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Tormak the Scarred had lived a long and adventurous life, as the many marks upon his form would tell any who dared challenge his acclaim. He had joined in battle against Drakkari Raiders, toured the plateau of Dragonblight and survived imprisonment by a Nerubian, slain metal creatures and travelled with the Storm Giants.

He also, quite naturally had visited the Grizzly Hills, both as a youth and in his role as chief of the Oneqwah nation.

He’d been awed by the vast fields for herds surrounding the Jalgar’s capital, their mighty array satellite towns each of which seemed a small city unto itself, with mighty walls of layered woods, on the banks of rivers. Within the Jalgar’s homes too had impressive him, great domes of layered thatch blessed by the spirits, with great hollow trees carved into singular tower fort in their heart.

And of course, he had explored the Luminous City itself, Grizzlemaw.

He had climbed the steep hills, stood in the shadow of a fallen titan that stood every bit as tall as the mountains he called home. Watched dumbstruck as thousands, millions of sparkling golden lights filled the sky and wandered the packed but sedate streets that wound through the city’s hearts, houses upon houses, upon houses before one would see the city’s heart, but never had he been permitted to enter it.

‘Until now,’ he mused, ruminating on the invitation sent to his people and their greatest subject clan, practically a nation unto themselves, the Winterhoof. Sitting across from him, nursing a pipe was Chieftain Ashtotem.

Tormak waited for the younger Taunka to finish his ceremonial puff, the other Taunka loosing the smoke in sharp, crisp circles. Then he began tapping it against the ornate brazer sat between them on the balcony of Tormark’s chiefly residents that overlooked the largest of his people’s settlements, yurts, wooden houses and great supply depots buried into the cliff face. So large and so spread out he struggled to see its beginning or end, as the snow fall drifted down around them.

Finally, Ashtotem spoke, “So many years, so many generations as a mere subject to the whims of the Grizzlemaw, and now they have us come running to their capital. I dislike this elder.”

Tormak nodded, releasing a wave of smoke from his maw before answering, “Strange times we are living in. The cursed lands are not so cursed as Drakkari stake their claims, and now the five Great Tribes invite us to the heart of their territory.”

Ashtotem snorted, “I have spoken with the Rageclaw and wonder if the Winterhoof should appeal to the Drakkari, the Icetotem seem to have done well for themselves, if their speaker is to be believed.”

Tormak nodded, “There is wisdom in that, the Drakkari now stand as the strongest force in the North, and maybe the South as well. But it has been this way before and turned against them, while Grizzlemaw has remained.”

Ashtotem sent him an askance glook, “You intend to remain servile then?”

“Do I look, servile?” Ashtotem had the good grace to look abashed, ducking his head and inviting Tormak to speak again. “I merely state fact, the Drakkari tend to expand and contract, rise and fall as we ourselves did in ages past, while the likes of the Nerubian and Jalgar remain sturdy.”

Ashtotem nodded, “You think we could be racing into the arms of one standing on a cracking ice sheet, I understand and yet still, to be free of the Jalgar’s yoke and paw on our pride… It may well be worth it.”

Tormak took in another puff of smoke and nodded, he could sympathize after all, “That is true, but it leaves me wondering what the Clans seek to discuss with us, to be invited to their Caucus.”

Ashtotem huffed out a cascading wave of smoke, “Likely to rally for support in case the Drakkari invade again; which would be a good time to slip away from them, I think.”

Tormak hummed, stroking a hand through his tuft, “It could, but they would know this danger as well, and may be preparing for it. We should hear what they have to say I think.”

“Do we have any choice as things are?” Ashtotem stilled and turned to face him fully, “You intend we turn this to our advantage.”

Tormak chuckled, “Which sounds better to you my friend, being one voice, alone and isolated, one voice among so many it is drowned out, or one among a few who have not choice but to heed us if they wish to keep us.”

“You presume much, but if you are right…”

“I am certain of it, they concede it themselves by inviting us to the caucus, now all we need do is present a strong, united front,, and assuming their plan is not folly, secure ourselves in the caucus.”

