Mainor was preparing for war.

  The Academy of Sciences didn’t sleep, day or night. Experiments were underway, laboratories boomed with activity, and scientists worked meticulously to uncover the principles behind Saelin’s firearms. Entire districts had been repurposed for building forges, metallurgy plants, and workshops where massive iron locks and shields were being crafted for the gate that Emerlun intended to make impenetrable to battering rams.

  Other equally important items being produced included ballistae, catapults, arrows, and all manner of projectiles. They were stored everywhere, brought into the city from every corner of Aktida, and yet the king still considered the supplies insufficient. Mainor stockpiled provisions, fortified its walls, and committed substantial forces to building forts near the bridge that was to be defended to the last drop of blood. The preparations continued to expand: squads manned posts in nearby villages, scouts guarded the roads, ready at any moment to send out an alert. Mainor was bracing for a long siege, one that could potentially last through the entire winter.

  "The pirates' first winter on the mainland," Lord Geonar smirked. He, alongside Ringus Felm, was leading the city’s defense preparations. "Let’s see how they handle it. I’d bet they’ll keel over from the cold if they try camping out on the field."

  "Not necessarily," Ringus shrugged. "Cassander certainly won’t. He grew up on the island of Talaska, which is at the same latitude as northern Vaimar. I’ve heard the climate there is brutal, almost no forests, just endless stone. That’s probably why Cassander turned out so ruthless."

  "Northern Vaimar is the Derelz region, and it’s actually relatively mild compared to the mainland’s interior," Geonar countered. "And the coast always has a gentler climate. On the Archipelago of the Nocturns, snow is practically unheard of. Here in Mainor, though, it’s blazing hot in summer, you can roast potatoes on the roof, and in winter, the cold stops your blood dead in veins. This winter, we’ll be sitting in warm houses, sipping hot grog, warming our feet by the fire. We’ve stockpiled enough firewood, I bet half the forests in Aktida have been chopped down. And they’ll be out there in all the snowstorms, standing guard to make sure no one escapes the city."

  "By the way," Ringus remarked, "has the king arranged for an alternative exit from the capital? Like they had in Nalvin, for emergencies. We don’t know what surprises Saelin might have in store."

  "That won’t work here like it did in Nalvin. There, the tunnel was just a few hundred feet through the forest. Here, we’d either have to cross the river, which is impossible—or dig a ten-mile tunnel north to emerge in the Enchanted Forest."

  "The Enchanted Forest," Felm muttered. "Maclevirr mentioned it once, and he usually doesn’t speak without purpose. But His Majesty didn’t care to listen. Do you know what the actual plan is?"

  "Apparently—gather every available force and seal Mainor tight. If the pirates don’t freeze to death, we’ll wear them down with attacks from the walls. Then, as soon as the sun comes out and the snow begins to melt, we open the gates and crush their entire horde. Emerlun believes Saelin won’t dare to act during winter."

  "Not much of a plan," Ringus concluded. "Is there an alternative?"

  "Of course. Plenty of them. It’s possible there won’t be a siege at all."

  "How so?"

  "Simple. Cassander might march straight north from Nalvin. He’s currently consolidating control over the Southern Province and waiting for reinforcements. Then he could move to Petista. I wouldn’t put it past him. And if Petista has already committed all its forces to Mainor, it will be left defenseless—and losing it is not an option. It’s our only link to Vaimar."

  "So you’re still considering that alliance?"

  Geonar looked around and lowered his voice.

  "Of course. We need that alliance. The king is stubborn, but we can make it happen without his involvement. This enmity isn’t between peoples—it only matters to kings. There are plenty of loyal ministers in Vaimar, and we’re in contact with them. If Vaimar helps us, we can defeat Saelin... But if Cassander heads for Petista, we’ll have to pursue him with our entire army, and then we’ll inevitably face a major battle in the Western Province."

  "And the king hasn’t considered the possibility that Mainor might not survive the entire winter siege? Is there a contingency?"

