Page 13

T he war council had been arguing for the better part of an hour. I drummed my fingers on the ancient oak table and ground my teeth as Lord Northfire and Lord Stoneriver circled the same points like dogs chasing their tails. Maps and dispatches covered the table, reports from our scattered scouts detailing Vinolia's troop movements. Each one was more worrying than the last.

"We've lost three more shipments from the Riverlands," Victorin Stoneriver announced, tapping the eastern trade routes marked on the map. "That's the sixth convoy this month. Our grain reserves are down to half what they should be for winter."

"Then we take the fight to Vinolia," Northfire countered, his fist striking the table. "Strike at Rünhyll while the bulk of her forces are still at Valdrenn and break her blockade before we're starved into submission."

"With what army?" Victorin replied through clenched teeth. "There won't be a fight to be had if we have no food to feed our men. Already the refugee quarters are on reduced rations."

"The Craiggybottoms promised shipments by sea," Lady Taelyn interjected. "Why have they not arrived?"

Hawk cleared his throat. "The Seashores have established patrols throughout the Bay of Ghosts, my lady. They’ve got mages on their ships now and attack any vessel not flying Taratheil’s banner."

I caught Katyr's eye across the table. My half-brother gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head. The gesture was subtle, but its meaning clear: the situation was worse than anyone was openly stating.

I rose, and the council chamber fell silent.

"Vinolia and the Seashores aren't just preparing for battle," I said, my voice cutting through the tension. "They're executing Tarathiel's strategy to strangle us before the first sword is drawn. They target our supplies because a fortress with empty storerooms cannot withstand siege, no matter how thick its walls are ."

The council members shifted uncomfortably. The map before us told its own story: trade routes cut, rivers blocked, shipping routes cut off. Supply lines severed one by one while magical storms made alternative paths increasingly treacherous.

"The eastern granaries report their winter stores at critical levels," Victorin said, his voice steady despite the gravity of his news. "What grain remained after the autumn taxes was meant to be supplemented by Riverland shipments. Without those..." He didn't need to finish the thought.

"And our own stores?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

"Six weeks at current consumption," he replied. "Four if we include the newest refugees. Less if the weather worsens."

I turned to Katyr, who had been uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meeting. "What have your apprentices detected?"

My half-brother straightened. "The weather patterns have shifted," he said, his voice soft but carrying to every corner of the room. "Unnatural cold fronts moving against the prevailing winds. Snowfall heavier and more sustained than any natural storm."

"Winter is always harsh in the mountains," Northfire interjected. "Nothing magical about snow in Wintermoon."

"These aren't ordinary winter storms," Katyr replied, a hint of irritation breaking through his usual composure. "They're being directed, concentrated where they'll cause the most damage to our supply routes. The patterns are too precise, too targeted."

I sighed. "Vinolia's mages are ensuring nothing reaches us by land while the Seashores block coastal shipments. We must either break the storm or the blockade."

"Can we counter the Runecleaver magic?" Taelyn asked.

Katyr hesitated. "Not entirely. Not without more battle mages of our own. I can mitigate the effects around Calibarra itself, create a protective ward to keep the worst of the cold at bay. But the supply routes beyond our immediate control will remain blocked."

"Then we send a force to break through," Northfire insisted. "Secure at least the eastern road to the Riverlands. Without grain, all your defensive strategies mean nothing."

"And divide our already strained forces?" Victorin countered. "Vinolia would crush any detachment small enough to move quickly."

I traced potential routes on the map, mentally calculating distances, supplies, vulnerable points. The phantom pain beneath my ribs flared.

"We need the Yeutish forces," Taelyn observed, her voice carefully neutral. "With the Broken Blades accompanying Elindir, our numbers are dangerously thin."

"Ieduin should have reached the Yeutlands border by now," I acknowledged. "But mountain passes are treacherous even without magical storms. They'll come when they can."

"And if they come to find nothing but starved corpses?" Victorin asked bluntly. "What then?"

"We should consider Savarran mercenaries," Lord Northfire suggested, leaning forward. "They have no stake in our conflict with Tarathiel. Their swords follow coin, not cause."

The suggestion sent a ripple of murmurs around the table. Hawk, standing near the wall with his weathered face set in a frown, shifted his weight. He’d been a mercenary before he was a slave, and if the thought didn’t sit well with him, I wasn’t willing to give it much thought. Not unless I had no other options.

Captain Akira, the acting commander of the remaining Broken Blades in Niro's absence, spoke from her position at the far end of the table. "We could hire The Crimson Company. They come highly recommended."

"At what cost?" I asked quietly.

"Cost is irrelevant if we starve," Northfire countered.