Ashtotem chuckled, “I like the sound of that.”

_______________________________________________________

Fang & Claw

Within a grand and opulent tent, with all the royal regalities and comforts, a cadre of men and women stood on one side of a map table headed by King Genn Greymane.

On the other side, stood Josiah Avery of the Northgate Rebellion in a finely pressed blue suit with gold time, his dark red hair tied back in a neat ponytail.

“I take it then, there shall be no negotiation?” Josiah intoned mournfully.

Genn snorted, “Negotiate with who, you retainer, with the common rabble Darius and whipped into a frenzy, with traitors who stalk the woods of Silverpine!?” Genn slammed his palms against the table, “You have not the rank of the wit to treat with me, and your treasonous master shall soon realize that of himself.”

Josiah sighed, “The people go to who shall rule them well; the wall was always folly your grace, and this was inevitable.”

Genn snorted, “So they claimed when the wall rose and yet it took half a decade for the rabble to be roused. Do not think yourself clever, boy, a few peasant rebellion and a host of thugs pretending to be soldiers, do not a challenge to my crown make. But worry not, I shall keep Darius and his traitor sister alive long enough to see our armies wash over Silverpine and tear the trolls from our palaces. But you shall not.”

“What?” Josiah jolted in terror but ground himself grappled by Genn’s guards, “I am a diplomat, you cannot do this to me!”

“A common criminal is all you are,” Genn muttered, “Get him out of my sight and then take his head and send it to Darius, I feel that should make my feelings clear.”

“Yes, your majesty,” The guards intoned gravely, dragging a struggling, and screaming Josiah from the room, tears streaming down his face.

Genn ignored the judgmental stare of his son and said, “Thule Ravenclaw, send word to the Royal Mage, it is time for him to show the worth of these creatures he summoned up.”

Thule Ravenclaw grinned and bowed, “I shall inform Royal Mage Arugal immediately your grace,” before vanishing from the tent in a flash of purple light.

Genn dropped into his seat, “Well this shall be a good test, once these beasts tear through the rabble, we can cow the rest back into their place and levy a harsh fine against them.

“Here here!” Cheered Baron Ashbury, fresh off being chased from his lands by peasant rebels.

Liam ran a hand through his hair, “He wasn’t wrong about the people father-”

“You cannot mean to side with the rebels Prince Liam!” Hiram Creedcrowed.

“Mind your tongue when speaking to royalty, Hiram,” Tess hissed from her brother’s side.

Liam barreled on forward, “I mean it father, had we not neglected Silverpinem these trolls would not have had such an easy time of it. Had we not raised the wall, we’d have not needed the Harvest Witches; we shall be feeling their absence come the next growing season.”

“Ungrateful heretics,” Genn muttered. His true focus on the map and his plans for the rebels holding the gate intent on rallying a large enough host to make him submit, open it and invade the trolls with nary a plan for the future.

“Father!” Tess snapped at him, and he finally turned to his children.

“I hear you, but if they wanted this changed, there were channels to go through. Darius is not a hero, he is but an ambitious traitor and we can show no mercy, give now ground, lest the entire apparatus of our nation collapse.”

Pushing himself to his feet, he said, “While our rivals bled themselves dry, we remain strong. Now, with the monsters Arugal conjured for us, we shall need not even throw away our own soldiers’ lives as we reclaim all that is ours and began expanding outwards.

Genn traced his fingers along the map.

“That will be more than boon enough to offset the temporary losses of the witches, and the people shall cheer.” He looked upon his children and smiled, “Your care for the layfolk is commendable, but you need a stern hand when guiding the peasantry lest their idleness make them wanton. And you need a ruthless heart for your enemies lest it is used against you.”

He raised his hands and motioned to the wall none among them could see, “With the wall we have been secured and it has proven its worth. Now, sooner than any realize, Gilneas shall be on the march and the empire we build shall be the envy of the world.”

