The sun rose over the Hollow of Skulls, but it brought no warmth. The light merely illuminated the grim reality of the night’s butchery.

  The snow, trampled into a slush of mud and frozen blood, crunched under Kaelen’s boots as he walked the perimeter of the camp.

  The Stone Eaters were gone, vanished into the high mists like ghosts, but the threat remained. It hung heavy in the air, heavier than the smell of woodsmoke and iron. Vorak, the brother of Gorm, had not retreated out of fear. He had retreated to regroup, to analyze, and to return with a hammer that would not break.

  Kaelen stood on a ridge overlooking the four tribal camps. The System flickered into life, overlaying the landscape with tactical data.

  [Threat Assessment: Critical]

  Enemy: Stone Eater Tribe (Unified).

  Estimated Strength: 3,000+ Heavy Infantry, Siege Capability.

  Current Status: Regrouping at the High Spire.

  Projection: The coalition forces cannot win a pitched battle in open terrain. Defeat is 98% certain within 30 days.

  "Ninety-eight percent," Kaelen whispered, his breath clouding in the thin air.

  He looked at the tribes below. They were celebrating their survival, stripping armor from the dead Stone Walkers, drinking fermented mare’s milk, and boasting of their kills. They didn't understand. They thought they had won a war. They had only survived a probing attack.

  "We cannot kill them all," Kaelen muttered. "There are too many. And my Barony cannot field an army to march up here."

  He needed a buffer. He needed a wall.

  He summoned the [Diplomatic Interface].

  For the first time, a new bar appeared beneath the names of the four tribes.

  [Vassalization Progress]

  Ash Wolves: 5% (Respect Earned)

  Black Fangs: 2% (Wary / Hostile)

  Red Hands: 1% (Fearful)

  Broken Claws: 1% (Opportunistic)

  Requirements for Vassalage: 80-100% Trust.

  Current Status: Loose Alliance of Convenience.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  The numbers were pitiful. To them, he was still just a useful Lowlander with a sharp mind, not a liege lord. They would take his grain, use his strategy, and likely abandon him the moment the snow melted.

  Unless he made himself indispensable. Unless he gave them something they couldn't build themselves.

  "Zark!" Kaelen called out.

  The Ash Wolf chieftain was supervising the burial of his dead. He looked tired, his grey skin sallow, but he walked over to Kaelen with a nod of respect.

  "The men are happy," Zark said. "They say the Iron Lord brings luck. We have enough Deep Iron plate to armor fifty of our best."

  "Luck runs out," Kaelen said bluntly. "Vorak will return. And next time, he won't send arrogant boys. He will bring catapults. He will bring three thousand Stone Walkers. And he will grind this hollow into dust."

  Zark’s smile faded. "We know. The chiefs are talking of scattering. Hiding in the deep valleys until Gorm’s rage passes."

  "If you scatter, he hunts you down one by one," Kaelen said. "The Black Fangs first, then the Red Hands. By spring, the Stone Eaters will own every pass, every mine, and every goat path. And then they will come for my valley."

  "Then what do we do?" Zark asked, frustration creeping into his voice. "We cannot fight with the Stone Eaters directly."

  "No," Kaelen agreed. "So we become the mountain."

  He pointed to the narrow neck of the pass that led into the Hollow—the "Goat's Throat." It was a natural bottleneck, flanked by sheer cliffs of granite.

  "We build," Kaelen said.

  "Build?"

  "A fortress," Kaelen declared. "Not tents. Not temporary walls of wood. A fortress of stone and soil. We seal the Throat. We force Vorak to fight for every inch."

  Originally Kaelen plan was to use the four tribes as buffer between the barony and other hostile mountain tribes.

  Later that morning, the council fire was lit again. The mood was less panicked than the night before, but skepticism ran high.

  "A castle?" Karsen of the Black Fangs scoffed, spitting a bone into the fire. "We are nomads, Lowlander. We move with the herds. We do not sit behind walls waiting to starve."

  "You are starving now!" Kaelen snapped. "You were starving before I got here. And you aren't nomads anymore, Karsen. You are refugees. Gorm has taken your grazing lands. This Hollow is the last defensible ground before the lower foothills."

  He stood up, using a stick to draw in the dirt.

  "I will send engineers from Blackwood," Kaelen promised. "Masons who know how to bind stone so it doesn't shatter in the frost. I will send tools—steel picks, not your iron scrap. We will build a wall across the Goat's Throat. We will dig trenches lined with oil. We will turn this Hollow into a killing box."

  "And who commands this fortress?" Rogh asked suspiciously. "You?"

  "No," Kaelen said, knowing exactly how to play the tribal pride. "You do. The Gate of the Four. A stronghold garrisoned by warriors from all four tribes. A symbol that you are not broken."

  He looked at them, his eyes hard.

  "It serves me, yes. It keeps the Stone Eaters away from my farmers. I won't lie about that. But for you? It gives you a home. A place where your wives and children are safe behind stone while you raid the Stone Eater supply lines."

  Karsen grunted, looking at the crude map in the dirt. "A stone tent that doesn't move."

  "A stone fist," Kaelen corrected. "That punches back."

  The chieftains exchanged looks. They were tired of running. They were tired of looking over their shoulders.

  [Diplomatic Effect: Shared Purpose]

  Ash Wolves: +2%

  Black Fangs: +1%

  "We have no food to feed a garrison," Zark pointed out quietly. "Building takes strength. Our bellies are empty."

  Kaelen smiled. He heard the rumble in the distance, echoing up the canyon walls. The timing was perfect.

  "Listen," Kaelen said.

  The sound of heavy wooden wheels on stone. The snort of oxen. The crack of a whip.

  "Your strength has arrived."