The king stepped to the front, once again sweeping his gaze across those gathered. The new assembly of the city elite had been opened to all nobility, and Emerlun had no doubt that his announcement would soon become the main gossip topic in the city. He had no intention of preventing that. On the contrary, it served his interests to encourage it.

  "Silence!" barked the herald, stepping forward. The gathering fell quiet, the last whispers rolling through the hall as the eyes of ladies in fashionable gowns and gentlemen in formal suits turned to the monarch. Emerlun nodded his thanks to the herald and spoke again. At such meetings, unlike Jake Farian, he spoke softly. But people listened. They had no choice but to fall silent and listen.

  "Gentlemen, as you all know, in June of this year, a fleet of pirates from the Western Ocean attacked and destroyed the fortress and city of Surrell. This was no ordinary pirate raid and no border skirmish unofficially sponsored by our long-time enemies. This was a massive and deliberate assault, led by the self-proclaimed Pirate King of Talaska Island, Orwell Cassander, who, in turn, was receiving orders from the widely known Professor Saelin."

  The gathering remained silent. Someone yawned.

  "Our country has never seen attacks like this," the king raised his voice slightly. "This time, all sea raiders of Laugdeil have united under a single banner. They are advancing deeper into our land, bringing death and destruction with them. Saelin is supplying them with weapons against which our old methods are powerless. These are not just iron battering rams and siege towers. These are entirely new machines of death, that can instantly strike a man from afar, even through armor, much more effectively than the bows and crossbows we know. Machines that move on wheels and fire iron balls capable of breaking through any wall. Self-igniting bombs. We are struggling to fight back against this."

  "So, gentlemen, the first news." The king scanned the now-alert Mainor nobles. "As the pirates advanced inland, they delivered a crushing blow to our forces in the city of Nalvin this September. The fall of this strategically vital location means we have effectively lost the Southern Province."

  Someone gasped. A woman let out a shrill cry. Whispers swept through the hall again.

  "I know many of you have relatives in that city, who are now evacuated to Petista and Asternia, left without homes. I know you are afraid, but this is not the end," the king continued resolutely. "Ringus Felm was forced to retreat with the remaining troops, and today he has arrived in Mainor to take part in the defense of the capital alongside us. Gentlemen! If Mainor falls, we will have no hope left, and from this moment on, we must do everything in our power to ensure our proud city withstands this blow with honor. Do you want to know why Nalvin fell? Do you? Because no one believed in the danger, that’s why! No one recognized it, no one realized the strength of the force we face until they saw the horror it unleashed. The Southern Province is now engulfed in flames, burning from the Selinel Mountains to Ilvion—and beyond Ilvion, it’s us. But we will not make that mistake. I urge you not to make it either! Since our city is now effectively the last stronghold in the path of this army, martial law is hereby declared. Legal measures will be tightened, and general mobilization begins. We must face the truth: the world has not seen such a threat in a long time. I don’t think I need to explain what this means. Everyone who can bear arms, will. Those who cannot will help strengthen our defenses. Factory construction has already begun. Our scientists are working to understand the principles behind Saelin’s weapons and to adopt them for our own. The elderly, women, and children will be sent to support industrial production. This decision was not made lightly, but... we will endure the siege. When the pirates reach our city’s walls, we will be ready. No matter what."

  The king bowed, and the hall exploded in applause. The gathering grew restless. But he was not finished, and the herald again raised his voice to silence the renewed, noisy murmurs.

  "A few more announcements," Emerlun said darkly. "First: from this moment, the Secret Chancellery gets extended operation rights. This organization protects our country from spies and traitors, and everyone must know: from now on, there will be no mercy for espionage or betrayal. Desertion—death. Disobedience—death. Defection to the enemy—death, for our agents will find any turncoat at the ends of the earth, and they will be shown no mercy. Inciting rebellion or questioning the actions of the king and government—death. The laws will become stricter. Know this and do not dare to break them, for the Chancellery punishes only the guilty. Those with a clean conscience have nothing to fear."

