Marching out through the gates of Winterclaw, Mark led his troops. The troops of Winterclaw marched in rhythm and held an overall air of discipline that the Western Clans were lacking, but Mark wasn’t foolish enough to believe that meant they were the superior fighting force; maybe, one day, their combat skills would mirror their discipline.

  It had been thanks to Imperial mercenaries being woven into the training regimes that this level of discipline had even been possible to train.

  While the mercenaries might have been free men out to make their fortunes, all had a history of service in the Imperial army, and they brought that discipline with them, even if it appeared lacking at times, such as their takeover of Frostwind. After all, they were men of war in a restless Frontier, and it is hard to turn away from opportunity.

  Once the entire army was on the march, Mark returned to a wagon that had been set up as a mobile command center.

  Elowen huddled in one corner, reviewing ration lists and calculating distributions for the army, while Mark examined a rough map of the hill. Not that it was overly useful. He had gone alone to visit the barbarian king, and the map was missing details about both the makeshift fort and the warg encampment.

  “I should have brought a map,” Mark sighed. Whether it was entirely necessary or not didn’t really matter. He was filled with anxious energy and was keen for anything that would help focus his thoughts for a few hours.

  It wasn’t even death that worried Mark. That fear had long left him. It was his responsibility as a leader. He was committed to freeing this land of its invaders now. He took pride in his position and improved the lives of those who followed him, leading his people to this battle that would skew the odds against them and form knots in his stomach.

  Mark looked up as he heard a roar outside, and a moment later, the cloth curtains at the back of the wagon fluttered aside as Yelinda pushed through.

  “Atlas,” she smiled, grabbing hold of the cloth wall as she stepped in, almost falling from her feet against the jostling of the wagon.

  “Let me,” Mark raised.

  “I’m fine,” Yelinda waved him away and took carefully balanced steps toward the tiny table Mark was sitting at. “So this is where the great king is hiding away.”

  “Don’t call me that,” Marked said. “At least not until I’ve earned it.”

  “And when will that be? Once we’ve won the battle?”

  “I can only hope.”

  “How are you feeling?” Yelinda said, softening her voice. “Are you ready for this plan?”

  “The one that involves me beheading a warg with my sword? No, not really. But I doubt I ever will be. It doesn’t seem I have a lot of choices, though. If it fails, the Frontier remains fractured and likely goes back to what it was before. Its wealth is being exploited by the Imperium.”

  “You think we have wealth?” Yelinda fluttered her lashes.

  “Tremendous amounts. The furs alone were worth a small fortune when we had access to Imperial trade. If we can regain that but on our own terms, we can create something worthwhile. But more than just the furs. We have huge timber supplies. The Imperium wasn’t particularly short on timber, so they never put much effort into importing the stuff, but it doesn’t go for the rest of the world. Who knows what other markets we could connect with and trade with if we could reach the ocean? Freedom for the people of the Frontier is more than just a moral goal. We’re sitting on treasures that we can’t properly exploit. I aim to see that changed. But first, we need to secure our borders, and the only way to do that is by bringing all of the people from this land under one flag.”

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  “You think a lot,” Yelinda said. “Very fitting for a king. I was worried that I might have to do something about you if you failed to live up to expectations, but it appears my hunch was right.”

  Mark chuckled and shook his head. “That’s one way to learn about your wife mulling over your potential assassination.”

  “Since when did I say assassination?” Yelinda placed a hand on her chest.

  “Really?” Mark raised a brow.

  “Sorry,” Yelinda softly chuckled. “You caught me.”

  “Yeah, well, at least it makes the ride a little more colorful.”

  **Trolls**

  Leading his squad of trolls along the march south, Tath Gorak rode atop a wagon, tightly gripping chains. The chains led down to spiked collars, which were bound to the necks of the two giant brothers, who pulled their wagon through the snow.

  They mightn’t have been the smartest, but the brothers were as strong as donkeys and had little trouble pulling the troll chief’s wagon.

  When their king had called up his forces, anyone with combat experience was urged to join, and obviously, the trolls were more than eager to get a chance to fight the wargs.

  However, with so few guards remaining in the fort, there were no safe means to keep the mutant slaves and their two monstrous brothers.

  Collaring them up, Tath Gorak had decided to make his own little mutant battalion. He would directly lead the two brothers, allowing him to put them down himself if they failed to follow orders.

  As for the mutants, they were offered the opportunity to win their freedom. Fight well against the wargs, and they will be made free people in the kingdom that rose after their fall.

  Many were skeptical of this plan but had faith in the trolls managing them. Or perhaps they just didn’t have the balls to tell the trolls what to do.

  So the mutants marched to battle as chain gangs led by their troll overlords. Their weapons stored on the wagon would be handed to them once the battle had begun. By then, betrayal would be a challenging task. The wargs likely wouldn’t take chances against anyone marching with Mark’s army, so betrayal would likely mean making enemies of both sides and hoping you could somehow miraculously escape the slaughter.

  **Clans**

  The clan leaders and their elders marched alongside their Sabertooth Warriors, the elite warrior cast of the Western lands.

  Unlike the ragtag troops they mustered from their villages, the Sabertooth warriors came with their own weapons and armor.

  They were akin to knights, low-level nobles who held land and even occasionally ruled small settlements.

  The backbone of the armies raised in the west, the Sabertooth Warriors, would act as commanders of the levies raised by their lords.

  They came willingly, closer to their lords' allies than vassals. They experienced a great deal of autonomy, and if they ruled over others, they were allowed to enact their own laws.

  Mark had been impressed by these knight-like warriors. He considered allowing the custom to spread across to the East after the war, but had to consider how they would work alongside his own knights, which he intended to promote as the land’s premier force.

  Still, in this day and age, with the technology available, he wouldn’t manage direct rule over every inch of his land, and if providing some degree of autonomy to his people would grant him highly skilled warriors, then it would make for a decent trade-off, he reasoned.

  ***

  The laborious journey passed quicker than expected. Perhaps because a part of Mark was hoping it wouldn’t end.

  Throughout it, Yelinda made regular visits to his wagon, and he started to get to know the woman with whom he would share leadership over this land.

  They picked a spot to set up camp at a decent distance from the wargs. The army needed a good rest before the battle, and if they could keep themselves undetected, then all the better.

  However, Mark doubted that the wargs would break their siege to take out his smaller army. They could split their force. That could be troublesome since Mark really wasn’t confident that his army could take out half of the wargs on an open battlefield. But that would open their army to the risk of the Barbarian Clans attempting to break the siege.

  He ordered defenses built—spikes barricades around their encampment and twenty-four-hour watches to patrol. He also sent scouts out into the surrounding region.

  If an attack were planned, he would hopefully get a decent warning.

  He wouldn’t rest tonight, Mark knew. There was no way his body would let him. Hopefully, his soldiers would have more luck.

  Eyeing the empty snow from the battle camp, Mark exhaled a stream of steam. There was nothing left to do besides wait.

  Tomorrow would be the day that decided whether or not he was able to unite the Frontier under one crown.

  Hopefully, whatever comes next is a little less stressful, whether regency or death.

  Maybe he could celebrate with a long vacation to the hot springs, Mark thought, and his body was instantly warmed a little.

  Yeah, like that’s going to happen.