frozen wastes that lay to the east of the continent that was now claimed by Siaro. And of how it was all once a lush, pristine forest that millions of elves called home. Then, he spoke of the Summoning. How elven sages discovered a gateway to the new realm. How a race of demons came through the gateway, bringing with them death and destruction. How they burned the forests down until only a small strip remained. And of the final, desperate battle where the elves were ultimately able to close the gateway and drive off the demons that remained. And how at the end of the war, only thousands of elves remained.

Lamak listened with a grim look on his face and looked pained when Atri spoke of the final battle.

“You fought there, didn’t you?” Atri ventured.

Lamak sighed and nodded.

“It must have been awful,” Atri said sympathetically.

“You have no idea,” Lamak said, turning his steely eyes onto Atri, “you had to be there to truly comprehend the horror.”

“Where was the gateway?” Atri asked, “the main one. From the descriptions in the book, this wasn’t it.”

Lamak sighed and looked to the inky black sky thoughtfully. “I believe it is or was called Calfuria. I don’t know if the name’s changed, you humans do enjoy changing the places of names often, and it’s hard for us to keep track.”

“Are there many other gateways?” Atri ventured.

Lamak shrugged. “We have found a few and told your people that they are sacred woods such as these… whether there are more than that is hard to say.”

Lamak’s face then hardened. “If your people bring about another Calamity, it could spell the doom of us all. The War took us to the brink, and we have not recovered to this day.”

“The War happened thousands of years ago,” Atri remarked, “and it seems your numbers have barely recovered.”

“If anything our numbers have dwindled since then,” Lamak replied, “Ila and Luru are the only births among our people in the last thousand of your years.”

“Why is that?” Atri asked, eager to learn more about the elves. They were normally closed off, but Lamak seemed uncharacteristically chatty after being reminded of the War.

“Our people are unaccustomed to death, and breed slowly,” Lamak sighed, “the War left deep scars on our people. Scars that still have not healed.”

“But that was thousands of years ago,” Atri repeated.

Lamak sighed ruefully. “If only we had your people’s resilience, but alas, that perhaps is the price of immortality. For your people, death is an inevitability. For us, it is an unspeakable tragedy, and many lost their entire family and all of their friends. It is difficult to think about procreating with such burdens weighing on your soul.”

Atri nodded. The pain of losing Carodin and most of his men in the last battle was still fresh to him and this entire affair had been a welcome distraction. He couldn’t fathom how he would feel if he lost his family.

“Why not destroy the gateways outright?” Atri ventured at length.

“We don’t know what will happen if we destroy the arches,” Lamak replied, “they could seal the gateways off permanently, or open the floodgates.”

“You could have sealed the chamber they were in off,” Atri pointed out.

Lamak broke into a rare smile. “We did. Your kind must have worked hard to excavate this site.”

“I take it all your sacred forests in human lands hold one of these gateways?” Atri asked.

“No, many are graves,” Lamak said, his words cut off as he recalled a painful memory. He took a moment to compose himself before continuing, “however, there are at least three sites like this that I can think of.”

“Perhaps we could visit them together and see if these people are there,” Atri suggested.

An owl shrieked in the distance and Atri jumped. He had grown accustomed to the silence of the forest.

“It’s good to see that the wildlife is back,” Lamak remarked as he peered into the darkness. Atri wondered if he could see the owl in the inky blackness of the night.

Elves with their eyes and their woodcraft would make excellent scouts and skirmishers, he thought to himself. However, their ways of war were hopelessly antiquated when it came to open battles. Would the armies of man be a match for them now? On an open field, absolutely. However, would they be swallowed up in the elven forests like the armies of so many ambitious kings who sought to expand through their lands had been throughout history? That was harder to say.

Lamak turned his piercing blue eyes on Atri. They glowed briefly, and Atri quickly banished such thoughts from his mind, fearful that the eyes of the elf would perceive his thoughts.

“To answer your question,” Lamak continued, “we have already investigated the other sites and have found no sign of them being disturbed… save for one.”

“The one in Calfuria?” Atri asked. Something about that unsettled him but couldn’t put his finger on what.

Lamak nodded. “It is deep in the heart of human lands, and we do not have relations with that tribe of your people.”