  "You mean if the ammunition and food run out before the thaw? The governors of Petista, Boreain, and Asternia have been clearly instructed: no unnecessary risks to their garrisons during winter. The Western and Northern Provinces must not fall. If Mainor ends up surrounded in conquered Aktida, that would be the end, and we cannot allow that. In case of a winter assault, Petista and Asternia have enough men to defend themselves. Come spring, if no news comes of Mainor’s fall, three armies will rush to our aid from the north and southeast. We’ll see them coming from afar, and then Mainor will open its gates for the final battle. It might happen at night."

  "Who designed the plan?"

  "The king and a few ministers. Naturally, they invited me as a military advisor, since I’m in charge of leading the defense of Mainor. But of course, the king did everything his own way…"

  "Any other scenarios?"

  "An attack from within. What I fear most is that Saelin ends up behind our lines. While we’re watching the west, he could strike from the east. And over there lies the entire province—and Boreain. Boreain is the river fleet. That’s a power we cannot afford to lose."

  "I doubt Saelin has any other trump cards to play in the Eastern Province. It’s the edge of the world! What kind of strength could he find there? A hideout—sure. The jungle will give him shelter. But to secretly move an army there for a surprise rear assault…"

  "Time will tell, Ringus. Time will tell. Right now, we can’t be sure of anything. I get the feeling that we’re the only ones in this city who understand what it’ll take to save Aktida—and are ready to act."

  "Quite possibly, Geonar. So let’s act. The king can celebrate and play with his tin soldiers. We, meanwhile, will send messengers north and east before it’s too late. We’ll get in touch with Vaimar. In our current state, we can’t afford to leave anything for tomorrow—because Saelin doesn’t sleep."

  "Exactly. Then let’s begin right now."

  Behind them, factories roared, and crowds of workers marched through the streets, hauling tools and iron parts for reinforcing the gates. Ahead, beyond the wall, stretched an endless field of gray grass bending in the wind, and above the horizon, a clear light-blue sky held a huge white sun that gave no warmth. November was drawing to a close, and from the Southern Province came the first rumors that the pirates had burned all the villages around Nalvin, sent detachments north and west, destroying everything in their path, and that the main forces, led by Cassander, had begun to move, leaving behind Nalvin, now turned into a well-fortified stronghold, and heading northeast. Deeper into the country, along the road to Mainor. There were other rumors too. Among the soldiers, even in the Twelfth Regiment of volunteers, people spoke of another army that had joined Cassander from the south, greatly strengthening an already formidable force.

  Kairu leaned on the parapet of the city wall, scanning the field and the endless troops still streaming into Mainor. The first wave of volunteers had passed; now came either those from the most remote parts of the kingdom or those caught in the widespread conscription occurring in every town and village. There were fewer of them now, yet Mainor’s gates remained wide open to all.

  Woody was pacing the wall, chattering nonstop—he had found some old acquaintance from Mainor among the soldiers. Viggo, as usual, was playing cards with Remiz, who had finally condescended to join in some gambling. Kairu was deep in thought. He remembered Viggo’s words from the summer: "All Nocturns, half-Nocturns, and all mixed-bloods are to be registered and closely monitored. All Kalds are also to be surveilled." There wasn’t a single soldier whose appearance bore traits of northerners or islanders. Everyone was Alven. The former diversity in the streets had vanished, and Remiz and Viggo often received suspicious looks. Apparently, the wave of discrimination had subsided, as no one had reported them or tried to send them to reservations during their month of service. Still, Kairu was uneasy. "Aktida is on edge, bristling with spears, basically saying—stay away from us..."

  Kairu remembered his first days in the capital. He recalled how Viggo and Woody whispered behind his back and often disappeared somewhere. He hadn’t cared. He had no desire to investigate or dig into anything. Service in Mainor was easy for now. And he enjoyed the freedom.

  They had received their armor on the first day, along with new weapons. Kairu always carried his father’s sword, even sleeping with it. He’d hung the new sword in its usual place on his belt, and with it came a sense of restored inner balance. He remembered too well the nightmare hospital in the camp near Nalvin, reeking of blood and death, and how the doctors had barely managed to remove the filthy, torn, mangled armor that had been crushed by pirate blows and trampled by horses. In the new gear, it was much easier to breathe.

