Rain pounded on the windows of the castle. The streams wriggled down the glass like transparent worms, blurring the view of Mainor's rooftops visible from the tower. The gray October sky loomed over the capital.

  Siegfried Maclevirr turned away from the window and slowly approached the table. His face was the same color as the rainy sky. He sat down heavily and gestured for Geonar to take the chair opposite him. Geonar sat, trying to guess the mood of the head of the Secret Chancellery. What was he feeling? What thoughts were racing through his mind?

  A foolish question. The same ones that were racing through mine two months ago, Geonar thought.

  "Tell me everything," Maclevirr rasped.

  Everything? Where should he even begin?

  That evening at the commanders’ headquarters on the banks of the Flyliene?

  ***

  "Now or never," said Emerlun. The tent was stifling; sweat ran down the king’s face as he fanned himself vigorously. He and the generals were bent over a map, studying it by candlelight. From outside came the irritating chirping of cicadas, the voices of soldiers, the neighing of horses, the smoke from the campfires, and the sharp scent of the forest.

  "This is our main chance. We've drawn his forces out of the depths of Tepei-Kuon to the river. If we defeat them at Boreain, we can easily take the city and launch a fresh assault on the Citadel. Then he won’t be able to escape. All his troops are concentrated here, and he thinks the forces that broke through to the Citadel in summer are our main army. That’s why he’s been pursuing them so confidently... But we’ll set a trap for him."

  "Your Majesty, he’s not as foolish as you think," Felm said worriedly. "He may be expecting a trap—or laying one himself."

  "We crushed his main force at Mainor!" the king retorted with disdain. "Who’s in his army now? More of those giant spiders? We have a whole regiment of centaurs to counter them. Goblins? They’re stupid and disorganized. I don’t believe for a second they’ll take orders from human commanders."

  "We saw Nocturn units among them," Hugo Hellerson reminded him.

  "Yes, but that can’t be a full army. Raniot wouldn’t dare. That would be open treason... When I return to Mainor, I’ll demand an explanation from his envoys. But I think they’re just mercenaries. Damn it, we already gave him a good thrashing in those forests, we nearly burned his den to the ground! If we retreat now, we’ll lose our advantage."

  "The army isn’t in great shape after the campaign," Geonar said sourly. "The soldiers are exhausted. The heat, the rain... The animals are worn out from carrying supplies in this weather, food is running low, as are munitions."

  "Exactly!" Emerlun replied heatedly. "Which is why we can’t afford to delay the decision. Either we attack and force an open battle—or retreat back to Mainor and the Northern Province. But in that case, we’ll need to start peace negotiations. We can’t endure another winter under siege. And besides, we’re facing starvation: the Southern and Eastern Provinces were always our main source of grain. What do you want? For me to grovel before that professor and hand him half the country just to feed the other half? You want me to go there and negotiate peace? That’ll be the clearest signal that we’re weak, and we mustn’t show weakness! Give Saelin an inch, and he’ll take the whole arm."

  Geonar and Felm exchanged a silent glance. The situation was hopeless, and they both understood it, perhaps even better than Emerlun. But his words did carry some logic.

  "The centaurs are ready to take on the arachnids," said Levkir, the king of the Enchanted Forests, thoughtfully. "But we’re worried about the weapons the humans are using. Those cannons, rifles... At Mainor, we caught them by surprise and from behind. Now they expect us to come from that side."

  "Yes. We’ll try to use the captured weapons we took under Mainor," Geonar said through gritted teeth. "But too few of our people are trained to use them. That’s why we need to think carefully, how and where to position the gunners. Our main strength lies in infantry and cavalry. And they’ll have to take the brunt of the blow…"

  "So you agree?" Emerlun’s eyes gleamed with triumph.

  "I’ll agree only if I see a realistic plan," Geonar replied dryly. "So let’s start thinking. This is our best chance, and the worst thing we can do is charge blindly into battle."

  ***

  "But you knew you weren’t ready," Maclevirr said.

  Did we know? Of course we suspected. The soldiers were worn out from endless marches. Several regiments that had just tried to break deeper into Tepei-Kuon were half-crippled. We had hardly any food or water left, many had fallen ill—some bitten by local insects or snakes, some caught fever, others dysentery... But most of all, we’d lost our fighting spirit. In those jungles, we feared not just stray bullets or enemy patrols, but also wild animals and the poisonous thorns that lined the forest. Swamps swallowed horses and riders alike, and the shadows under the trees could conceal anything. Soldiers are always superstitious. By the end of the campaign, no one wanted to go on, or fight for Boreain. The northerners just wanted to go home.

