In the Great Hall of Castle Saliza, Milina sat on her throne. Below her, the members of her court busied themselves taking notes on every word she spoke. She was exhausted, her back hurt, her neck felt stiff, and the endless drone of voices gave her a headache, but the number of petitioners never seemed to end. Waving her hand, she signaled the guard to send in the next guest.

  “Why do I have to do this?” she pouted, turning her head to stare at her uncle, who stood slightly behind her, his expression unreadable.

  “Your Majesty, it is customary for the rulers of Vanura to hear from the people. It is a good way to keep track of what is happening,” he replied evenly.

  “I've never seen Father hold an audience with the citizens,” Milina argued, lifting her arms in a long stretch.

  “Your Majesty, I do not want to speak ill of your father, but he was the first King to end the tradition. By restarting it, you are telling the people we will return to the days of glory. Just by restoring this practice, we were able to identify which sections of the city hold the largest number of homeless.”

  Father’s negligence again, Milina thought, her shoulders dropping. Knowing that her father had caused so much of the people’s suffering made her feel bad. The small seed of shame and guilt in her soul seemed to grow a little more every time she thought of him.

  Sitting taller on her throne, she swore again to fix her father’s mistakes. “Send the next person in,” she commanded, straightening her dress and raising her chin.

  “Your Majesty! Abbess Hilda from the Temple of Gera!” a guard announced, opening the doors.

  Taking a slow, steady breath, Milina cleared her throat and put on a warm smile, forcing herself to exude the aura of a kind ruler; the type a Gera worshiper would expect. Between the two main religions—Alumus and Gera—the worshipers of Gera prayed to the earth goddess, believing she rewarded love and devotion toward nature with fertile harvests. They believed that rulers should rule with benevolence and love. On the other hand, the Alumas religion respected strength, purity, and the ability to transcend physical desire. If Milina were to meet one of them, she would have worn no expression at all.

  Gracefully, the Abbess entered. Her back bent slightly from old age. Her earthy brown robes brushed the floor as she leaned heavily on her cane. Dried flowers decorated her hair, and a simple wooden bracelet clung to her wrist, a testament to her devotion to Gera.

  “Your Majesty, may the Goddess smile upon you,” the Abbess sang, bowing low.

  “Abbess, what can my family do for you today?” Milina asked, trying to seem regal yet caring at the same time. It was harder than it looked. How could someone act regal and warm at the same time?

  “Your Majesty, I come on behalf of my congregation!” the Abbess cried, bowing even deeper. “Ever since the members of Alumus attempted their religious coup, we have struggled without end! Even though they were the ones who tried to overthrow the Kingdom, they accuse us of violence and hatred. Just the other day, a child of Gera was severely beaten nearly to death by Alumus followers! When we demanded justice, they denied it! Please, as Queen, you must uphold justice!”

  Feeling her heart drop at the story, Milina let her expression show, knowing that the Abbess would appreciate it. But the situation was more complex than just imprisoning the aggressors. The number of religious retaliations from both sides had become increasingly violent, with both sides claiming they were the victim. She had to find a long-term solution, not just imprison everyone accused of a crime. But in the meantime, that was all she could do.

  “Abbess, do not worry. I will personally appoint a team of guards to investigate this matter,” she said. “You have my word; we'll have a thorough investigation.” I just hope we have enough soldiers left to spare, she silently thought to herself.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty! Thank you!” the Abbess cried, collapsing to her knees, her hands clasped in prayer. Tears streamed down her cheeks in gratitude.

  Watching her, Milina felt her heart twist. For months, she had fought to hold her city together, yet for every problem she solved, two more rose in its place.

  When the Abbess finally left, Milina turned to her uncle. “Uncle, how many men can we spare for this?”

  “Your Majesty, we can spare one or two men at most,” he answered truthfully. “The capital’s situation and lack of funds have our men spread thin.”

  Sighing deeply, Milina signaled for the next petitioner. She prayed she could be of more use this time. But before the doors could open, Todo came running in, sweat dripping from his face, panting as if he had run all the way from the outer wall. There was a hint of panic on his face.

  “Your Majesty, Lord Hector! We just received word from Lord Falka Nazau—an army from the north has invaded Collina!”

  There was a moment of silence before the throne room erupted into noise, ministers standing up and shouting over one another.

  “QUIET!”

  Hector’s commanding voice silenced the room. “Report everything!” he demanded.

  “Yes, my Lord! We have just received a bird from Lord Nazau asking for aid. An army of two to three thousand, led by the Highmount Bandit Borvak, attacked Collina. That is all the information we have for now!” Todo reported, dropping to one knee.