  They trained, marched across the square, lazed in the barracks, and wandered the city trying to find neighborhoods untouched by war. And so passed November—cold, rainy, windy. The trees had shed all their leaves and now stood like black crosses along the city alleys. Snow fell a few times, but quickly melted, leaving behind only dirty white patches.

  "Kairu! Look!"

  He turned. Woody had snapped him out of his reverie and was pointing down to the street on the other side of the wall. There, guards had halted a passing unit, shooing away onlookers and letting a small procession of mounted riders pass through. Four riders in gray hooded cloaks carrying staffs surrounded a fifth, who wore a white cloak trimmed with gold. His face wasn’t visible, but the guards bowed to him respectfully, almost obsequiously.

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  "Wonder who that is?" Woody asked, biting off a large chunk of a mysteriously acquired apple and tossing the core down into the crowd of recruits rushing to follow the cortege.

  "No idea."

  "Let’s follow them and find out where they’re going."

  "Why?"

  "Just because. I'm bored."

  Kairu chuckled.

  "Alright, let’s go."

  They ran down a small side stairway, ducked behind the nearest building, and walked along the facade, keeping an eye on the riders’ backs. The riders turned left down the street. Woody darted off, cutting through small courtyards. Kairu was always amazed at how well he knew every alley in Mainor. Though if the little thief was born here, it wasn’t surprising.

  The horses disappeared behind a row of buildings. Woody bolted in the other direction, and they emerged onto a small terrace. Below, a busy street buzzed with people and carts. The riders proceeded single file, weaving between traffic, and Kairu followed the thief, hiding behind the parapet. They reached the edge of the terrace. From here they could see a fence where the road rose toward a tall white tower surrounded by a white stone wall. The riders made no turn but rode straight up to the gate, which opened by itself, allowing them to pass. Two men in robes guarded the entry.

  "That’s the Mainor Institute of Magic?"

  "Exactly."

  The riders stopped and dismounted. From above, Kairu got a clear view of the man in the white cloak’s face. Oddly, he had only seen this man once before, a year ago and in passing, but he recognized him immediately.

  "I’ve seen him."

  "Who?"

  "The one with the gray hair. I saw him at a banquet in Petista after we returned from the expedition. That’s Romenford. The Archmage of Aktida."

  "No wonder they came here," Woody shrugged. "And no wonder the guards bowed like that. I’ve noticed a lot of mages arriving in the city. Easy to spot, white cloaks with the insignia of the Mages' Guild or the Academy of Sciences. Emerlun’s put them to work. Now the entire magical brotherhood of Aktida is developing new weapons."

  "Let’s go," Kairu turned away. "Nothing interesting here."

  ***

  "I swear, I don’t know anything!" the man howled, writhing and clanking his chains, from beneath which blood trickled in thin streams. The cell was stiflingly hot. The executioner set his red-hot iron rod down on the table for a moment, fanned himself with a sheet of paper, and wiped his red face with a handkerchief. It was clear he’d been here a long time, performing his duties since morning. The dungeons were tightly sealed and completely isolated from the outside world; no sound could escape, partly because there was no ventilation system at all. The furnaces blazed, fire casting bloody reflections on the diverse array of tools hanging from the walls. Romenford grimaced. He had hoped to rest after a long journey, but was sent here straight upon his arrival to the Institute.

  "I don’t know! I don’t know! I know nothing about the Cassians! I’m a free thief! I wanted to steal money just for myself—aaaah!"

  The scream turned into a wild, choking shriek. Romenford grimaced again.

  "Wait," he told the executioner, who was reaching again for his tool. He approached the man chained to the wall, examined him. The wounds weren’t deep—the rod had barely touched the skin—and the thief was clearly exaggerating his suffering. Romenford waved his hand, cooling the air with a spell. He lifted the thief’s chin, looking him in the eyes.