  The king thought he could almost feel the chill of fear run down the spines of the people in the hall.

  "Next," he said, "under the new laws, we now have a list of individuals considered enemies of the state and the people. These lists will be posted throughout the city, and anyone who can provide information on these individuals should contact the Intelligence Office, Siegfried Maclevirr. A reward will be immediate. And lastly: in these difficult times for us all, there is still room for good news. I am pleased to announce that from this day forth, Aktida shall have a queen."

  The hall stirred like the surf of a stormy sea. The heralds rushed out and stood along the edges of the red carpet that led under the palace arch. From there, accompanied by her ladies-in-waiting, appeared a young woman. All eyes now turned to her. Tall and slender, with light makeup, in a glittering black gown, adorned with bracelets and necklaces, she walked hesitantly, but with her head held high, gazing down upon those gathered.

  The mades brought her to the king and then stepped back. Emerlun took her hand and declared:

  "Valena Zerept Kavelin Euraleym Torheim, Countess of Surrell! And my future wife."

  From the elevated podium where the throne was situated, the king could not hear all the things people whispered in the hall. The whispers were fierce and anxious, angry and agitated. And some looked upon the king with open hatred. And it was understandable, for this marriage erased any plans of alliances with Vaimar and the Islands. Any possibility of dynastic union with the ancient houses. No one doubted the king’s authority, and many had already grown accustomed to the sovereign’s enigmatic whims. However, this marriage could have very serious consequences.

  "Reckless," Geonar whispered to Siegfried Maclevirr and Ringus Felm. The latter was still smoothing his hair, damp from the bathhouse. The unit had returned late in the evening in a crowd of freshly mobilized recruits and volunteers pouring into the capital from all directions. Now they stood on the balcony of the hall, observing the public presentation of the king’s bride from above. "I’ve always told him he acts recklessly and always for his own benefit, with no regard for how it affects the fate of the state. I fear it will not end well for him."

  Maclevirr nodded grimly.

  ***

  Ilvion gleamed dully in the cold light of the huge, unusually close moon. Mainor was also near, and as they moved within the crowd of mounted and foot soldiers, they gazed in awe at the vast white stone walls, the graceful towers with their pointed roofs, and the majestic spire of the royal palace at the center. The capital was still distant—yet it felt close, because none of them had ever seen a city greater than this. Lights illuminated it, and it shone entirely, even under the black canopy of the starless autumn night. It had long been considered the most beautiful creation of the Nocturns and Alvens, a symbol of resilience, invincibility, and justice. In the fifteen hundred years of its existence, no one had ever succeeded in taking the capital of Aktida.

  Mainor stood on a sharp promontory where two rivers, flowing from the west and east, merged into one wide, full-flowing current. The Ilvion River began here, at the foot of the white-stone walls. Three sides of the city were protected by the fast-moving water, while the fourth, on the northern side, opened onto a broad field stretching between the two rivers for ten miles, up to the borders of a dense forest. Nature itself had designated this plain as a battlefield, soaked with blood many times before. On this northern side also lay the city's only gate, connected by roads leading from the eastern and western bridges. These bridges were the only accessible routes into the city for many miles north and south. The only alternative approach to Mainor involved a detour to the rivers’ sources and fords in the north, a journey of nearly six hundred miles, or two months of travel. Thus, nature had granted the city an ideal defensive position, and the western bridge, where the pirates were expected to approach, had been fortified and could be destroyed at any moment to leave the enemy stranded on the far bank of the Ilvion.