  Feeling the full weight of the crown pressing down on her head, Milina stood, her body stiff, with dread.

  Oh Ancestors! I’m not ready, she thought, her breath stuck in her lungs. But I must act! I’m the Queen! Taking a shaky breath, she turned to her uncle. “How long will it take to muster a force large enough to help Lord Nazau?” she asked, her hand clenched tightly at her side.

  “Your Majesty!” A councilman rose quickly. “With the current situation in the capital, we cannot send too large a force without endangering it. We must keep enough men here to prevent religious conflict from breaking out!”

  “I know that, Councilman! How many men can we muster, and how long will it take?” Milina snapped, her anger rising. Why did they always say things she knew? Were they testing her?

  “Your Majesty,” her uncle said quietly, “in three days, we can have two thousand men. If Lord Nazau can hold for five days, we will be able to reach him!”

  Nodding at his words, Milina declared. From this moment, my uncle, Lord Hector, will have sole power over the military! Until the crisis is over, you will regard his commands as if they were mine!”

  “Your Majesty!” As one, the councilmen and ministers answered.

  Thundering past confused soldiers who had followed the cavalry charge out of the wall, Lord Nazau kept shouting, his voice echoing back from the wall.

  “BACK TO THE CASTLE! BACK TO THE CASTLE! THE REAR GATE IS UNDER ATTACK!”

  Ancestors, please keep our people safe, he prayed fervently, gripping the reins tightly. If the bandits had only climbed the wall and placed the banner on the battlements, there was still hope— but if the rear gate had been breached, the town would be in grave danger.

  Squeezing his legs together, he tried to make his horse run faster, knowing the futility of it. The horse was already running as fast as it could.

  Please, Ancestors, please!

  Precious minutes later, the remaining members of the cavalry finally made it through the still-smoking gate.

  “Father!” Ryker exclaimed, fear etched on his face. “I sent archers to the rear gate, but lost contact with them.”

  Cursing, Lord Nazau glanced around. Too many of his soldiers had followed the cavalry charge and were still outside the wall. Of those who remained, most of them were archers. If the gate was breached, they would have a hard time retaking the town.

  “Ryker, hold the front gate,” he commanded. “Keep it open as long as possible, but close it if the bandits get close, even if it means locking our men outside.”

  “Yes, Father.”

  “Cripton, take half the cavalry and cut through the town to the rear gate. Kill any bandit you meet, but don’t waste time. I’ll lead the other half across the battlements and head straight for the rear gate.

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  “Yes, Father.”

  Not even checking whether half the cavalry followed, Lord Nazau dismounted and carefully guided his horse up the steep stone steps onto the battlements. Once there, he swung back into the saddle and kicked the horse into a reckless run.

  Castle Collina was encircled by a mighty wall that enclosed the entire town. The main keep, where the Lords of Nazau resided, rose on the eastern side. In the center stretched the markets, craftsmen, and merchants’ businesses, lining the road that ran from the Front Gate to the Rear Gate. The western quarter of the town was where the common folk lived.

  Galloping in single file along the wall, Lord Nazau led nearly thirty veterans towards the Rear Gate. From up here, they had a clear view of the city below. Bandits swarmed through the streets in large groups, splintering into smaller packs as they burst into homes, shops, and stalls, killing anyone who resisted.

  Screaming wordlessly, Lord Nazau pushed his horse harder, the fatigue in his body forgotten. He had to secure the Rear Gate. Cripton would have to deal with the bandits already in the city.

  The closer they rode to the gate, the clearer the horror became. The town was plunged into a frenzy of death and violence, the bandits killing indiscriminately.

  “My Lord! There’s no point in retaking the gate!” a soldier cried. “The bandits are already inside! We must save the people! We must gather our soldiers and reclaim the town!”

  Turning to his head, Lord Nazau saw the panic and terror in the man’s eyes—the man’s family was most likely down there.

  Grinding his teeth, he grunted before bellowing his orders loudly. “Half of you, go help Cripton! The rest, retake the gate with me! We must hold it to stop the enemy’s main force from entering. You there—send a word to Ryker! Tell him to dispatch soldiers to the Rear Gate the moment he sees the enemy begin to move

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  A pitifully small band of soldiers followed him, each panting heavily. When they reached the open gate, Lord Nazau roared in frustration and anger. The mechanism that opened and closed it had been smashed; the archers Ryker had sent lay strewn where they had died trying to keep the gate closed.

  “My lord, we can't close the gate!” a soldier stammered, tears running down his face. “Everything is broken!”

  Scanning the area, Lord Nazau’s mind raced—he had to come up with a plan!