His children bowed, “Yes father.”

“Good, now come along all of you, if we wish to be on hand for Arugal’s handiwork we must mount up swiftly.”

“Yes King Greymane, as you say.”

To Roam
Cariel Roame, once a proud apprentice paladin and loyal soldier of the Silver Hand, now just one of a horde of nameless, faceless refugees. She’d taken anyone and everyone she could when the capital fell, and more people joined them as the days passed, like droplets she thought would turn into a storm, but they did not.

The Drakkari sealed the walls, their patrols, and forces too many and too organized for more than drips and drabs to slip through, along with those who left ahead of them. Their numbers still grew though, denied the Eastern Paths to instead march through Silverpine, trailing behind the Orcs by weeks in divided parties and hunting packs to avoid the detection.

It worked for some, not for all, and with Dalaran’s fall their numbers swelled more, even now she knew of four camps of their number scattered across Hillsbrad’s rolling hills. The snow finally fading to reveal thick, green grass and days’ worth of rain.

‘At least water is never hard to come by,’ she thought, holding her hand out and feeling lingering droplets slap against her leather gloves.

“Paladin,” A young voice whispered, tugging at her long brown cloak that obscured what remained of her armor, “People coming. One behind, one at the front, some horses either side.”

She hid a frown and nodded, “We planned for this, I’ll meet the frontward forces, my sister will cover me, tell the crossbow-men to be ready, the others should know what to do.”

“Yes Paladin,” he intoned, disappearing be3fore she could correct him.

‘Just an apprentice,’ she wanted to say, but that hardly inspired confidence in some and others just didn’t listen.

Sighing, Cariel rose to her feet and slipped through the camp, careful to avoid any stumbling and quietly missing her hammer.

‘But that’s too obvious, even this lot would see it,’ she thought scathingly, at the sight of an orange banner with a white falcon and the handful of men surrounding its bearer.

The man before her had slicked back brown hair, and hawkish features common for the Alterici, or so she’d been told. An Eastweld girl born and bred she’d barely been out of the cradle when the nation was gutted; so sad it wasn’t done thoroughly enough.

Forcing the bile down, Cariel bowed as she approached the man, his dark leathers letting him blend into the gloomy early morning with ease. “Hello sirs, what brings you to this humble camp.”

The man smirked, “Why charity my dear woman, the roads are not safe places to be with rebels still afoot and you all seem hungry and most cold. Let us escort you somewhere safe.”

‘So that’s their plan,’ she thought, glancing back at their camp. ‘We outnumber them but have few fighters, still to be so confident they must either be very powerful or have faced little resistance so far.’ By the Light she hoped they were just fools and said, “We won’t trouble you sirs for that, we are but a few days from civilization.”

The man’s smile became sharped, “Dalaran is not welcoming to outsiders right now miss, and Southshore is the only other city nearby. You would not be rebels, would you?” His men chuckled and their camp retracted further into itself, lie a snake waiting to bite.

“We are mere refugees sir, no threat to anyone, please, let us pass,” she said weakly, pulling her cloak around herself tighter.

The man shook his head, “Afraid not love. The white falcon flies anew and we’ll need all the help we can get to rebuild what the Alliance broke. But fret not, handsom woman like you will be in Beve’s bed before long!”

Cariel sauntered a step closer, “Well, I’d had to disappoint a queen, but I must admit…” she placed a hand on his chest, “My interests tend towards. The Light.”

In a single, blazing moment a flash of gold exploded from her hand and ripped its way through the man’s chest, and exploding against the standard bearing, sending him and his flag to the ground. Shouts rang out, “Paladin!”

As crossbow bolts flew from the camp, and Carlie saw fire fly overhead, forcing the mage to defend himself. Not wasting a moment, she charged forward, golden aura shimmering as a rogue loosed knives at her and she grasped the mages arm, a dagger flying free from her wrist, she buried it in the woman’s throat.

