Returning to Winterclaw with a tenuous alliance in hand, Mark sent Callum and his knights out to recruit the lords and their warriors from his vassal fiefs.

  Thankfully, Winterclaw had never ceased its wartime production; all he needed to do was order the arrows, weapons, and armor packed into wagons. Along with food, camping, and support supplies, they filled all the wagons they had available.

  There were no second chances. This battle had to be won. Once they marched out, the walls would be bare, and only a handful of guards would remain to keep the peace, most of whom would be within the Imperial District, guarding the treasury.

  Their lack of defenders shouldn’t matter, he reasoned. His scouts had been scouring the land for months now, and they were confident the entirety of the warg army was concentrated on sieging the allied clans. And once the clans from the west arrived, there wouldn’t be any remaining armies in the entire Frontier that weren’t either in the south or headed there.

  However, he did devise a backup plan. Callum would fly scouting rounds throughout their march south, ensuring no Imperials were headed back into the Frontier, even though it was unlikely they could do anything if they were. He couldn’t just turn around and march an army back to Winterclaw in time to stop a fleet of throne ships. It was just a vulnerability they would have to accept.

  Even then, Mark wasn’t willing to keep Callum away from the fight. A second throne ship and Imperator suit could play a vital role, so he was ordered to return once they were ready to engage.

  ***

  A hazy morning glow filtered across the snowy landscape as the dense cloud coverage cleared a little.

  The air was as frozen as ever, but the beams of light coming down through the mirky sky were refreshingly warm and a delight against the skin as Mark looked out across his land from the palisade wall-walk, sipping on one of Mira’s teas.

  His calming morning routine was cut short as a horn blasted through the air, and his brows rose curiously.

  The sound of thousands of boots marching soon filled the air, and his gaze narrowed as he waited. Armored warriors appeared between a clearing that cut two dense sections of forest in half, marching two abreast in a line of bodies that disappeared into the distance.

  These weren’t the ferals that lived in scattered hovels across the Frontier. These warriors wore thick furs, metal armor, shields, well-crafted weapons, and horned helms. Donkeys, horses, and even bears walked among them as beasts of burden—filled packs of all kinds hanging from them.

  Hundreds of banners, each depicting the house of their lords, waved above, symbolizing the patchwork of clans that the army was made of.

  But something particularly interesting caught his eye. She was at the center of the army, atop a huge grizzly, bigger than Mark had ever seen. Yelinda had left her silky robes behind, trading them for leather and chain metal. Her helm looked half armor and half crown, with delicate spikes rising from it. A sword dangled from her side, though Mark guessed she had little interest in using it.

  Where were they hiding the freaking bears? He gasped and rubbed at his eyes. His mind was a race with possibilities, but one thing he was pretty confident about was that bears would help tear wargs apart.

  “The gates,” he stammered and then cleared his throat, repeating it but yelling at the top of his voice.

  His people charged into action, pulling the gates open and forming a line of his most elite troops, standing stiff with shields and spears to greet their allies.

  The army continued their march and stopped just before Winterclaw. Parting for Yelinda and a group of what Mark assumed to be clan elders and leaders who continued into the fort.

  There must have been close to fifty of them, and Mark hurried down from his wall to greet them at the gates.

  Yelinda might have been the only one riding atop a giant, fearsome-looking bear with five-inch long claws, but each of the clan heads looked just as impressive in their battle gear.

  Giant swords, axes, shields, and various weapons Mark didn’t even recognize accompanied them. Some were lightly armored in furs and leathers, while others wore heavy, plated armor that wrapped around every inch of their bodies.

  “Yelinda,” Mark bowed as they passed through his rows of warriors. “This is… I’m speechless.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  “I’m glad you’re impressed,” she said, effortlessly hopping from her huge steed. Her wind powers kicked into action as she fell, allowing her to slowly drift to the ground.

  “I didn’t think you were coming. What you said back at the temple…”

  “I wasn’t going to. But then I realized I wasn’t ready to be a widow.”

  Mark chuckled. “Well, you certainly look prepared. And that big boy… I wouldn’t want to get on his bad side.”

  “Oh, Mr. Biscuit? Yeah, he can be a little rough if he doesn’t take to you,” Yelinda winked.

  “I’ll bet,” Mark looked up at the giant bear as it leaned back on two legs to yawn, extending his huge from over the top of Winterclaw’s palisade in the process.

  Hopefully, this is a blissful marriage.

  “Your fort, or kingdom is—” Yelinda cut herself short as she cleared her throat. “Quaint.”

  “It leaves a little to be desired, I’m aware. But we’ve come a long way. You should have seen it before winter.”

  “I’ve heard,” Yelinda nodded a toothy smile. “It would be nice to afford my army a few hours rest, but if you’re ready, we can begin our march south.”