“Perhaps I could arrange a visit,” Atri suggested, “though that may be difficult due to the current political climate.”

Then the source of his unease fell into place. What if House Haroway were the ones trying to harness the power of the other realm? Was that what gave them the confidence and the clout to unify Vetory?

“Where in Calfuria is this site?” Atri asked, ashen-faced.

Lamak frowned. “It is a closely guarded secret. As far as we know, your kind has not located it yet.”

“The lords of a province not five miles from these woods are part of the same family that controls Calfuria,” Atri said animatedly, “these same lords have made moves, that on their own seem ambitious, but if they have been able to harness the power of this other realm, it could be the opening moves of their plan for the domination of the Continent.”

Lamak nodded gravely. “I understand your concern. However, only our leader has the authority to reveal the location of that gateway to your kind.”

Atri bit his lip to mask his frustration. He knew that no amount of argument would budge Lamak on the matter.

“Please urge him to decide on the matter quickly,” Atri said, “you know how quickly our people act.”

“I will do my best,” Lamak promised, “would you be able to get us to this site if it is revealed?”

Atri took a moment to think about it. “That would depend on where it is,” he said at length, “but I should be able to get us there, yes.”

“Where will I be able to find you?” Lamak ventured.

“Our contacts at Soltin should suffice,” Atri said, silently blessing Lepon for insisting that his father invest in that town.

“That will have to do,” Lamak agreed.

Rovie took a step back from the cannon and frowned. The cannon’s crew, the loaders, the spongers, and the ammunition bearers stood around looking bemused. Rovie adjusted the gun half an inch to the left, and satisfied, called out, “Firing!”

The crew covered their ears, and the firer yanked the cord attached to the primer. There was a loud roar as the cannon fired. Rovie watched with satisfaction as the cannonball turned one of Lord Coriso’s expensive-looking cupboards into splinters.

“Begin reloading!” Rovie called out.

The crew moved like a well-oiled machine. Men moved to reposition the cannon and once Rovie was satisfied, he placed a finger protected by a leather stall over the cannon’s vent while the sponger rammed a rod that was lined with water-soaked fleece down the barrel to clean it. Next, a man dropped a silk-lined gunpowder charge down the barrel. The sponger turned his rod around and used the other end to carefully push the charge to the bottom of the cannon. Rovie used a pick to puncture the charge from the vent while another loader dropped a cannonball down the barrel. This too was rammed home by the sponger. Rovie replaced the primer and plugged the vent, and the cannon was ready to fire again.

“Ready!” he called out.

“Good,” Gavik said, looking at the watch in his hand, “with a little more practice, you’ll be as fast as any crew in the Renfian army.”

“Permission to fire, sir,” Rovie said, excitedly. He found nothing quite as joyous as using the incredible power of the cannon to blow something to smithereens.

“Granted,” Gavik smiled.

“Fire!” Rovie ordered.

The firer yanked the cord and the cannon roared again. The cannonball landed close to the first one, smashing an antique table apart, much to Rovie’s satisfaction.

“Begin reloading!” Rovie shouted.

“Cancel that order!” Gavik barked.

“But we were supposed to fire off ten rounds,” Rovie protested.

He then saw the warning flag hoisted on top of the castle that indicated the approach of nobles and the flag next to it that indicated there was no immediate danger. Gavik had made Loverto the rebellion’s new base of operations, which made sense. It was close to the border with their biggest threat, Loz, and the people of Loverto now made up the bulk of their armed forces. It was also well protected by the river and the castle.

Baron Lest’s men had attempted a couple of raids across the river in recent weeks, but they were little more than probes and had been turned away with minor losses on either side. Training had been stepped up now that the ploughing was done. All their gun crews were here drilling in a field set aside on the outskirts of town while Loric was drilling with the musketeers on the other side of town. Rovie was pleased that despite being sidetracked so often, he was still able to earn himself the position of chief gunner for one of their fifteen cannons.

“Training is over for today,” Gavik called out, “return the guns to the castle and go home.”

“Together as one!” he added, holding up a hand with his index finger extended.

“For the people!” the men responded.