She turned to deal with the rogue, only to see him lying dead with a crossbow bolt in his head, and from what she could see the rest of the camp stood victorious as well.

A shuddering breath escaped her lips, chest quaking, ‘There’s less time than we thought.’

Turning to address the camp that still seemed stunned to have won at all, she called, “My friends, my people, we survived this encounter. But knowing now that the Syndicate extends its reach across these hills we must act with haste. Capture their horses if you can, and make ready, we have no choice but a march to Southshore! It shall be hard, but by the Light, we shall persevere!”

A golden wave of light radiated from her and washed over the camp.

“Hail Paladin Roame!” Someone called, an older soldier if she recalled and activity flooded the once docile and exhausted camp. Sucking in a breath, Cariel marched back towards the camp, sparing her sister a brief nod of thanks she wasn’t sure the younger girl noticed and returning to work.

_________________________________________________

Seer Ixit’s legs clicked and clacked against the smooth stone streets of Dalaran, with Anok'sutentrailing half a step behind, her spear at the ready.

The city no long smoldered but reconstruction was slow, supplies far and the people’s despair and fury seeped into the miasma of the mental skein that all Nerubian could key into.

Ixit knew that some of his contemporaries did not mind the sensations, while others found them so distracting, they had isolated themselves mentally even by the standards of wary scholars and queens.

It was perhaps, comprehensible, like the battle had not yet ended, and underlying noise that always persisted and never abated.

Perhaps if Malakk had left the Nerubians to tend to things as they saw fit, some of the fury would have been ebbed into resignation and quiet dread. Even the greatest hatreds can be smothered and leeched with the right tools.

But it was not to be, and so they would work, cataloguing and collecting the artifacts and lore, while tying their newest works into the Ley Lines themselves. A humble construction now, deep beneath the Earth, but soon to be an elegant interceptor of the lands Arcane energies that would serve as the heart of future laboratories and control centers.

Anok'suten stiffened, her carapace shuddering and with an explosion of force she was charging through the street and towards the Arcane Vault.

Ixit stopped their strides, the locks clicking as they keyed into the skein and noted an absence of Abus’Thal and his twin guards. Anok'suten was cutting down and casting web along the escaping agents, its arcane threads disjoining their magical efforts. Ixit touched upon the lingering synapses and interpolated the words of Abus’Thal’s killers.

“For Dalaran.”

Murderous intent and a surrender to self-destruction akin to a well, told Ixit all it needed, and a psychic cry sent Anok'suten rearing back, simplified arcane barriers rising to shield her as Ixit did the same for itsel, even shifting behind the larger Nerubians distant frame to further suppress any danger.

They were just in time.

The iron and gold line vault, riddled with crystals and sigils swell with surging arcane energy before it began compacting in on itself like a star, intent on draining the ambient energies into an explosion.

‘Cast your net,’ Ixit ordered.

Anok'suten leapt forward and loose every last arcane thread she possessed, arcane energy lancing off and striking her side, but she did not die.

Ixit’s eyes opened wide, magic coiled and collected into neat, interlocking chains that bled in from the Nether and bound the heart of the cascading construct before dragging it into the other realm. Only a permeating pulse on the air, un-felt by the blind was felt as it exploded in a wave of arcane fury across the Nether.

To all the effect of a candle flickering in a forest fire.

‘They are growing bolder, and more dangerous,’ Ixit mused.

Anok'suten staggered to the few surviving captive, venom dripping from her fangs as she rendered them unconscious for interrogation.

‘This is compounded by artifacts lost, or sacrificed’

Several Drakkari agents marched into the street, quick to offer healing to Anok'suten under the terms of their alliance, and question what happened. Ixit tapered off their last mental note to a distant record as a Drakkari Commander approached with questions on their mind.

‘Dalaran remains unstable, its populace may be unmanageable.’

____________________________________________________________

Family & Freedom
Thrall breathed in the fresh mountain air, so cool in his chest and a little thin, but infinitely better than that of the keeps. He glanced to his side at the diminutive blonde human girl striding confidently as his side as they meandered down a slim crevice, thin moss and looming jagged rocks all around them.