  The road ran along the southern riverbank, turning toward Nalvin. It was a wide highway, yet it could not accommodate all the soldiers surrounded by royal legionaries driving them to the barracks in Mainor, as well as the volunteers clustered in tight groups and the wagons carrying refugees from the south, evacuated to aid the city’s factories. A massive, fluctuating crowd of riders, footmen, carts, wagons, and carriages moved slowly, and at the bridge, where several streams of people from the north, northwest, west, and south converged, a traffic jam had formed, managed by city guards. Woody Miles sat on a cart with the wounded, glancing around, puffing on his pipe, and thinking. His eyes were sticky with exhaustion. He hadn’t slept since early morning, and now deep night had fallen over Aktida.

  He looked over at his companions riding beside him: Viggo, lately somber and tired—he could now sit on a horse, but was still too weak to fight. Remiz, calm as ever. And the man Woody had not recognized when they met again after a week apart. It was no longer the same Kairu Kenai. This was now a grim, pale young man, with gray streaks in his dark hair, a face disfigured by scars, and a soul forever shattered. When he had approached their camp and stepped into the firelight, revealing his face, they had been horrified. In his eyes burned a terrifying, unquenchable fire.

  "I have nothing left," he said hoarsely. "Nothing. It’s over. I ride to Mainor with a calm soul."

  "What will you do now?" asked Remiz quietly, understanding immediately.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "I’ll search. For Orwell Cassander. I’ll enlist, I’ll fight, and maybe I’ll be lucky. Then, for the second time, I’ll kill him. Like he killed my father. As for you… do as you will. I have no right to call you with me."

  Viggo and Remiz exchanged glances.

  "To hell with it all," said Viggo. "After what I’ve seen… I’ll fight too. I won’t let that gang of cutthroats near the Vaimar border. I’m with you, Kairu."

  Remiz nodded.

  "There’s no way to get to Rikutiam now anyway," he said quietly. "I’ll come with you. Besides, my heart tells me we’ll understand a bit more in Mainor about what Petros tried to tell us."

  "I don’t care about those toys, about diamonds and crossroads of time, believe me," Kairu said darkly. "I’ll hunt Cassander."

  They didn’t question him. But the decision was made. They were headed to Mainor—meaning, once again, into war.

  The detachment from Nalvin crossed the river in the middle of the night. Refugees shouted, guards cursed, wheels creaked, and the logs of the bridge rumbled beneath the weight. The noise and jostling made ears ring. A dozen guards waved torches and pushed back the others, clearing the way for the unit arriving from Nalvin. When they crossed to the other side and reached the field that lay before Mainor, Kairu dismounted, and Viggo and Remiz silently followed his lead. Each of them patted their Hellsteed on the neck, then gave it a light slap, and the three massive horses, tossing their manes and giving a soft neigh, galloped off across the field to the north and immediately vanished into the darkness. Riding personal horses into the city was forbidden. During a siege, there might not be enough feed for them.

  The city gates stood wide open. Above them hung a coat of arms, barely visible in the darkness. Higher still, behind the battlements, guards stood and catapults and ballistae could be seen securely positioned. Felm had already galloped ahead into the city, breaking through the queue early—he was in a hurry to report to the king, though he knew he would not be well received. The detachment only reached the gates several hours later, when the stream of people had begun to spread throughout Mainor. Most of the civilians had already evacuated; their homes and entire districts were now barracks, the streets clogged with fortifications and barricades. In this constant chaos, Woody quietly jumped down from the wagon with the wounded, now turning toward the hospital. From there on he walked alongside Kairu, Viggo and Remiz, following the main crowd, winding through narrow, crooked streets toward the city center. All around were white stone buildings, packed tightly together, pushing and crowding each other. Even in Nalvin, Kairu had never seen so many houses, now all boarded up.

  Then the palace towers appeared above the roofs, and they turned onto a street where the crowd was slowly flowing toward a line of buildings. Most of those around them were unarmed, poorly dressed volunteers who had come from all corners of Aktida at the first call. While they stood in line, Viggo managed to strike up a conversation with one of the guards keeping order on the street in front of the barracks.