"Cost is everything," I replied, "when the mercenary's loyalty extends precisely as far as the last coin you placed in their hand." I straightened, meeting each council member's gaze in turn. "And who has more coins than Tarathiel? The Ivygrass clan supports him fully, and they are the wealthiest house in the kingdom. Whatever price we offer, he can double it."

"You think they would betray us?" Lord Craiggybottom asked, his voice gruff with concern.

"I think they would follow their nature," I said. "Mercenaries have no stake in our vision of a better world. They fight for pay, not principle. And the moment Tarathiel or Vinolia offers more, they become our enemies rather than our allies."

From the shadows at the far end of the table, the Empress of Bones finally stirred. The other council members fell silent as she rose to her full height.

"The Spine tribes have more warriors," she said, her voice carrying the weight of ancient mountains. "Not mercenaries who chase coin, but fighters who honor blood debts."

The unspoken reminder hung in the air between us. Our pact remained only partially fulfilled. I had recognized their sovereignty where my father had only seen resources to exploit, but I still owed the greater part of our bargain. I’d promised strong husbands for her finest warriors once all this was done. I only hoped there were enough willing men left.

The Empress of Bones had already brought two hundred of her fiercest women warriors to Calibarra as part of our alliance, but many more remained in the Contested Lands.

"How many more could you summon, honored empress?" I asked.

"Three hundred more would answer my call. Perhaps four. But the passage through the Contested Lands grows treacherous. Vinolia's storms have turned the ancient paths into death traps even for those who know them well."

Victorin cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Your Majesty, if I may..." He gestured to the supply reports. "More warriors means more mouths to feed. Our stores are already stretched dangerously thin."

"Your people bring their own provisions?" I asked the Empress.

She inclined her head slightly. "For the journey, yes. But not for a prolonged siege. My warriors eat sparingly compared to your soft southern soldiers, but even they cannot fight on empty stomachs."

A practical concern that couldn't be ignored. Four hundred more fighters would strengthen our defenses considerably, but also accelerate the depletion of our limited food stores.

"And the other tribes?" Taelyn asked carefully. The relationships between the various peoples of the Spine were complex and often touchy.

"The Ghost Owl clan might send warriors," the Empress replied after a moment's consideration. "They owe no loyalty to Tarathiel after what his soldiers did to their sacred groves. The Frost Wolves remain neutral, as always."

"Four hundred more fighters could break the Seashore blockade," Northfire said, calculations replacing skepticism in his expression.

"If they can reach us through Vinolia's storms," Victorin said.

Aryn, silent until now, spoke from his position near the chamber's eastern window. "The Spine warriors know paths even Vinolia's battle mages cannot track. That's why Tarathiel has never fully conquered their territories, despite centuries of trying."

"I could... supplement our forces, if it becomes necessary,” Daraith offered. “The dead require no provisions, no rest."

A cold silence fell over the council at his words. Even those who had accepted Daraith's necromancy as a necessary weapon in our rebellion seemed unsettled by the suggestion.

"The morale cost would be significant," Taelyn observed cautiously. "It’s one thing to raise them for an imminent fight, but another entirely to allow them to patrol the walls.”

"A last resort," I agreed, though I didn't dismiss the option entirely. In a siege where starvation threatened, every resource might eventually be needed—even the darkest ones. "But worth remembering if our situation grows dire."

The Empress of Bones smiled, a sharp expression that reminded everyone present of her fearsome reputation. "The storms are strong, but the old ways are stronger. My people walked these lands when the first elves were still learning to build fires. We know paths your battle mages have never dreamed of."

I nodded with respect. "Send your call, honored Empress. We would welcome your people's strength."

"It will be done," she replied, settling back into her seat.

"We will not starve," I said firmly, addressing the full council again. "The Spine warriors will help secure our supply routes, but we must still be cautious. Implement strict rationing immediately. All luxury foods reserved for critical workers: healers, mages, those maintaining our defenses. Expand the hunting parties to cover the western forests, magical storms or no."

I turned to the quartermaster. "How much seed grain remains in storage?"

He straightened, understanding immediately where my thoughts led. "Perhaps a month's worth, Your Majesty. But if we consume that—"

"Then we plant nothing come spring," I finished for him. "I know. But spring planting means nothing if we don't survive winter. Keep it as absolute last reserve."

"In the meantime," I continued, addressing the full council, "we prepare. Katyr, focus your apprentices on strengthening weather wards around our immediate territory. I want at least the hunting grounds accessible. Lord Stoneriver, inventory all private stores in the fortress. No hoarding will be tolerated. Lord Northfire, your scouts must find gaps in the Seashore patrols where the Craiggybottoms might slip through."

My gaze swept the council. "We've defended these walls against worse odds. Vinolia may have battle mages and the Seashores may control the coast, but we have something stronger."