  “Straight to it, huh? You’re right, though. The sooner we leave, the better. However, I do have some rather delicate situations to discuss with you. If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “Right,” Yelinda said and turned to the others who had come with her. “Order your troops to take rest. We won’t be here long, so make sure they make the most of it.”

  The elders and clan leaders bowed respectfully and left, leaving Yelinda with just her Warmaster and a couple of guards.

  “Come,” Mark said, leading them to the Imperial District and his cabin, gathering Elwoen and Venjimin along the way.

  ***

  “Okay, now that we have our army gathered, it's time for the bad news. Our ally in the south isn’t too fond of us. I have little doubt he wants to take the reign as King of this entire land once the wargs are defeated. I cannot be sure what lengths he will go to achieve this. But it would be unwise to head into battle without considering the possibility that we will be betrayed once we defeat the enemy.”

  “If we defeat the enemy,” Yelinda’s Warmaster added.

  “Right,” Mark nodded. “Still, we need some kind of plan. I’m not saying we prepare to be enemies with the Eastern Clans, but we need something to fall back upon if we are attacked. Or potentially, a means to persuade him against attacking us.”

  “Not easy,” Venjimin stroked his white beard. “The clans of the eastern lands see themselves as the rightful leaders, even before they elected kings. The Igmani Clans to the West are barely considered the same people, and I doubt many would even consider a ruler who wasn’t from a Cassundri Clan. They are not just the most populous but where most of the culture of this land comes from. It will be hard to convince them that an outside should rule.”

  “And the Igmani see the Easterns in the same light,” Yelinda noted. “The clans I have gathered here would disperse and head home in a moment's notice if I told them they were to bow to a Cassundri leader. They will not accept it.”

  “There is one option,” the Warmaster spoke up. “The Legendary Harbringer of Felled Beasts. The Champion of the Clans. The Vanquisher.”

  “Why are you talking about children’s tales?” Yelinda said.

  “No, wait,” Venjimin nodded along. “He’s got a point. Those tales are more than just children’s tales, they are told across all of the clans, near and far. People believe them. They believe that the Vanquisher will return one day to defeat their enemies and unite the clans. We could use this. It's one of the few things that unite the cultures.”

  “How exactly?” Yelinda said.

  “If we could convince the people that Mark was the embodiment of the Vanquisher, then they would surely follow him, regardless of his heritage. Even this so-called king wouldn’t be able to order him dead.”

  “You really think this will work?” Mark hummed.

  “Well, it won’t be easy. The Vanquisher is spoken of as an unrivaled warrior who strikes fear into the hearts of all enemies, even wargs and giants. You need to do something impressive to convince them that you are his reincarnation.”

  “Defeat the enemy. Take their heads,” the Warmaster said. “Charge straight for the warg leadership and slay them all. That oughta do it.”

  “Are you insane?” Elwoen said. “King Atlas is a great warrior, but the warg leader is bound to be surrounded by his underlings. Not to mention, he is a warg warlord himself. What you’re suggesting is suicide.”

  “Not if I use the throne ship,” Mark mused. “I have gotten quite adept at piloting and have found a means to increase its speed significantly. I could watch the battle from afar, waiting for the perfect opportunity and dive straight for the enemy camp when the warg chief reveals himself.”

  “No,” Venjimin shook his head. “Such an act wouldn’t be respected, even if it succeeded. And it certainly wouldn’t convince anybody that you’re the Vanquisher. You need to do it with your own hands,” he added, eyeing the impressive sword sheathed at Mark’s side.

  The sword? Seriously? I barely know how to use this thing.

  “We could ride together,” Yelinda said. “Atop Biscuit. Wait for an opening and charge through their ranks for their leader. Still, you would need to land the final blow with a mortal weapon.”

  “Let me get this straight: I can use my lightning, but will I need to slay the beast with my sword?”

  “Correct,” Venjjimin said. “Or at least I believe it to be. The Vanquisher is a skilled warrior. He would be expected to use a weapon. However, he was also gifted by the gods. In the tales, he often used supernatural powers, but he always landed the killing blow with a weapon of some kind. Luckily, it often changes from story to story, so using a sword should be fine. Remember, we are trying to create a myth here.”

  “Yes, and what if it fails? Is this smart to rely on? If Dothran’s army doesn’t buy it, and he orders them to attack us, then what?”

  “Then we’ll be forced to defeat them,” Yelinda said with steely resolve. “There’s no easy way out of this. And defeating the clans doesn’t mean slaughtering them, as the wargs would no doubt do if they were to win. We just have to better them in battle and force a surrender. Then, we can force their elders and leaders to swear allegiance. This is still a better option than not marching south and letting the Wargs win. Besides, there’s a very good chance we can’t beat them anyway if that happens.”

  “I guess that’s our only option then,” Mark sighed.

  The plan seemed too risky in Mark’s eyes, but what choice did they have? Prolonging the march south only increased the chances of everything falling apart.

  “Then let's do this. Let’s create a myth,” Mark said, gripping the hilt of his impressive blade.