  "Hey, old man, how are things here? Not calm either? Ever since the war began…"

  "Oh yeah. The king’s gone completely mad lately, and the Chancellery is making everyone’s life hell. The main attraction on the market square now is the scaffold. Yes, a real one, with a gallows. Used to hang killers on the palisade, now they do it out in the open for everyone to see. It’s entertainment for beggars, but educated folks are already sick of it. One wrong move, and you’re thrown in the dungeon, and the next morning, it’s the noose. And you, brother, better be careful."

  "Why’s that?"

  "Don’t think I can’t tell you’re a Kald? And you’ve got a Nocturn with you too. Got documents, both of you? Haven’t you heard we’re under martial law? Why don’t you folks stay in your own countries?"

  "Listen here!" Viggo protested. "Here are my papers! I’m here to volunteer for your army, for your information! Show a little respect!"

  Kairu turned to make sure the hot-headed Kald didn’t get into a fight, but he was already pushed forward, and the door slammed shut behind him. He found himself in a small room with a desk covered in papers. Behind it sat a man in uniform, clean-shaven, hurriedly filling out some lists.

  "Next…" the man mumbled, lifting his head. "Ah, another volunteer? Young and green. How many more of you are out there? Caught up in the romance of it all? Want to ride into battle with a sword? Alright, alright; they say one volunteer is worth five conscripts forced into service… Name?"

  "Kairu Kenai."

  "Whoa!" The soldier peered at his face as he wrote the name down. "Hmm, those scars are something else… You look like a seasoned fighter. Sorry, these days we have to register each one separately. Won’t take long. So, where should I send you? Twelfth regiment?"

  "What kind of regiment is that?" Kairu asked suspiciously.

  "I was asked to form a couple of recon units, just in case. In battle, everyone’s equal of course, but this unit is full of young people, you won’t be bored. So, Third Guard Corps. You’ll figure it out?"

  "Of course. Thanks. Oh, do we get issued armor and weapons here?"

  "Of course. After you leave, take a left to the Arsenal. Want a tip, Kairu Kenai?"

  "Go ahead."

  "The bathhouse is in the Sixth Corps, Bread Row. You look like a devil who crawled belly-first through the underworld."

  "Well, if it comes to that, the place I came from wasn’t much different from the underworld," Kairu muttered.

  The soldier’s smile vanished instantly.

  "Nalvin?"

  Kairu nodded grimly.

  "So that’s it…" the soldier murmured, lowering his pen. "Makes sense… Damn, you’re not the first to come through, but I doubt there’ll be many of you. Ringus Felm looked like a ghost when he walked into the palace. Understandable. And you’re going through the regular procedure? You guys should be carried in on shoulders, with fanfare. Not crammed in the common barracks, but given the royal chambers, ‘cause I bet you did more there than the king himself."

  "Only the palace doesn’t know that," Kairu said with a bitter smile.

  "Naturally. They weren’t there. You had it rough. Let’s hope you have better luck here. Good night." He pointed at the door on the other side. "If you need me, ask for Folle Conenti."

  Kairu staggered out, exhausted. He had no desire to go to the bathhouse; a warm bed sounded far more appealing. Everything else could wait till tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow. Tomorrow everything would be sorted out.

  He found the Third Corps and stepped inside. These barracks were very different from those in Nalvin: warm, almost clean, with rows of made-up cots, half of them occupied by volunteers. He looked around: some soldiers were asleep, others sat looking out at the small courtyard, where new recruits wandered out one by one. This was indeed a young crowd: none of the boys looked over twenty.

  "Wow, another one!" someone whispered. "Hey, man! Looking for the Twelfth Regiment?"

  "Something like that," Kairu said, glancing around and sitting down on the nearest free cot. "Did I find the right place?"

  "I’m Jeremy," a young man said, extending his hand. The others, yawning, got up and approached. Voices piped up behind:

  "What’s your name?"

  "How’d you get here?"