Rovie had cringed at rebellion’s new slogan at first, but he had been unable to think of a better one at the time, and it had grown on him since. He helped his men hitch the cannon onto its limber while others packed up the unused ammunition and gunpowder. Gunpowder was a precious commodity and one that Gavik was always trying to get more of.

Once the cannon was ready for transport, Rovie stretched his back and mopped the sweat from his brow. He then spotted a rider coming from the direction of town. As he drew closer, he saw that it was Loric.

“It’s the lord we met in those woods,” Loric panted as he hopped down from his lathered horse, “he wants to see you urgently.”

Gavik grunted in surprise. “I have to admit, I wasn’t expecting to hear from him again.”

“I’ve told him to wait on the far side of town and suspended all training like you said,” Loric breathed.

“Good,” Gavik said. He looked up at the sun. It was just after midday.

“Let’s meet them at Credon’s tavern,” he said, breaking into a smile, “it’s lunchtime anyway.”

“Can we come?” Rovie asked.

“I don’t think he’ll be opposed,” Gavik mused, “but needless to say, you should keep whatever we discuss to yourselves.”

“We will,” Rovie and Loric chorused. It had been difficult at times to keep their adventures with the elves to themselves, but somehow, they had managed. It was a good thing they hadn’t been back to Gofeldin since, because Rovie didn’t think he’d be able to prevent himself from bragging to his friends. Rovie was sure Loric had told Grestel, though he couldn’t be sure. If she knew, she hadn’t let on.

“Let’s not keep our distinguished guests waiting, shall we,” Gavik said with a wink.

The town was abuzz over the arrival of nobles as Gavik and the boys rode in on commandeered horses. They found Atri and his five guards waiting under the shade of a large oak tree on the outskirts of town. They seemed not to notice the dirty looks of the twenty men armed with a mixture of muskets and sharp farm implements standing nearby.

“I don’t see why we should be entertaining them, Gavik,” one of the townspeople groused as they approached.

“They’re honoured guests, for now, Sterin” he replied in his most placating voice, “this man is one of the sons of Markvist. We’d be in it up to our necks if anything happened to him.”

The mood of the men shifted. All of them knew of the powerful House Markvist.

“What’s such an important man want with you?” Sterin asked. He was a broad-shouldered farmer who would walk with a limp for the rest of his days. Lord Coriso’s men had done that to him when he didn’t get out of their way fast enough for their liking.

“He’s sympathetic to our cause,” Gavik grinned, “for now anyway.”

Eyebrows shot up all around. “He’s just waiting for his chance to swoop in then,” Sterin sniffed.

“Be that as it may, his assistance has been valuable to us,” Gavik said, and approached Atri, “may I invite the Earl of Malingar to share a meal? It will be a lot more humble than you are used to, I fear, for we are not equipped to entertain persons of your stature out here.”

“Thank you, I will. I’m sure your hospitality will be more than adequate,” Atri replied, “may my men come as well?”

Gavik raised an eyebrow. “Will they be sitting in on our meeting?”

Atri shook his head. “No, just a meal for them, if you please. We have ridden long and hard to meet with you.”

“Your news must be urgent,” Gavik remarked.

Before long, Gavik, Atri and the boys were seated in the finest room at Credon’s tavern. They sat around a large table in comfortable seats and the scent of tobacco and wood polish lingered in the air. An oil painting of the castle and the river with the town in the background hung from one of the walls. Credon, the chubby owner of the tavern had commissioned one of the most famous artists in Loz to paint it at great expense and it was one of his prized possessions.

Rovie and Loric stood by two of the known spyholes, making sure no one was listening on the other side while Atri brought them up to speed. The tavern was one of Lord Coriso’s favourite haunts and was riddled with spyholes for the local resistance to eavesdrop.

Atri briefly told them about the War of Ashes. Rovie would have found the story of demons fighting elves farfetched had he not seen it himself in the forest. Gavik’s eyes hardened when Atri talked about their research into tapping the other realm’s power.

“Any clues as to who they were?” Gavik asked.

Atri shook his head. “But I have reason to suspect they were from House Haroway.”

Gavik nodded. “They’re ambitious, that mob.”

He paused thoughtfully before continuing, “if they’re involved, then things could get sticky. Very sticky indeed.”

