The harsh winter came, and with it hardship. With the autumn harvest smaller than hoped, the people had to tighten their belts and pray to Gera for a better harvest next year. Queen Milina and Hector spent countless nights writing letters to foreign kingdoms, pleading to buy food for their people. The quills they used never seemed to dry; their hands cramping at the effort. With every rejection, Hector’s chest seemed to tighten, the stress causing him to sleep less. Even the Queen, always composed, started to show signs of exhaustion, her face pale.

  However, not everything was grim. With the harsh winter, the political maneuverings of the nobility and religious factions slowed, bringing a calm to the capital that it had not seen since the King’s death. Although mistrust between the religions had not vanished, the fires in the streets had moved into the hearths, and the angry mobs had faded to whispers. The city seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for spring.

  With the first signs of green buds signaling winter’s end, Hector sat on his horse before his army. Behind him stood three thousand five hundred men dressed in clean gambesons and armed with spears. It was five hundred short of what he had wanted, but he had spent all winter training them. The green recruits had grown less inexperienced, yet without seeing real combat, he still held his reservations.

  Riding at the head of the column, he led them out of Salizia towards Collina, the crowd’s cheers lifting the soldiers’ spirits and causing them to hold their heads high. Glancing back at the sea of faces behind him, Hector watched the fearful looks change to one of pride and excitement. That was a good sign—but he couldn’t help the pang of guilt in his heart. Most of them were young, recruited after the duel between Lord Nazau and Galra. The few veterans who had served before Callahan’s rebellion were few and far between.

  “How are the soldiers?” he asked, holding his head up. He had to set an example for his men.

  “Nervous, but holding steady,” Todo replied, a grim look on his face. “The armor and spears aren’t new, but we repaired them before handing them out. We trained them as much as we could, though the snow prevented us from teaching them to move as a group. Luckily, they’re good at fighting as one. As long as the bandits face us head-on and don’t flank us, we should be fine—even if they outnumber us.”

  Keeping his expression calm, Hector nodded. “It will be hard, but at the end of the day, they’re just bandits. They won’t use tactics. If we fight as one, we’ll overcome their individual strength. Once I take Borvak’s head, their morale will crumble. Without a strong leader, they’ll fall apart into nothing more than common thugs.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Todo replied, a determined glint appearing in his eyes. As long as Hector spoke of victory, he could keep the men’s morale steady.

  As the long column snaked its way through the forests and hills, the days seemed to get colder. Even though it felt like spring in the capital, the northern air still held the remnants of winter.

  “My Lord!”

  Hector heard Todo shout.

  “We have word from a scout!”

  Raising his hand, Hector called for a halt. The sounds of groans and sighs filled the area as the army seemed to deflate, the tired soldiers stopping abruptly and flopping onto the floor to rest.

  “The men might be trained, but their stamina is weaker than expected,” Hector noted, watching the soldiers slump onto the ground.

  “We had to cut their rations in half,” Todo reminded him, rubbing at his face. “If we feed them more, they should be in fighting form in a couple of days. Once we cross the Northviel River, I’ll tell Sol to feed the men properly. Until then, we have to ration. We don’t have enough food.”

  Nodding, Hector looked back toward the wagons carrying food. “If this campaign takes longer than expected, we’re going to run out of supplies,” he said, recalculating how long they could stretch what they had. Calculating rations on paper and seeing the soldiers struggle in real life were two different things. “We have to end it as fast as possible.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  As they spoke, the scout made his way to them, his rugged clothing covered in specs of mud. “My Lords!” he said, snapping to attention.

  “Report,” Hector nodded.

  “My men and I have encountered an unidentified army! They’re flying what looks like the flag of Nazau—but with slight differences.”

  “The Nazau flag?” Questioned Hector, a frown on his face. “We have reports that Lord Nazau’s head was mounted on the gates of his castle. Did one of his sons survive and rally together a peasant army?”

  “I don't think so, my lord,” the scout replied. “From what we were able to see, they are extremely well-trained and armed. Each soldier moves like a veteran, and their armor and weapons are of better quality than ours. There’s no way this is a peasant force.”

  “What?” Todo demanded, his brows furrowing. “How large is this army?”

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  “They number around fifteen hundred, my lord.”

  “One thousand five hundred?” Todo’s eyes widened. “That’s impossible! Even at their peak, Nazau couldn’t assemble that many elite veterans!”

  Hector’s mind reeled. “So, what you are saying is that an elite army of fifteen hundred is flying what looks like House Nazau’s flag?”

  “Yes, my lord!”

  “This is… unexpected,” Hector mused, his mind racing as he tried to think of the ramifications this army would bring to the Kingdom. “If this army truly bears House Nazau’s banners, they will attempt to seek revenge for their Lord. But more importantly, they could destabilize the northern lords. Without knowing who is leading them, we can’t predict where their loyalty lies.”

  He turned to Todo. “Take a small group of men and seek an audience with their leader. We must understand their loyalties and what they plan to do.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” replied Todo, saluting smartly before hurrying off with the scout to gather his men.

  Watching them disappear into the trees, Hector touched his chin, lost in thought. He had never heard of Nazau having a secret force this strong. And if they did, how did Collina fall? A dozen possibilities ran through his head. Shaking his head, he rejected most of them. This army was not from Collina. That would mean it came from outside the kingdom. Could another kingdom have used the Nazau flag to sneak into the kingdom? Or was it a mercenary company that took up the flag? Whatever the situation, he needed to know the origin of this army.