  “Use everything here—even the dead—to build a barricade,” he finally said, his eyes locking onto a dead soldier. “Our faithful soldiers will fight for us even in death

  Ignoring the horror on the faces of his soldiers, he swung off his horse and seized the soldier. Dragging his lifeless body in front of the gate, he left him there. “Drag that overturned wagon here,” he shouted, lifting another body.

  Seeing their Lord take the lead, the soldiers started to help, hauling bodies, wood, and rubble. Within minutes, a grotesque wall of corpses, stones, and timber stood where the gate once was.

  Before the last body could be added to the barricade, the bandits who had been fighting at the front gate came storming in, an avalanche of bloodthirsty figures.

  “WE STAND AND FIGHT HERE!” Lord Nazau bellowed, his armored body standing at the center of the barricade. “Fight for your families! Fight until reinforcements come!”

  Screaming of desperation, mixed with determination, rose from the terrified soldiers as they met the bandits forcing their way over the barricade. The clash of steel against steel echoed violently as each soldier fought with no thought for their own safety.

  Behind the wall of corpses and wreckage, Lord Nazau fought like a beast, adding to the barricade with every swing of his sword. Each stroke caused another body to stack onto the wall of death. His loyal soldiers fought beside him with the ferocity of men who had already accepted their death. Slowly, they were driven back step by step, each agonizing step paid with blood.

  Beheading a bandit who had just buried his axe in a soldier's neck, Lord Nazau realized only five of his men were still alive; the rest had been cut down somewhere in the gateway. Surrounded, he howled in rage, his mind consumed with a single thought: kill as many of the bandits as possible before he fell.

  “Move out of the way!”

  A deep voice came from the gateway, and the bandits surrounding the remaining soldiers parted to let a large man stride through. He was larger than most men Lord Nazau had ever seen, his bare chest covered in old scars, muscles rippling like living armor. In his hands, he held a massive halberd. And on his shoulder was a crest. He was an Arcane Lord!

  “You must be Lord Nazau,” the man said, his face split in a wide grin. “You are smaller than I thought.”

  Hearing the mocking tone, Lord Nazau silently swore he would kill the man if it were the last thing he did. “You mudborn savage! You dare show yourself before me? I will cut your head off and feed it to my dogs!” he barked, his voice laced with hatred.

  The man laughed, a wild, hysterical sound that filled the gateway. “Who do you think I am? I am Borvak, King of Highmount! Cut my head off? I'm afraid you’re too weak to do that. Today I will kill you, burn your castle, cut off the heads of every soldier in this town, and line the roads with them as a warning. The woman and children I will keep—my men will find good use for them!”

  Laughter erupted from the bandits at Borvak’s words; their twisted smiles made Lord Nazau feel sick.

  Roaring without thought, he charged, denying Borvak the chance to prepare. Stance of the Dawn Tiger, Form Two: Tiger’s Claw!

  There was an ear-piercing clash as Borvak blocked with the haft of his massive halberd. Instantly, a terrifying Arcane manifestation of a baboon appeared behind him, its massive canines bared in anger. He was clearly ready for Lord Nazau’s attack! Using the Arcane energy, he pushed Lord Nazau’s sword to the side. “You can’t kill me with such tricks,” he sneered, teeth flashing.

  As the two Arcane Lords fought, the surrounding bandits were torn apart by the waves of power each clash sent ripping through them, their mangled bodies tossed around like rags. It was as if two forces of nature fought.

  Deflecting a mighty blow from Borvak’s halberd, Lord Nazau grunted as the shock ran up his arm and into his shoulder. Staggering back, he tried to regain his footing. His arm was numb. The bandit is stronger than he looks, he thought, jerking his head aside as the halberd’s tip grazed his cheek and ripped his helmet free. He dove to the side and countered with Form Five: Tiger Leaps at Prey. The thrust missed—its point mere inches from Borvak’s throat.

  “Your movements are sluggish. Did you waste too much energy fighting my men?” Borvak taunted, bringing his halberd across in a loose arc. “No?” he murmured, noticing the way Lord Nazau ducked under his swing. “Did you injure your leg?”

  A massive, twisted smile spread across his face, glee and happiness filling his eyes. “You did, didn’t you?”

  Lord Nazau cursed under his breath. The injury from the duel with Lord Galra had started to act up. It had healed for the most part, but with the constant use in battle, it had started to ache. Against an Arcane Lord, it was a weakness he could not hide.

  Fight through the pain, he told himself, gripping his sword tightly in both hands. As long as I can kill him, I don’t care if I die.

  Surrounding himself in power, Lord Nazau attacked. The smart thing would have been to fight defensively, wait for an opening—but House Nazau had few defensive forms; it was a House known for its unrelenting offensive barrage.