“I don’t think I will ever want to sleep in a brick building again,” he said without thought.

Taretha swirled, her tattered dress flaring a little as she answered, “I understand completely, so fresh and clean, there is something about the mountains that suits me well.”

They were dangerous as well of course, as those who had shot ahead or refused to stay in a large group had found, gryphon, yeti of dubious intelligence and likely many other horrors left those isolated to be found dead or dying by the rest of them.

Thrall carefully cast his gaze around, hand resting on the handle of his sword, while Taretha smiled, “I think it is just around this bend, ah here we are!”

Awaiting them at the first ‘marker’ was a human and an orc, both sitting as far from one another as the mountain path would allow, each with ill fitting shields and axes in hand. No on trusted the other enough to let them form their own groups, leaving no choice but for this unhappy compromise.

“Ah food at last,” Cheered the human weakly, his beard bristling as he rose to his feet with a groan.

“Smoke Gryphon, for you and the other patrols, I hope you like it,” Taretha said, as they both offered the watchers rough whicker baskets laden with the nights catch.

Thrall’s counterpart inspected the offering carefully, furtively glancing at the human’s pack, making Thrall bristle, “They’re even, I counted.”

The Orcs red eyes were bright in the dim light, but lacked much spark as he grumbled, “I will continue to be cautious, as should you.”

Thrall ignored the warning, glancing passed the Orc, “Any word from further in?”

The watcher shook his head, “There was a flare up of lightning and fire on the early morn, seems the Dwarves and Trolls aren’t done with each other yet and until they are…”

Thrall sighed, “None of us can pass safely,” He shook his head, “It only grows worst West as well, those humans with the orange masks now command the wall and swell their ranks.”

The watcher grunted, biting into a hunk of meat, “Foods better out here at least.”

Thrall’s meals had usually been slightly better, but he nodded all the same, ears twitching as the human tried to whisper. “You sure you’re Ok with that one, girly?”

“Why wouldn’t I be, he’s my brother,” She answered, drawing stares from both human and Orc alike.

Thrall cracked his neck, “we’d best head back, give the watchers our regards, and their fair share.”

“We know the rules,” Both of them grunted dropping back to their rocky seats to await the next check in and presumably continue glaring at one another.

Thrall and Taretha turn away and disappeared behind the gentle curve, Thrall not speaking until he was well out of earshot, “They will continue to stare when you say that.”

Taretha waved him off, “Oh let them stare, it shan’t change the truth that you’ve been my brother since the day I laid eyes on you.”

Thrall ducked his head, his smile small but clear, “Even when our people’s part ways?”

The blonde shrugged, “Who says we shall part, and if so, why would I march with them?” Taretha threw her hands in the air, “For the first time in our lives we have the chance to choose, I’ll not give that up so meekly.”

His brow furrowed, “Could you not always leave?”

That drew a strained chuckle, “I could move about the Keep more easily than you I won’t deny, but in the end, if Blackmoore desired me, I was at his beck and call.” Her hands brushed down her arms as if trying to free them of dirt, “I arms o glad he is gone from our lives.”

Thrall did not know what to think of the man, but something in the way Taretha moved and talk when his name was about worried and rankled him. But something else resounded quietly in his head, the word, choice.

His head lolled back, “I am glad you have choices now, that we all have choices… I don’t think I ever envisioned myself having such things before now.”

She was grinning again, hand resting on his shoulder, “So, do you have any choices planned for the future?”

“Just one,” He turned to her, “Calling you my elder sister.”

Taretha’s eyes widened, and Thrall quickly found himself tugged into a gentle hug, “Thank you, little brother.”

__________________________________________________

Father & Son

“I’ll get back to Ironforge and tell them of what happened, we won’t let these traitors get away with it, I swear,” Muradin had assured him as they approached Stromgarde.

At the time, Thoras had agreed, letting the Dwarf move on ahead as he and his made their way into the city to recoup, reconvene and regain their momentum.