  The army was a ragtag mix of units. Kald mercenaries, centaurs, regular Asternian troops, remnants of the Mainor garrison—and each group had its own commanders. In small skirmishes on the way south, they fought well individually. But could they function as one unified machine in a great battle that would decide the fate of Aktida? And besides, we knew nothing about the enemy. We lacked reconnaissance. Saelin had cunningly hidden his regiments in the forests...

  All our confidence was, in truth, Emerlun’s confidence.

  "We made a plan," Geonar said hoarsely. "And we decided we had a chance."

  ***

  A cool, misty morning stood still, the horizon and rising sun dissolved into a white haze. A few days earlier, Emerlun’s army had crossed the river downstream at Onklag, where another bridge stood, then passed along the outskirts of Estogil, and finally gathered here, where from the forest’s edge, Boreain and the muddy mounds of the Man-Made Mountains were visible. The troops were forming into battle order, officers riding along the ranks on horseback, shouting urgent orders. Geonar rode to the clearing, and, arming himself with a spyglass, peered grimly into the distance.

  "They're in position," he said. "Waiting for us too. Ringus, what do you think?"

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  "Long formation," the second general replied, squinting. "They’ll try to flank us. And what worries me is how close they’re standing to the forest. There could be reinforcements hidden there that we don’t see yet."

  "But we’ve got a shot. We’ll send in the Vaimar assault unit to break through the center, cover them with archers and artillery on the flanks. Levkir and the centaurs will take the right, in case arachnids come from the woods. Regular cavalry on the left, near the river. The key is to push through quickly to their artillery positions and disable their cannons—otherwise, they’ll tear us apart before our infantry can even act."

  "How does it look?" the king rode up on his snow-white stallion adorned with golden tack. He was pale but composed, his face shining with desperate resolve. "What do we see? What do we know?"

  "Hard to say," Geonar replied, looking up at him. "Visible troops—around ten thousand. From here, we can’t tell if they’re pirates, goblins, or Nocturns. The front lines are all infantry; cavalry might be hidden in the city or the forest, ready as reinforcements. I see several cannon positions."

  "Are we ready?" Emerlun asked. His voice trembled slightly.

  "Upon your command, Your Majesty," said Geonar.

  Emerlun stared at the horizon for a few seconds, as though he could see something there without the spyglass. His lips moved, perhaps rehearsing a speech he intended to give. Or maybe words from deep within him were clawing to the surface, yet he lacked the breath to say them aloud. His eyes grew distant, as if his thoughts had flown far away across time and space, to somewhere far from this sweltering land. Then, still silent, he wheeled his horse around and galloped off toward where the army was nearly assembled.

  "Soldiers!" he roared, as loud as his youthful, high-pitched voice would allow. The murmur in the crowd died down. Thousands of troops snapped to attention, thousands of pale, weary, exhausted faces looked to him with burning eyes. Had any of them even slept last night, awaiting battle? Emerlun hadn’t, and he knew he wasn’t alone.

  "Today is a special day!" shouted the king. He wasn’t rallying the army—he was rallying himself. "The day we shatter the army of that scoundrel Saelin into dust!"

  "HURRAH!" came the ragged cheer in reply.

  "The time has come to defend our Homeland! For more than a year, the land of Aktida has groaned under the unjust blows of our enemies! But we will show them that our weapons are the finest, our warriors the bravest, and we will not yield a single inch of the land our ancestors gave us centuries ago! Aktida was, and will remain, united and free!"

  "Hurrah!" The chorus grew louder and more unified.

  "For our loved ones and friends who perished defending Surrell, Nalvin, Mainor, and Boreain! For our bright future, in which we will flourish, and peace shall reign over our land! Soldiers, cast away fear, for even if you die, your death will not be in vain! Your life will be sacrificed for your children! Go forth, bring ruin to the enemy on the point of your blades, and let them flee in terror when they see your resolve! Aktida will be free! Forward!"

  "HURRAH!" The third cry rang out. Horns blared. The ground trembled under the hooves of horses and the boots of thousands. Clouds of dust rose, and the vast army slowly rolled forward over the hills, toward the field where Saelin’s forces awaited them before Boreain. Emerlun rode aside, letting them pass, but held his banner high in his hand. Geonar and Felm had already mounted their horses and ridden up to him. Geonar looked concerned. In the king’s eyes, he saw a glimmer of madness.

  "Your Majesty, please come with us. It’s time to take our places at the command post."