  "Where are you from?"

  "Kairu," he muttered, shaking hands with everyone. "From the Southern Province. That guy at the entrance, Folle, placed me here…"

  "That’s my father," Jeremy said. "Tough job he’s got."

  "Guys, don’t you want to sleep?"

  "Shut it, Dalid," Jeremy tossed over his shoulder. "It’s a new guy, we gotta get to know him…"

  "So how’d you get to Mainor?" someone else asked. "I’m Zargel, nice to meet you. You’re not local, that’s for sure. Came with the refugees?"

  "From Nalvin," Kairu said tiredly, leaning back on the pillows.

  "Whoa!" Jeremy exclaimed, eyes wide. "No way! I wanted to go there, but my father wouldn’t let me. Said it wasn’t clear if there’d be an attack, but if there was, it’d be bad. So, what was it like? Did you fight or get evacuated?"

  "Your father’s a smart man. It was bad. Haven’t they told you?"

  "No. Just said we lost."

  "Yeah. And half a hundred cripples came back."

  "But you’re not a cripple," someone noted.

  "He’s lucky as hell," declared Woody, entering the barracks. "Kairu, that you? Then I found the right corps. Guys, I’m from Nalvin too. You know who survived there? The ones who were already backed against the wall and were about to be burned with the city. Admiral showed mercy and let us go."

  "You’re from Nalvin too?" Zargel asked excitedly.

  "Sure am! Woody Miles. Nice to meet you."

  "Shut up, you chatterboxes!" came a voice from one of the back cots. "What, did harpies peck out your eyes? Can’t you see the guys have had it rough? They’ve been riding day and night, they’re tired and want to sleep! You haven’t lifted a finger to join the unit, and they’ve come hundreds of miles! Leave them alone—if they want, they’ll tell you everything tomorrow."

  "Thanks," Kairu said quietly into the half-darkness, toward the man lounging there. Most of the soldiers, yawning, returned to their spots, leaving only Jeremy sitting on the edge of the cot, staring at Kairu.

  "Don’t mention it. Name’s Tarango. Get some sleep while you can."

  "Grumpy old man," Jeremy muttered, glancing back. "Sorry about us—it’s just, we haven’t had fresh recruits for a week, so we jumped you. It’s boring as hell here, honestly. Believe it or not, we’re actually starting to hope the pirates show up. It’s almost November, you made it just in time, and Cassander could arrive even sooner."

  "Pray to Aktos that he gets delayed," Woody said seriously.

  "Kairu!" Viggo peeked into the room. "Nice digs, decent company too. Looks like you got lucky. Sorry, Remiz and I got held up a bit—the genius at the entrance started grilling us. Why are a Kald and a Nocturn trying to volunteer for the Alven army? Are we spies? Planning sabotage? Do we have legal papers to be in Aktida? Can you believe the nerve?"

  "It’s like that everywhere now," Jeremy sighed. "My father actually has nothing against Kalds or Nocturns. But the higher-ups might have questions if they find out, and then he’ll get it in the neck. Nothing you can do, it’s just the times we live in. The king issued a decree: all foreigners must be checked..."

  "Yeah, I thought that guy was better than most," Viggo grumbled. "He even agreed to put us in the same unit as Kairu Kenai. Justice prevails."

  Remiz, behind him, gave a thumbs-up.

  "Well, that’s good," Kairu said quietly, pulling off his boots and crawling under the blanket. "Calm down, Viggo, and get some sleep. Service starts tomorrow. There’s probably just as much work here as there was in Nalvin."

  Jeremy silently stood up, nodded to them, and went to his bunk. Kairu turned away. Behind him, settling into his creaky mattress, Viggo was already chatting with his neighbour, prying the whereabouts of the best Mainor’s brothel. In a low voice, staring into the darkness, Kairu said:

  "Remiz?"

  "Hm?"

  "I wonder where Rita is right now..."