‘Now however I regret it, what has happened here?’ Thoras thought, as he took in the seemingly deserted streets. People were hiding within their homes if they were present at all. Weeds were stomped beneath his feet as he marched towards the keep, his shouts for action unheard.

Looking to https://wow.gamepedia.com/Knight-Captain_Aldrinhe motioned for the man to fan out with his Cavalryman. Looking to https://wow.gamepedia.com/Captain_Nialshe muttered, “Take the Soldiers and form ranks, https://wow.gamepedia.com/Commander_Amarenhold the center with my Troll_Hunters.”

“As you command, my liege.”

Steel and cloven hoof rang out as his ranks reformed and soon enough, they arrived at the peak of the ‘Kings Road’, where the nobility made their homes and his keep stood above all.

It was here that he finally saw signs of life, but they brought only a scowl to his features. Nobles, Spellweavers, soldiers and more were scattered around in tight bunches. In the crowds he could see https://wow.gamepedia.com/Ariana_Thesslocke, head of the https://wow.gamepedia.com/Stromgarde_Defendersbut saw no sign of https://wow.gamepedia.com/Dathanor_Cromwell. All were watching from their fine homes or upon battlements and not a one acknowledged him.

“Is this any way to greet your king and the army of Stromgarde!?”

“I am sorry this reception displeases you father,” Galen’s voice echoed from the keeps grand entryway, “But not as sorry I am that it was necessary.”

Adorned in crimson red and silver armor befitting a king and adorning his head with Thoras’s crown, his son stepped forward, favored battle brother Valorcall at his side and it was to him the nobles bowed and the soldiers saluted.

A viscus snarl ripped from his throat as Thoras stomped forward, “Take. Off. My. Crown.”

Galen’s gaze sharpened as he marched to meet him, arms open, voice imploring but severe, “Not yours any longer father. This kingdom needs a monarch who will put its people before his own lust for battle and glory.”

“Treasonous, cowardly little cur!” He drew https://wow.gamepedia.com/Trol%27kalar, the act making the crowd wince. “You think we have the time for your damned games when there is a war to win boy?!”

“What war? One for a fallen nation and former ally, the one you have already retreated from?” He countered, coming to a halt a bare foot from Thoras, standing with assured confidence Thoras had never seen in him before.

“We were ambushed, as you damn well know before you came scarpering home like a whipped cur!”

Galen tilted his head in mock curiosity, “I am sorry father, but as it stands all I did was arrive ahead of you. Should we really be throwing around such insults?”

‘You are not my equal boy!’ His fist lashed out on instinct only to be met with a gauntlet adorned hand catching the blow.

“Not… Today father,” Gale hissed, eyes burned as he lurched forward and with a single motioned shoved Thoras to his back with a clang.

Soldiers gasped and shouted “Treason!” His Troll Hunters raced to join his side, axes at the ready but Galen did not attack, going so far as to strut around as if a performer on a stage.

“You think this the time to selfishly seek power, brat!?” He roared. “You will hand this nation over to the trolls!” Thoras forced himself to his feet, chest heaving, the taste of copper on his tongue.

Galen threw his arms wide, bellowing, “The Alliance makes us stronger. This war shall remind all the kingdoms of our might. Durnholde is safe. Always father you make grand claims, and always you are wrong!”

He swept his gaze over the crowd, “Your leadership has led to our people racing to Stormwind seeking new lives, your leadership has left our nation poor, your leadership led fine soldiers to their deaths at Durnholde! You are not fit to be king father, so please… Stand down and let me do what must be done to save us all.”

“In a pig’s eye I will. Bow to you, sniveling little Galen!? I would sooner hang!” Without another word he roared forward, thrusting Trol'kalar towards the boy’s face only to barely scratch his cheek as Galen batted away his blade with his shield.

They wove around on another in a blur, Galen damn near tripping him and sending him reeling back with a blow to the jaw. Using the momentum, he lurched back and threw himself around for a spinning sword swipe the boy leaned out of the way of.