  He tossed over his shoulder, "You’re useless. I have to do everything myself. Burn his heels properly and he’ll start singing. Or will you talk? What do you know about the Cassians?"

  "Nothing…" the man rasped, hanging limply in his chains.

  "Get to work," Romenford ordered the executioner.

  The prisoner screamed so loudly it made their ears ring. It seemed that any louder, and he would vomit up his lungs along with the scream. But when the rod seared the skin on his chest down to the flesh, Romenford realized that one could scream much louder.

  "Will you talk?"

  "I know! I know them all! I swear! I’ll tell… everything… anything…"

  "No, my dear, you don’t understand. I can spot a lie in an instant. Tell us about the Cassians."

  "Romenford?" Maclevirr came down into the cell, raising a hand in greeting and smiling at the Archmage. "Back already? How was the road? I see you’ve had some more success in your search."

  "One moment, Siegfried. Indeed, I have high hopes for this fellow. He was caught trying to steal something from the captain of the city guard’s quarters. An interesting choice of location, don’t you think? I was sure all the bandits had cleared out of Mainor peacefully."

  "Tsk-tsk-tsk. You underestimate them, Romenford. Well then, let’s hear him."

  "You heard that?" Romenford turned to the prisoner, who was trembling like a leaf. "Talk. I’m sure you didn’t sneak into Captain Bassmert’s room just for jewelry or money."

  "Bassmert is investigating the Cassians," the prisoner croaked. "We wanted to know… what he plans to do… if there’s going to be an operation against us…"

  "You’re a Cassian?"

  "Yes…"

  "Well then, I told you so," Romenford said almost affectionately. "I can smell your kind a mile away."

  "What are your duties in the organization?" Maclevirr asked.

  "I’m supposed to make sure we don’t get exposed… to prevent attacks on us. Find new meeting places."

  "Where and when is your next meeting?"

  "At the tavern ‘The Lame Dog’… In January…"

  "Where is this tavern?"

  "Trade district, Skinners’ Street… The Bear is waiting there…"

  "Tell us everything," Maclevirr said quietly.

  ***

  Early December brought new signs that the pirates were advancing on the capital.

  All the fortifications were being hastily completed, detachments were sent to the forts guarding the approaches to Mainor, and the roads from the interior of the province saw the first frightened groups of wounded soldiers. Wagon after wagon rolled through the gates, loaded with bloodied bodies. Death was approaching inexorably, and everyone knew: the small fortified villages were mere grains of sand in the path of the storm, which would only stop when it crashed into the walls of Mainor. And yet the soldiers went to their posts only to retreat days later through snowdrifts, dragging the bloodied and half-dead back down the road. The road had to be held.

  "I found something out," Jeremy announced, bursting into the barracks one December day. December, contrary to forecasts, had turned out to be bitterly cold, and no one was complaining about the abundance of snow. Drifts rose to the waist, warriors wrapped themselves in fur cloaks and scarves and spent most of their free time somewhere warm. "I overheard our commandant Himlaf getting orders from Ringus Felm. We’re being sent to the outermost frontier, and we’ll be holding the bridge in the rear guard. We’ll be celebrating New Year’s in the village on the other side of the river, a couple of miles from Mainor."

  "If the pirates haven’t reached the city by then," said Dalid Eyring gloomily, another soldier from the Twelfth Regiment. "Very likely, we’ll be spending New Year’s on the walls, crouched down and hiding from cannon fire."

  "Let’s hope not," said Kairu. "I dream of being back on the front line, and if the pirates are on one side of the river and I’m on the other, then I’ll wait right here until Cassander arrives."

  "You want a lot," said old Tarango from his bunk. "Going after Cassander, are you, brave one! Many stronger than you have broken their teeth on him. They say he’s unstoppable, you know!"

  Kairu stayed silent. He hadn’t told them what had happened in Nalvin, or what had happened to his family. They knew nothing. And that was fine.