"And what's that, Your Majesty?" Northfire asked, skepticism heavy in his voice.

"Necessity," I answered simply. "We fight not just for victory but for survival. For the future we're building. That makes us dangerous in ways our enemies cannot comprehend."

As the council dispersed, Katyr remained behind, his expression troubled as he studied the map.

"Speak plainly," I said, once the last of the council members had filed out. "You've worn that expression since dawn."

Katyr remained at the map table, his golden curls falling forward as he studied the markers representing enemy forces. "I don't think we'll be able to drive her back this time. She was humiliated before. She won't let that happen again."

“What do you propose, then?”

He sighed, tracing his fingers over the map before standing straighter and meeting my eyes. “Cut off the head of the snake. I must face my grandmother directly. Leadership of the clan will fall to me once she’s gone.”

I raised an eyebrow at my half-brother's declaration. "What are you suggesting?"

Katyr's expression hardened. "That we remove her from power by any means necessary."

I studied him. "She's a lich. How will you face that kind of power?"

"We find and destroy her phylactery," Katyr replied, his voice steady. "I believe I know where it is. She keeps her bone combs on her at all times and I know they are artifacts of great power. I’d stake my life on them being what we’re after. All I have to do is get close enough to take it from her hair and destroy it."

I moved to the window, gazing out at the swirling snow that Vinolia's battle mages had summoned. Katyr's plan had merit. Cutting off leadership would indeed throw the Runecleaver forces into disarray. It might even win some of them to our cause. And yet...

"It's a suicide mission," I said finally, turning back to face him. "Even getting to Rünhyll would be nearly impossible with her forces controlling the passes."

"Only if she believes that’s what we’re there for. We need a diversion. Something to draw her attention."

"What are you suggesting?"

"Peace talks," Katyr said, his eyes lighting with realization. "You could open negotiations with Vinolia. As king to clan matriarch. A formal diplomatic mission under a banner of truce."

I leaned forward. "While you and Daraith search for the phylactery."

"Exactly. You'd be there as the king, with full honor guard, all proper ceremony, completely above suspicion. No one would question why the Rebel King would seek an audience with one of the most powerful matriarchs in the realm, especially during a winter siege."

"She would be suspicious," I countered, "but curious enough to accept. Vinolia has always enjoyed displaying her power."

"Her vanity would compel her to receive you," Katyr agreed. "To sit across from you at a negotiating table, to make you wait while she deliberately arrives late."

The strategy had merit. I'd be relatively safe under formal diplomatic protections. Safer than Katyr and Daraith, who would be working from the shadows. And my presence would occupy Vinolia's attention, perhaps even flattering her pride enough to drop her guard.

"You're assuming she'll agree to meet."

"She will," Katyr said with certainty. "A winter siege is costly, even for her. She can claim the negotiations as her own victory."

A messenger arrived with a fresh stack of reports. I dismissed him with a nod, then turned back to Katyr once we were alone.

"What exactly would happen when you find this comb? Her phylactery?"

"It must be destroyed completely. Shattered, burned, the pieces scattered." Katyr said. "When that happens, her true age will catch up to her instantly. Centuries compressed into moments."

I considered the implications. "And then she dies?"

"And then she dies," Katyr confirmed. "More importantly, her magical grip on the weather patterns ends. The unnatural storms cease. Supply routes open. Her battle mages lose their amplification source."

"And the Runecleaver clan?"

"By law, leadership passes to me. I'd recall our forces immediately." Katyr's expression grew solemn. "Some will resist, of course. The traditional elements, those who've benefited from Vinolia's reign. But many more will welcome change."

It was a bold strategy, with considerable risks but potentially war-ending rewards. I would be placing myself directly in Vinolia's reach, trusting in diplomatic protections that she might well choose to ignore. Yet the alternative was slow starvation as winter deepened around our beleaguered fortress.

"How long would you need?" I asked finally.

"Not long." Katyr studied my face, reading my growing acceptance of the plan. "You would only need to keep her distracted long enough for me to get close."

"A few hours of diplomatic pleasantries with a lich," I said dryly. "I've endured worse."

"And if she does suspect something?" Katyr pressed. "If she tries to detain you?"

My smile was all teeth. "Then I'll remind her why so many have chosen to follow me rather than my father."

The rest of the war council would need to be informed, preparations made. A diplomatic mission required proper ceremony, honor guards, the formal trappings that would both protect me and convince Vinolia of the legitimacy of my approach. Taelyn would need to be prepared to rule in my absence, with clear instructions for succession should the worst occur.

“I will send a rider to Valdrenn,” I said.

Katyr nodded, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'll inform Daraith at once."

When he was gone, I turned back to the maps and rubbed the ache in my ribs. I wish you were here, Elindir. We face our monsters better together than apart .