“Give up, Galen, you cannot stand against Trol'kalar!”

Grasping his rube jeweled sword Galen muttered, “That sacred sword is for killing trolls, against I it is but another bastard sword, while this,” his drew the blade and it roared to life with rippling flames, “Will be more than you can handle. Thoras.”

A gun shot rang out from behind Galen. In a sudden flash Valorcall was between him and the dwarven musket shot that crashed against his armor with a violent clang.

“Valorcall!?”

“I live, Galen!”

Ariana shouted from her place at the keep, “Did losing a battle bring low your honor as well Thoras!?”

“Rich words from a traitor!” https://wow.gamepedia.com/Knight-Captain_Aldrinbellowed.

Roars rose from amongst his forces, but they were too few and too quiet for Thoras’s liking they should have shaken the city with their fury!

Galen’s sharp tongue cut through the din, “They are patriots! They are those will put our nation before its rivals, our safety before their bloodlust and the kingdom before a fool king!”

“Put these traitors down!” Thoras roared.

Galen raised his gleaming blade high, “They have become our enemies, https://wow.gamepedia.com/Stromgarde_Snipers_Company, take aim and fire, Defenders, heed your commander, Valorcall, watch my back!” He slashed his blade as gun shots and shouts began to echo across Stromgarde.

“This is between my father and I.”

Soldiers and defenders, spellweavers and riflemen, father, and son, all charged to meet their foes, with a shared proclamation on their lips.

“For Stromgarde!”

_______________________________________________________

Mathias Shaw did not reveal himself to the public as the House of Lords entered another round of furious debates with the crown in the royal hall. Instead, he simply leaned against the white stone walls that separated the ornate windows and let the words drift to him. Unnecessary of course, he had agents within the chamber, but he liked to get out and about, and even more to hear things firsthand.

“We must march to Lordaeron’s aid!”

“What Lordaeron? Have you not heard; Lianne now consorts with a damned Troll!”

“Still your tongue, she has no choice in the matter!”

“We ignore our debts-”

“You ignore the needs of our people!”

It was about what he expected, until Prestor spoke.

“My Lords, my ladies, my liege and most holy Archbishop, we must not feud amongst ourselves in these most dire of times, for if we do, then the very bedrock upon which this kingdom is built shall shatter.”

“Then what say you, Lady Prestor?” Bolvar intoned sternly.

Mathias grimaced, ‘A miscalculation, she would not have spoken if she did not want to be heard, you now invite her to control the floor.’

“Lord Bolvar, I stand with the Alliance, the Light and Justice, we must take action but not so hastily as we have done. With Winters end, so too shale come Spring and the Summer sun, and by working in concert we can turn the invaders strategies against them and chase them from our shores!”

“That… Has merit,” Varian began slowly, “But suggests we wait some time, Lady Prestor.”

Mathias could practically imagine the mental shuffling going on across the court as Prestor’s allies adjusted their stances, and her critics pulled back support. Resting his head against the cool stone he motioned the arriving spy to speak her report as the court got its heads back in order.

“It is going well, no?” She mused.

“We shall see, Prestor never does anything lest she stands to gain from it, the question is what,” it would be awfully convenient for her if the king were to die on campaign after all. “Whatever the case, your report?”

“Yes sir, we have captured one of Vancleef’s lieutenants, but the other sources turned up dry, it seems they are going to ground entirely.”

“Hmm, it is very interesting that the moment war came knocking we began receiving so many informants.” If only he could track some pattern down in their number and associated he might know who the shadow pulling their string was. “Still, it seems Vancleef realizes whoever was supporting him has turn away, and he’s never been a fool, he will be far harder to track down now.”

And with talk of war, the Horde in the North and shadowy schemers still pulling strings, Mathias knew they needed to clean up around their feet before any grand action could be taken, lest they risk losing all they had reclaimed.

‘I just hope his majesty will feel the same way.’