  Two days later, Hector sat in a small tent. Across from him stood a knight wearing what looked strikingly like House Nazau’s crest on his breastplate.

  “My lord, I am Ruggero Magnone, commander in Lord Resendel’s army,” the knight introduced himself, bringing a closed fist to his chest.

  “Hector Salizia, Supreme General of Vanura.” Hector rose and shook the man’s hand.

  “It’s an honor,” Magnone replied, taking the seat Hector gestured to. “I have heard of your military prowess. It is legendary.”

  “You have me at a disadvantage. I’ve never heard of you or your lord,” Hector said, returning to his own chair.

  Laughing without warmth, Magnone replied. “We are from the far north. It’s hardly surprising you haven’t heard of us. In fact, I would be more surprised if you had.”

  Hector pursed his lips. The man did not freely give much information. Putting his hands on his knees, he locked eyes with Magnone, trying to read the man. “As Supreme General of Vanura, it’s my responsibility and duty to know your relationship with House Nazau. What are you planning to do with this army? If you’re here to get revenge for Lord Nazau, we would welcome any help in fighting the bandits.”

  Magnone’s face hardened. “My Lord, you misunderstand,” he uttered, his voice cold as ice. “We are not here to aid you in fighting the bandits. We are here to kill every bandit and offer their souls to Lord Falka Nazau. This is a family matter. I must ask you to stand aside.”

  Hector’s expression darkened. “What is your relationship with Nazau?” he once again asked, Aether adding pressure to his voice.

  “We are Nazau,” Magnone said, his face never changing under Hector’s pressure. “Or more accurately, Nazau is us. Lord Resendel is Lord Falka’s elder brother and the uncle to Lord Miles, the last surviving son of Lord Falka.” A hard look crossed his face. “Lord Hector, we must insist that you leave this to us. To regain our honor and appease our dead, every bandit must be killed by a member of our House.”

  Hector felt his anger cool by the determination in Magnone’s voice. Loyalty like that had power he respected. He inclined his head. “Your loyalty is impressive. As these lands belong to House Nazau, I will allow you to regain your honor. However, there is one condition.”

  “Condition?”

  “After the bandits are taken care of. All control of these lands must be returned to Lord Miles.”

  “That is also Lord Resendel’s wish,” Magnone said, lowering his head in a quick nod before standing up. “If you would excuse me, I must be going now, my lord is waiting for me.”

  “Would you not stay for a cup of tea?” Hector asked, knowing the answer before Magnone opened his mouth.

  “I am sorry, my lord. I must go.”

  That night, Hector sat with his commanders; the firelight danced against the canvas walls of their command tent as they discussed the situation.

  “I do not like them,” Todo stated, folding his arms across his chest. “Even if they retake the lands of Nazau, there’s no guarantee they‘ll rejoin our kingdom. We can’t allow a foreign army to fight in our lands.”

  “I agree with Todo,” Sol muttered. He was uneasy that such a powerful force had entered Vanura without trouble.

  “I agree, I do not like this situation, but there is one thing we must remember,” Corvin, an older Pillar with more gray in his hair than brown, raised his voice. “At this moment, General Zacheri is protecting our capital, but his forces are thin. If unrest breaks out, he doesn’t have the men to keep order. I say let House Nazau fight the bandits. If this Nazau force refuses to rejoin Vanura, we’ll deal with them later. I, for one, choose the capital over the north.”

  A murmur of agreement rang out, various Pillars nodding along with Corvin.

  Sitting there silently, Hector weighed the pros and cons of the situation, trying to determine the best course of action. Although he hated to admit it, in the eyes of the capital, the lands of Nazau were valued more as a buffer against invasion than as a source of wealth. With the majority of the capital’s wealth coming from trade, the actual wheat fields of Nazau mattered less. So long as whoever ruled the northern lands kept the borders secure, who ruled it was of secondary importance. Furthermore, the army he was leading was composed mostly of young recruits; even if they were well-trained, many of them would still die.

  Staring into the crackling fire, he pictured rows of graves, of Milina standing before the grieving families, thanking them for their sacrifice. A sacrifice that did not need to be.

  Making up his mind, he spoke. “We return to the capital. I want a rumor spread that this Nazau army fights under our flag. The rumors do not need to be credible. It just needs others to wonder if it’s true. Remember: our Kingdom’s wealth comes from trade, not from cultivating the northern fields. We will focus on keeping the trade routes safe. As long as the trade routes are safe, we will be able to acquire food and resources. Let this new Nazau force be the buffer between us and the bandits. Once we regain some of our wealth, we can handle the north properly. Besides, this is also House Nazau’s wish.”

  Todo frowned. “It feels wrong, my lord—leaving the north fend for itself.”

  Hector met his gaze. “Better the north suffers a little than the whole kingdom.”

  The tent fell silent, the commanders and Pillars looking at Hector. It was a decision that they all understood, but many disliked.

  Standing up, Hector commanded. “I want the soldiers ready to march back to the capital at first light. We are going home.”

  As one, everyone stood up, fists on their chests. “Yes, my lord.”