It had been a long and difficult few weeks as the army marched to Fort Camulan. Aeolwyn missed his father, and frequently cried himself to sleep at night. He was glad to have a private tent. He couldn’t let his army see him this vulnerable.

  He also felt hurt and betrayed by his brother. They had been bitter enemies for many years now, so he should be used to their relationship. But seeing him in person made it real, and it broke his heart.

  When he was a boy, all he wanted was Alfyn’s approval, and a small part of that boy still lived within him. And he would never get that approval. He could go back to the capital, take a bound Laryn Oath, and Alfyn still would want him dead. He didn’t think he’d ever get over that kind of hatred.

  They could finally see the towers of Fort Camulan in the distance. After a month away, it would be good to sleep in his own bed tonight. He wasn’t especially looking forward to catching up on all the paperwork and discipline reports that he would have to evaluate, but he preferred that to playing politics with his brother.

  From here, everything looked completely normal, but his gut was telling him otherwise, and it was making him uncomfortable. Where were the fort’s scouts? They would have certainly seen his army’s approach by now. Why hadn’t they made themselves known?

  Had Brakus been failing in his duty?

  One of the scouts Aeolwyn had sent out was riding quickly back. His horse’s hoofs created puffs of dirt as it galloped. This upset the merchants and porters leaving the city, who yelled at him as he passed.

  Something was not right.

  “Call for a halt, Galafar,” he said as he stopped his own horse.

  Galafar turned and rode down the line, yelling the order to halt. They would wait for the scout before they continued on. He was sure everything was fine inside the fort, and he had no reason to be cautious, but he did anyway. Maybe all the time he had spent in the palace had made him paranoid.

  “Why have we stopped?” Count Wollams asked as he rode up beside Aeolwyn. He was eager to reunite with his men.

  He nodded towards the approaching scout. “We’re about to find out.”

  The scout brought his horse to a quick stop. The man looked alarmed and out of breath. A thin sheen of sweat was on his brow. Though it wasn’t cold, it wasn’t hot enough for the scout to be sweating so much. Summer had passed, and the temperature was starting to drop.

  “What’s wrong, Yuric?” Aeolwyn asked.

  “General,” Yuric said as he struggled to catch his breath. “Westgate is closed, and the portcullis is down.”

  That was extremely unusual. It was normal to keep the gate to the fort closed during the day, but the portcullis was never lowered during the day, and only rarely was it closed before midnight. What was Brakus thinking? He must have seen Aeolwyn’s army approaching. Something was definitely wrong.

  “What did the guards say?”

  “I didn’t recognize any of them, sir, so I kept my distance.”

  How could he have not recognized any of the guards? Something was very wrong. He was suddenly glad that he stopped the army before he entered the fort. He needed to find out what was going on.

  “I need someone to go in there and find out what’s going on,” he said.

  “I will do it,” Galafar offered. Aeolwyn hadn’t seen him return from ordering the halt. He hadn’t looked this worried since they had been carrying a dying Egne to the fort.

  “No, you’re too recognizable,” Aeolwyn said. “You too, count, so don’t offer.”

  “General,” Wollams started in his condescending tone.

  “Sir,” Galafar started at nearly the same time. He hoped there wasn’t going to be a repeat of the argument they’d had on the way to Teorton. Maybe he should just make Galafar a Dragonfire Knight and be done with it.

  Of course, Wollams would be greatly offended at that, so Aeolwyn might have to make him one too. Then Wollams would still claim superiority over Galafar as a count, leaving Galafar in the same place as before, and even if he didn’t, Wollams would still view him as an upjump.

  Politics were exhausting.

  “I can go, sir,” Yuric offered.

  “No, Yuric, you’ve already been seen.”

  “General!” he heard his page shout urgently.

  “Not now, Veila.”

  He didn’t have time for whatever annoyance his page wanted. Whatever was going on inside the fort was more important. Who would he send? Galafar and Wollams were out of the question. So was Egne and Reiva. Everyone would recognize them. He needed someone who no one knew. Too bad he’d left Prince Bawdy back in Teorton. He would have been the perfect candidate.