  Changing his stance to the Stance of the Midnight Cat, he lessened the stress on his injured leg before attacking with a barrage of powerful strikes. Form Four: Catching Feathers was chained into Form Five: Falling Cat, which in turn flowed into Form Two: Splitting the Moon’s reflection.

  Forcing Borvak’s massive halberd into a poor angle, Lord Nazau saw an opening. Stepping in with all his strength, he thrust his sword at the exposed heart of the so-called Highmount King. Stance of the Dawn Tiger, Form Five: Tiger Leaps at Prey!

  As his weight shifted onto his injured leg, Lord Nazau felt his foot slip on the bloody ground. His leg buckled. His thrust grazed Borvak’s side before he fell hard to the ground.

  Before he could scramble up, he felt searing pain as Borvak’s halberd bit deep into his shoulder.

  Screaming in half-rage, half-pain, he tumbled away as Borvak followed up with a kick to his chest.

  “Any last words, my lord?” Borvak asked, planting his boot on Lord Nazau’s throat.

  Trying not to make noise, Lord Nazau coughed, tasting blood as the weight of Borvak’s foot pressed down. He couldn’t breathe.

  “What was that, my lord? I couldn’t hear you,” Borvak whispered, leaning close, his face casting a shadow on Lord Nazau’s face. “Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn’t notice you down there, a Lord such as you shouldn’t be in the mud like that!”

  Taking his foot off Lord Nazau’s throat, he snatched up the fallen Lord's sword. Holding the sword in a reverse grip, he smiled before slamming the sword into Lord Nazau’s lower stomach, the sharp blade piercing the bladder.

  Lord Nazau screamed, the pain blooming in his mind. He tried to keep from blanking out. “Borvak… savor this victory,” he gasped at last, each word a struggle. “Every one of you will die. My brother will make you suffer. I will wait for you on the shores of the last sea.”

  Borvak watched him die with a small frown. “Fresum,” he called to his commander, “did Falka Nazau have a brother?”

  “Not that I know, my King,” Fresum replied. “He must be trying to frighten us into backing off without killing his sons.”

  Borvak nodded, amused. He raised his voice. “Take this town within the day. Do what you want with the people. Within five days, I want every food store in the town and the surrounding villages brought to my lines!”

  A roar of approval answered his command.

  The next day, Milina sat alone in the throne room, breathing slowly.

  In and out, in and out, she told herself, breathing in air and slowly letting it go. She was getting better at breathing when anxious.

  Footsteps echoed down the corridor as someone walked towards her. Closing her eyes for a heartbeat, she forced her fear away before opening them again, her expression steady. She was ready.

  “Uncle, she said, as Hector entered.

  “Your Majesty, the rounding up of soldiers is going faster than expected. At this pace, we can march tomorrow!”

  “That is good news,” Milina said, the knot in her stomach loosening slightly. “But there is one thing I do not understand.”

  She lowered her gaze to her hands. “Uncle, how did the bandits enter our kingdom without our knowledge? How did they pass through Silkbug?”

  “That is a good question,” Hector remarked, touching the stubble that had grown on his chin. “If I had to guess, Lord Kon drove them out. They must have fled in such haste that we received no news until now. If I am correct, they are on their last legs. Lord Nazau can hold them off for two weeks at least.”

  “I hope you are right,” Milina whispered, feeling uneasy. Something about the situation felt off, but she could not say why. It’s probably nothing, she told herself.

  As they spoke, Todo rushed in again, face white with shock. “Collina has fallen!” he cried.

  Milina felt as if she were tossed into ice water, her breath freezing in her throat.

  “WHAT!” Hector roared, eyes bulging in disbelief.

  “We received multiple messages, all written in haste,” Todo stammered. “Lord Nazau has been killed. His head… mounted on a spear.”

  “How is that possible?” Hector stammered, his usual stoic face breaking, deep lines appearing on his face. “How could Falka lose in less than a day?”

  “I do not know, My Lord,” Todo replied, turning his pale face towards Milina. “What should we do, my Queen?”

  Feeling her vision narrow, Milina pinched the back of her hand, using the pain to clear her mind. “We have to retake the north,” she declared. “We cannot allow bandits to rule it. Uncle?”

  “Without Lord Nazau’s soldiers, we must gather a larger force,” Hector said, his composure returning as if it had never left. “I can have four thousand men ready by the end of the month, but it will be winter by then. We cannot fight until spring. That will give me time to train them.” His eyes were cold as ice.

  Looking at her uncle, Milina felt a pressure she had never felt before. For the first time, she truly understood why he was feared by so many.

  “I leave it in your hands, Uncle.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”