Flying low across the endless forests of the Frontier, Mark sped toward where his scouts had placed the clan encampment on his map.

  No other Imperial forces had been seen in the area in over a week, but he still took care. If the wargs had empowered warriors among their army, like the priest who had attacked the fort, remaining low would make him a harder target.

  In the distance, he spotted it. The hill fort the barbarians retreated to. The land around the hill was cleared—recently—and the logs used to put up a basic palisade. It wasn’t much, but he could tell that the short incline up to the impromptu fort would slow an attacking army, which was no doubt vitally important for a force as quick and mobile as the wargs.

  It's not a bad spot. If we could somehow encourage the wargs to attack the fort while my army got into position and then charge their flank while they are already engaged in attacking, then that might be to score ourselves a victory against them.

  Soon, he spotted the war camps scattered around the hill—mostly shielded beneath the canopy of the surrounding forests—Mark flooded his throne ship with additional energy, boosting its power and flashing across the land to reach the fort in seconds. Now wasn’t the time to risk getting spotted and hit as he arrived.

  Mark knew his little maneuver was risky, and he spotted dozens of armed barbarians rushing out to meet his ship as he lowered it down to land. Even if he landed harmlessly in their camp, there was still a chance he would be mistaken for an Imperial. However, victory required decisive decision-making, and he bit down on his apprehension. He didn’t have time to get stuck doubting every action.

  Hundreds had gathered by the time he touched down and opened the hatch, creating an armed circle around his vessel.

  Okay, here goes nothing. Hopefully, they won’t just kill me.

  Sighing, he got up and walked to the exit. Stepping out into the icy winds, he was met by grizzled stares of hardened warriors dressed in furs and tightly clenching their weapons, but none attacked.

  “Who are you?” A big man with orange braids and a beard down past his chest said. He was a good foot taller than Mark, with arms as thick as trunks and a massive double-axe over his shoulder. “You look like an Imperial, but something tells me you’re not.”

  “Well, I was once. Not anymore. I took to freelancing. It suits me better,” Mark smiled. “The name’s Atlas. King Atlas to some.”

  “Why have you come here, pretender King Atlas the Freelancer?”

  I don’t actually mind that. It’s got a ring to it. If you drop the pretender part, that is it.

  “For the sake of all our people. To defeat the wargs and free this land of foreign interference.”

  The huge man looked Mark up and down. “You look pretty foreign to me.”

  “Hah,” Mark awkwardly chuckled. You’re more correct than you realize, bud. “I understand. But things change. I consider myself naturalized to this land.”

  “You don’t even speak our languages and force us to communicate in your Imperial tongue,” the man growled.

  Yeah… if I were halfway talented in learning languages, I’d have made that a priority, but there are pressing matters.

  “A relic of the past, trust me. I am as much an enemy of the Imperium as you, probably more now. In their eyes, I’m just another Heretic now. And a thief,” Mark nodded reassuringly.

  “Why should we trust the words of one born from snakes?”

  “Look, we can discuss this more in time. But have you looked outside recently? You’re surrounded. All they have to do is wait until your army starves. You’ve got three options, the way I see it. Do nothing and die. Charge out and meet the wargs on an open ground—who knows, maybe you can pull it off. Or, sit down and talk with me.”

  The big one snorted and turned to another beside him. Whispers followed for a long moment before he turned back to Mark.

  “So be it. I, Dothran, King of the Allied Clans, shall hear your pleas for help.”

  So, he is calling himself a king now. I have a dreadful feeling that’s only going to make things more complicated.

  Without another word, Dothran turned, and the crowd parted. Two men dressed in shamanic-like rags and gowned in feathers followed after him, and a weedy, little man stopped to wave Mark after them.

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  The onlookers created human walls through the camp, leading all the way to the huge yurt studded with spikes out front of its entrance, on which human and warg heads were skewered.

  A couple of guards sneered at Mark as he entered, but they didn’t move to reach for their weapons, so he ignored the aggressive act.

  Inside, furs lined the ground and stuffed furs acted as cushions along its rear. Several barely dressed women lounged about. They weren’t dirty or unkept like many he had seen across the Frontier; these women looked recently bathed with shiny, combed hair and curvy figures.

  Stomping through the tent, Dothran dropped himself between the women and turned to face Mark. He grabbed dried meat and stuffed it in his mouth before watering it down with a flagon.

  “Speak.”

  “Right,” Mark nodded, taking in the scene momentarily. “As you no doubt know, it appears the Imperials have fallen back from this land. This provides us with both an opportunity, but it also does and our enemies. I doubt either one of us can defeat the wargs alone, and even if we can, by some miracle, whatever we win will be short-lived. If we are to maintain any kind of independence afterward, then we will maintain as much of our strength as possible. In other words, we can’t just win. We need to decisively crush the wargs.”