  Veila came to stand in front of him. He was dirty and unwashed. His clothes were ripped and unbrushed. Leaves and twigs stuck to his coat and were in his hair. Why had his page presented himself to the general in such disarray? Had discipline gotten so lax here?

  “Thank Laryn you’re here, sir,” Veila said.

  “What?” he asked, staring blankly.

  It was then he realized that he hadn’t taken Veila with him to Teorton. He’d left the page here at the fort to help Brakus run the place. What was he doing out here? Veila should be back in the fort with Brakus.

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  Aeolwyn thought he might be here to welcome the army back but dismissed that thought. He wasn’t a scout and couldn’t ride a horse well enough to have arrived so quickly.

  “What are you doing here, Veila?” Aeolwyn asked. “Why are you not inside the fort with Brakus? And why is the portcullis down?” He could feel his anger rising at the man but fought it down.

  “Sir!” Veila shouted, on the verge of tears. “The fort has been taken! Brakus is dead!”

  Aeolwyn stopped hearing everything after Veila’s first words. The fort has been taken? Impossible. He’d left an adequate number of men behind for its defense. They were under struct instructions to ensure the fort’s security in his absence. Veila and Brakus were loyal soldiers. They would never disobey such an important order.

  Aeolwyn jumped off his horse and walked over to Veila, cupping the man’s face so he couldn’t look away. “Say that again.”

  “It was the Fenns, sir! They launched a sneak attack while one of the ships was unloading its cargo. Captain Flint was with them. He killed Brakus!”

  Aeolwyn took a few steps back before his legs gave out on him and he fell to the ground. He’d lost his fort to the Fenns? His ancestors would be cursing his name right now. No general in the history of Camulan had ever lost the fort to their enemies. Until now. And it was their mortal enemy, the Fenns.

  Wollams and Galafar were there to help him up. He brushed off their assistance and stood on his own. A world of emotions washed through him. He fought down the fear and panic but held on to the anger. He was going to need that.

  “We had to flee, general,” Veila said. “I met up with the two companies that were on patrol. They are camped in the ruins of Lannic Outpost.”

  Aeolwyn remounted his horse and held out his hand for Veila to climb up. “Take me to them,” he said. “And tell me precisely what happened.”

  ***

  You’ll wish you stayed. Alfyn’s words echoed in Aeolwyn’s mind. He had dismissed it as an empty threat, but now that Fort Camulan had been taken from him, it felt like a prediction. He wanted to blame the king for this mishap, but there was no way his brother would have allowed the Fenns to occupy the most important fort in Camulan. His hatred of Aeolwyn was strong, but it wasn’t that strong.

  It had to be a coincidence.

  After Flint’s imprisonment, he had clearly gone over to the enemy. Aeolwyn couldn’t believe that he’d survived the fire, but he had. And now he held such rage for Aeolwyn that he turned traitor and helped the Fenns take Fort Camulan.

  It was a clever ploy, using an unloading ship as an opening to pour men through. He just couldn’t believe that some of Wollams knights helped Flint do it. The count exploded in rage when he heard that news. He still refused to believe it. Aeolwyn was going to put a bounty on Flint’s head that was so large, even the Fenns would want to kill him.

  Back at Lannic Outpost, the news was grim. The men reported that the remaining company was completely destroyed. Only a single knight survived, along with about a dozen squires and pages. He was thankful they chose him over the knights they were responsible for.

  At least the two companies that Brakus had sent out to dissuade the Fenns from attacking were still intact. That was also an excellent feint, and he had to commend whatever general was working with Captain Flint.

  Massing an army north of Fort Camulan in preparation for an invasion? What general wouldn’t send an army out to meet them? And then disguising a troop ship as a merchant vessel? Brilliant. He had been outsmarted this time. They were hard lessons to learn, but he would remember them.

  “When do we start the siege?” Wollams asked while they were eating. Aeolwyn had been thinking about that all day. With winter coming, a siege would be difficult on his army. They had just about enough men to encircle the town, but Aeolwyn didn’t have the stomach to starve out his own people.