Atri raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

“That lot and the Holy Church are like two peas in a pod,” Gavik remarked, “and if the Holy Church is involved, the number of people you can trust dwindles significantly. Their influence has waned in recent years, but they still hold a large sway over nobles and peasants alike.”

“I hadn’t considered that aspect,” Atri confessed, “but even with the cardinal and his acolytes there, I find it hard to believe that the church as a whole is involved with such… things…”

“Perhaps,” Gavik conceded. He looked away for a moment before sighing, “that’s enough thinking for me on an empty stomach.”

He rang a bell, and a few moments later the door opened. Barmaids entered bearing a whole roast chicken, a haunch of beef, platters of pies, and roast vegetables.

“Eat what you can,” one of them beamed, “complements of the master.”

Rovie’s mouth watered as he eyed the food that was being laid out on the table.

“That’s quite the feast,” Gavik remarked, his eyes wide with surprise, “Credon’s being most generous.”

“It’s not every day he gets to entertain someone as important as a Markvist prince,” the barmaid laughed as she produced a bottle of cognac, “from Lord Coriso’s personal collection.”

Soon, the boys were sitting slumped over the table, groaning from their overfull stomachs. Atri had eaten sparingly and was now swirling a snifter of Credon’s prized cognac. Gavik on the other hand had hardly eaten and had spent most of the meal staring out the window, lost in thought.

“What will you do now, Gavik of Gofeldin?” Atri ventured at length.

Gavik shrugged his massive shoulders. “I can’t help but feel I’ve been dancing to someone else’s tune.”

“What do you mean?”

Gavik levelled his eyes on the young noble. “The timing’s too convenient, isn’t it? It’s something that’s troubled me for a while. Our uprising was at the perfect time for them to slip into those woods unnoticed.”

“Now that you mention it, you do have a point,” Atri said, cursing himself for not noticing earlier. The arrival of the bandits did happen to coincide closely with the ousting of that lord, “have you received any assistance from the nobility?”

Atri paused as something else fell into place. “You said earlier that I provided important assistance to your cause. What did you mean by that?”

Gavik studied the young noble, wondering how much he should let on. “It was just a white lie to get them to warm up to you,” he said, deciding it wasn’t time yet. As far as he knew, Lepon was devoted to House Markvist and had his reasons for keeping his assistance a secret from his masters.

“I see,” Atri said, clearly unconvinced.

“To answer your earlier question,” Gavik said, wanting to change the subject, “we need to strengthen our position. A threat has appeared on our western borders.”

“You didn’t consider Haroway Nescovia a threat before?” Atri asked, with a raised eyebrow.

Gavik shook his head. “My thinking was they felt Boverlind was beneath them. Besides, the rest of you nobles would have never allowed them to lay claim on it. However, now it turns out there’s something of great value in Boverlind, isn’t there?”

“I can’t disagree,” Atri admitted, “so how do you plan to strengthen your position?”

Gavik broke into a twisted grin. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.”

Atri’s eyebrows shot up. “You don’t trust me?”

“Don’t take it personally, your worship,” Gavik said, “while it’s a novel thing that you and I sitting across a table and speaking as equals, and I do appreciate you fulfilling your end of the bargain we made…”

“What is a man without his word?” Atri asked.

Gavik nodded and continued, “but I can see us becoming enemies all too easily.”

Atri looked back at him and took a sip of cognac. “I suppose you have a point.”

He set the snifter down and got to his feet, taking the hint. “Well, I’ve kept my word and must be on my way.”

“You’re a busy man,” Gavik said agreeably.

Atri went to the door and paused. “I hope we can meet again, as equals.”

“Safe travels, your highness,” Gavik said, raising his own flagon of ale.

Atri nodded and left.

Once the door was closed, Gavik turned to the boys. “On your feet lads, we have work to do.”

“Oh?” Loric managed, as he clutched his aching belly.

“I need you to fetch the Council,” Gavik said, referring to leaders of the rebellion, “I’m calling a meeting.”

“What are we going to do?” Rovie asked.

“We’re going to discuss our invasion of Loz.”

“I thought you said it was a bad idea,” Loric blurted.

“We haven’t any choice now,” Gavik said grimly, “we need to secure our borders and increase our strength in arms.