  "Command post?" Emerlun turned toward him, his lips curling in disdain. "To hide at the rear? No. You said we had a problem with morale? I know how to fix it. I’ll lead the army into battle myself."

  "Your Majesty, that might be unwise... You need to stay in the rear in case we need to retreat."

  "We won’t need to retreat!" the king shot back defiantly.

  "But—"

  "It’s that kind of thinking that loses battles!" the king shouted. "Forget retreat! We don’t have that option. Forward is our only path! We must win today. If we lose this battle, we lose all of Aktida!"

  He spurred his horse and galloped forward, leaving the stunned generals behind.

  "Damn fool," muttered Felm. "We need to assign someone to keep an eye on him. We can’t afford to lose the king in battle.

  Geonar nodded, watching the king’s banner flutter ahead of the marching army.

  He’s wagered everything, the general thought. We’ve outlined a fallback plan, but for him, retreat equals death. He can’t think about that outcome. In his mind, he’s already there, already seeing Saelin’s army crushed, already driving his sword through the throat of Orwell Cassander. He can’t imagine any other future. And that’s his strength... but also the danger. We have to protect him. Just not so obviously that he mistakes our caution for cowardice.

  ***

  "We came within cannon range," Geonar recounted. "The sun had already risen high, and the heat was becoming unbearable... On the other side they were ready too. They beat their drums, blew their horns. The noise was far enough away that our officers could still issue orders, but close enough to unnerve the soldiers and horses. Our regimental musicians tried to drown them out with our own din. While they battled each other in a cacophony of noise, we rolled forward the captured cannons and started to reinforce the positions...

  And then they fired a volley at our lines. Everything was engulfed in smoke.

  And then true hell broke lose."

  ***

  The formation broke apart in the places where cannonballs struck. Infantrymen scattered to the sides, covering their heads in terror from the geysers of dirt and blood from those unfortunate enough to be caught directly in the path of the red-hot lead shot.

  "Fire!" the artillery commanders shouted. The soldiers, still not fully trained in the craft of firing cannons, frantically loaded, dashing about in panic, trying to do everything as quickly and correctly as possible. Any mistake could cost them either the precious captured artillery or their lives. So several more minutes passed before the answering volley thundered back. The blast made ears ring; smoke filled the space between the two armies. But through the smoke, the silhouettes of enemy infantry became visible, steadily advancing to the beat of drums.

  Hugo Hellerson rode his horse in front of his regiment. They were to go in the vanguard, tasked with breaking through the enemy line. Hugo looked into the faces of his soldiers—and he knew they were ready. Unlike the Alvens, many of whom had been conscripted into the army by force, the Vaimar troops were battle-hardened, strong, and self-assured. They were not fazed by heat or cannon fire. They were ready. They thirsted for battle: the clash of swords, the whistle of bullets and arrows, the cries and blood of dying enemies and comrades—these were the things that made them feel truly alive. Now they stood still, grim and confident, waiting for the order.

  Hugo glanced back. The archers fired a volley, and a cloud of arrows flew over the infantry’s heads toward the enemy vanguard. The infantry and cavalry still stood waiting, hesitating for the command… Finally, Hugo spotted the king. Emerlun had ridden up from the flank where the cavalry brigades were positioned and was now pacing on his stallion, peering into the smoke.

  "Your Majesty!" Hugo shouted, riding up to him. "The troops await your command! Order the attack!"

  The king did not look at him immediately. His gaze was glazed over, fixated on the horizon, mesmerized by the battle he was witnessing up close for the first time in his life. He was breathing heavily, his face slick with sweat and soot, his saddle soaked from the water his squires poured under his armor to cool him. Hugo had to ride directly in front of him to be noticed.

  "Attack?" the king repeated, as if slowly coming out of a trance. He flinched, stared straight into Hugo’s face, then seemed to shake off the last remnants of sleep. With a swift motion, he drew his sword from its scabbard, lowered the visor of his helmet, turned his stallion, and galloped along the front lines.

  "Soldiers! Charge! Forward!" he roared, his voice cracking on the last word.

  "Hurrah!" roared the army in reply, drowning out the thunder of cannons, the blare of horns, and the beat of drums. The Vaimar infantry charged through the smoke, toward where the first ranks of Saelin’s army were already emerging. These were the Nocturns, also heavily armored, but with the advantage of being used to the heat and bearing it much better than the northerners. One more minute of tense marching, and the two monstrous waves collided. The deafening clash of swords filled the battlefield, silencing all other sounds.