  ***

  The raging Ilvion hadn’t frozen, despite the frosts. The water boiled and frothed beneath the bridge. They crossed it and passed the fortified outpost built over the past two months. The last unit that had retreated under enemy pressure had encountered the pirates only fifty miles from the river, deep in the forest. Now their arrival was expected any day, and several units had taken up positions in the small town just beyond the river—now the final rear guard before Mainor.

  Here, the Twelfth Regiment was given a headquarters. In the absence of the peasants who had been evacuated north, the soldiers lived quite comfortably, with no shortage of food or warmth. The fireplaces crackled around the clock, and to conserve firewood, several people shared a heated room. Meanwhile, the holiday was approaching, and as an exception, wine and food had been brought from the city in quantities far beyond the standard rations.

  On the last day, they gathered in one house that had a table, set it, and eagerly began to eat. Apparently, the cooks of Mainor had outdone themselves one last time before the long rationing to come, because the spiced roasted meat, herbs, and thick slices of freshly baked bread disappeared into stomachs instantly, leaving only fond memories. They drank more than moderately: everyone was mindful of a possible attack. Then Jeremy Conenti stood up, filling cups, and proposed the first toast:

  "Friends," he said, flushed and gesticulating wildly, "here’s what I want to say… Hey, Viggo, buddy, shut up and listen. I want to say: the past year hasn’t been the happiest for us, not at all."

  "Not at all!" roared Zargel, and the others supported him with a loud cheer.

  "Exactly. I mean what happened with Saelin, the ruin of Surrell, and our defeat in Nalvin. But here’s what I think: one must always hope for the best. And so I propose a toast: let’s drink to this year being much better for us than the last."

  "Hoorah!" the soldiers of the Twelfth Regiment roared. Kairu drank from his cup and felt a warm sensation spread through his body, filling him with inexplicable joy. His fatigue vanished, and he eagerly listened as Viggo stood up to offer the next toast.

  "Yes!" he said, brushing his thick black mustache. "I want to drink not just for Aktida. Here’s what I think: kings can slit each other’s throats and wage their wars, but that has nothing to do with us. I want us to drink for Aktida, for Vaimar, for the Isles—in short, for all of Laugdeil, for the lands we call home. Saelin is strong, but even he doesn’t understand what home means to us common soldiers: the land that raised us and gave us its strength, and now we must suffer for it, spill our blood if needed… And if we can’t defend our home, then what are we after that? What? So let’s drink to our homeland, to the part of it that lives within us…"

  "Hoorah!" thundered again; Viggo plopped down heavily, clearly pleased with his speech. No more toasts followed, and the Twelfth Regiment celebrated loudly, but Kairu suddenly realized something had been left unsaid. He rose, took his cup, and at once dozens of eyes turned to him.

  "People! We’ve forgotten one more very important thing. We’re all people—we should not be fighting each other, but supporting one another, especially when we face an army like Saelin’s. Maybe before the mortal danger, our nature took over; maybe I’m talking about something impossible—but now only we together can stop Cassander. Every murder in our ranks, every quarrel and civil war—it’s another chance for Saelin to win. Alvens, Kalds, Nocturns—they’re all people, they all love the same things and fight for the same cause, believe me! And if they came together in this war and struck Saelin, he wouldn’t last an hour in his castle! So here’s what I propose we drink to—unity. It’s foolish to argue in the face of a common disaster. Now we are all on the same side of the barricade."

  "Hoorah!" sounded for the third time and echoed across the village, while the clock on the wall showed midnight, and at that very moment, Mainor was celebrating the New Year. But Kairu wasn’t done. As he sat down, he quietly added:

  "And I’ll also drink to the day when Orwell Cassander pays in full for his crimes. When a blade finally strikes him down for all his killings. Let the battle for Mainor be the first we win in this war—but by no means the last."

  No one but Viggo, Remiz, and Woody heard those words, spoken almost in a whisper, but Kairu didn’t care. He sat down in silence and took one last sip from his cup. A blessed calm overcame him, and he almost didn’t believe his ears when from the village gates and fortifications came the ringing of bells and a cry:

  "Alarm!"