  Except that they wouldn’t starve. The large port that he was building would see to that. The Fenns had a lifeline—the River Tyr. They would just continue to send ships with food to last through the winter, and, when Aeolwyn’s army was decimated by starvation and disease, they would send an army to destroy them.

  Blocking the river was an option, but that would disrupt trade throughout Laryndor. All the nations depended on the waterway for trade. If it was blocked here, Tambryne, Wickshire, and Fortru were certain to send soldiers to reopen it.

  There was a possibility of hiring the Porter’s Guild to transport cargo around Fort Camulan to keep trade going, but that would be expensive and would empty Aeolwyn’s coffers. He needed to think of a better option.

  “There will be no siege,” Aeolwyn said sadly.

  “What?” Wollams erupted. “You’re just going to let them keep Fort Camulan? This is outrageous!”

  “Aeolwyn, you can’t mean it!” Galafar said.

  “We will send in the mage corps,” Egne shouted.

  “No siege,” he echoed again.

  Wollams stood up and reached for his sword. “Prince-General Aeolwyn,” he started. “Although you are my superior, it is within my authority to have you arrested for dereliction of duty.”

  That was a bold threat. Aeolwyn could hang him even for suggesting it. Of course, he wouldn’t. He needed all the men he could find right now, and the knights, even as few as he had, would be invaluable. He was determined to make more. As soon as he was able, he would be promoting as many of the squires as he could.

  But he had to deal with this first.

  “Knight-Count Wollams,” he started angrily.

  “You can’t lay siege to Fort Camulan,” Jor Bashi shouted.

  All the voices stopped, and they assemblage turned to look at the newcomer. Jor Bashi had kept mostly to himself as they traveled. After being expressly forbidden to investigate the mage corps, he refused to speak to anyone except Egne.

  “Why not?” Wollams asked, turning towards Bashi, but not releasing his hold on his sword.

  “The River Tyr will sustain them. That was why it was built here. Unless you want to start a war with all the nations of Laryndor blocking the river is impossible.” Bashi looked down at Aeolwyn and nodded. “Sir Jom has taught you well.”

  Wollams released his hold on his sword and sat down. “So what then?” he asked. “We can’t let them hold our soil.”

  Aeolwyn was nervous about making this decision, as he didn’t know how many men it would cost him. Men that he could scarcely afford to lose, especially going where he was planning. A place were reinforcements and replenishment would be impossible.

  But it had to be done. Wollams was right. This incursion could not be tolerated. The Fenns had to pay, and they had to pay dearly. Aeolwyn needed to ensure that they would never have to worry about a Fennish invasion ever again.

  Would it be worth the cost? He wasn’t sure. But, like Sir Jom and Brakus had both said: sometimes you have to make hard decisions. And this was one of those times. The correct tactical decision was one that would put his soldiers, his friends, and even his mother in mortal danger.

  He stood up and regarded the men. There were only a half dozen people around his campfire, but further out were more campfires, dotting the landscape between all the tents of the 5 companies under his command. They were strong and willing. They were cunning and loyal. They had the mage wagons—a weapon no other army had.

  He raised his voice. “Men!” he shouted to everyone within earshot. “Rest well tonight, for tomorrow we go to war!”

  Scattered cheers came from all the campfires that could hear him.

  “What are you planning, general?” Galafar asked.

  “Invasion,” he said. “We will march the army all the way to Fenn Castle and take it. They can’t control the fort if we control their castle. If they want war, then we will give it to them. We will make King Drahius beg for mercy.”

  The men cheered, not just around his campfire, but all the ones that could still hear him. In a few hours, it would be all over the camp. He would have to ensure that a hidden spy didn’t sneak off to inform the Fennish king or Fort Camulan. They still had the element of surprise and couldn’t afford to waste it. It was a bold plan, and fraught with danger and risk. But the Fenns had started this war, and he intended to finish it.

  While the men cheered, Reiva looked up at him nervously. She knew the danger he was about to put all of them in.