  “So, you wish to bow to me? Join me as one of my subjects?” The man’s orange brows rose in challenge.

  “As an ally, sure. That’s all I can offer, Your Highness.”

  “That’s not what I asked, little man.”

  Mark forced a smile and considered his next words.

  “Don’t think I don’t know who you are. You are the Imperial who fancies himself a king. A king in my land, no less. I wonder, how can there be two kings? What happens if we win?”

  “Maybe we should worry about that IF it happens.”

  “NO, I worry now, little man. You claim my crown and then come here begging for my help. I think you can answer my question,” he said, gulping from his mug. “Out of respect.”

  “Did you forget that you’re surrounded?”

  Dothran chuckled and shook his head. “Maybe so, but I’m told you have a tiny, little, pathetic army. One that is barely as big as some of the clan armies. Yet you think you’re worthy of a crown. Look around. This is an army. Ten thousand warriors ready to spill blood on my command.”

  “If you know so much, then you should be aware that I have united the Western Clans and that they march to my camp as we speak. Once they arrive, my army won’t be so small.”

  “Bah! What right does an Imperial leading a Western army have to rule my lands? Huh? We’re not in the West, or had you forgotten?”

  “I’m not forcing anybody to follow me, Dothran. I come here for an alliance. We defeat the wargs together, and it ends there, then so be it. Please, let us find common ground for both of our sakes. Afterward, we can settle our differences. But we have to beat those wolves back and free our lands.”

  “Our lands,” Dothran scoffed but cut himself short as he was about to speak. A beautiful, green-eyed woman with luscious dark curls and a silky gown that barely clung to her whispered in his ear. Sighing, he slowly opened his mouth. “So, what is your plan to defeat them?” Dothran snapped.

  Is she speaking some sense into this brute?

  “I haven’t had a chance to go over it in detail, but I believe we stand a chance we can lure them into an attack against this fortified position while my army moves to flank the enemy.”

  “What? How am I supposed to do that exactly?” Dothran growled.

  “I don’t know. Offer them something they can’t resist. Make them think they can win an easy victory.”

  “It sounds like you expect us to take all the risk. I know your type. You plan on betraying us and defeating my army after we kill the wargs for you!”

  The woman whispered in Dothran’s ear again as he grew agitated, and he calmed back into his cushions with a huff.

  “No, but we need to slow them down. The wargs’ greatest asset is their speed. The best way to nullify that is to have them attack this raised fort. I don’t want to risk trying to fight them on open ground, even with both of our armies working together. We stand far more chance if we can choose the battlefield.”

  Before Dothran could speak, the woman whispered in his ear again.

  “Make a better plan, little man,” the brutish king’s tone softened.

  “We have a deal then?” Mark’s brow rose.

  “Prove you have an army first. Return with a real plan when you're ready, and then we can see. And maybe, if you’re lucky, I will see fit to help you.”

  Mark nodded. “I will. We will beat them together and free our people.”

  “Don’t take long. You’ve seen our situation,” Dothran growled. “We’ve got food and a strong position, so I doubt they’ll attack for at least a few weeks. Not until we are truly worn down and weak. But the weaker we become, the less chance we have of your silly plan working.”

  “Yes, of course. I won’t take a day longer than I have to. Hold strong, King Dothran,” Mark pounded his chest, hoping to win a little trust between them.

  The barbarian narrowed his gaze and slowly nodded.

  One down, Mark thought as he turned to leave.

  He just had to hope the clans from the West would arrive in time now. They still needed a week to march an army south, and he didn’t want to push Dothran’s deadline. As coldly as their meeting had gone, he still believed that they would need to unite all the clans to fend off the Imperium.

  We must prepare supplies, wagons, weapons, camp followers, and everything in between.

  He had just sent out his new lords to claim their land, and he would already need to stop at each of their camps to recruit every decent warrior they had, which in every case included the lords themselves.

  Not only that but the warriors from the West would barely be given a chance to rest and be forced to continue their march south as soon as they arrived.

  This will be harsh, but we have no choice. We have to beat them here.

  Still, despite his confidence in this decision, Mark didn’t know exactly how he would deal with this king. Once the battle was won, there was no stopping him from turning his army against Mark’s.

  They needed a backup plan. Something to ensure their delicate alliance wouldn’t be turned against them the moment the last warg lost its head.

  Maybe Elowen or Venjimin can help come up with something, Mark sighed.

  If only things could have been simple for once.