‘Ulrik is young, barely a man, yet that has been proven to make him no less deadly. He arrived here five years ago, with Ardaric and Valamir at his side. Since then, they have created a vast Empire.


    ‘Within a dozen weeks of his arrival to this land, Kroan City was his. I still don’t know how he managed it. Kroan is like a fortress, easily defendable, yet it fell into Ulrik’s hands without a fight.


    ‘The land was still scarred from the fall of Threkrig’s Empire, even though it has been forty years since he died. The land in the east has been divided since his death, ruled by dozens if not hundreds of minor lords. Caedan rose in the west twenty years ago, and Leon to the south of him fifteen years ago, yet neither of them could ever make much progress into the east.


    ‘Once Kroan was Ulrik’s, he continued to expand. By the end of his first year, half a dozen different cities were sworn to him, his army ever growing. Another year, that number had tripled. And now, five years on since he arrived, over fifty cities are under his command, dozens of lords doing whatever he wishes. His army has no match in our part of Wardom.


    ‘There is no doubt that his expansions are not over. Vittor lies in his north-east, an unguarded kingdom with a weak king. If he wanted, Ulrik could take it easily. In his north-west, there are the city states of Challter. They too are weak, though they are old. Older than Caedan’s Empire, even.


    ‘But the real prizes for Ulrik would be Lorr and Prolla. They would be a challenge, but Ulrik has shown he revels challenges. Caedan and Leon know they are targets, and I guess they hope to expand their own territory now, so as to draw in a greater army. And if they fall, we in Camelot could be in danger very soon. I have a feeling that everything will change in the near future, because of Ulrik.


    ‘The only question is, who will the young King attack first…


    - Ulrik, by Denkel Foliar, the Scholar of Camelot, written in the seventh year of the reign of Arthur Pendragon.


    ***


    The journey across the sea was long and harrowing, a biting wind lashing at the ship the whole way south. Luther was unfazed by the conditions, having grown up on boats like these in the last life, his father a captain of a great warship. Barstag, however, was unwell the entirety of the journey, spending almost all of it below decks, out of the way.


    Luther was glad for the excuse to be alone. He needed time to think. The further they went from Ralpor, the surer he was that they had made the wrong decision in leaving Wolfgang behind. Despite what Barstag said, Luther knew in his soul that Wolfgang was dead, and he would never see him again. There was nothing he could do but come to terms with that, but that was easier said than done. Wolfgang had been Luther’s friend and brother for a decade, and he would not easily be forgotten.


    Once they reached Challter, Luther spent the last few coins he had on horses. Challter was a mess, the land in revolution. As they rode through it, the signs were everywhere. Burnt out ruins, fields strewn with corpses of soldiers, bandits seizing upon the opportunity to make some money. Almost all of the land in the six states were in the hands of rebels by the time Luther and Barstag arrived, a rebel leader called Robert Fallhooth crowned as king of all Challter. The symbol of a black hood was everywhere, painted onto the side of buildings as well as on all the banners.


    Once they were through Challter they were into the Kroanian Empire, and they rode quicker. They rode for Kroan City, Ulrik’s capital. Luther did not know if Ulrik would listen, or if they would even get close to him, but they had to try. He could not let Wolfgang’s death be for nothing.


    Kroan was as much a fortress as a city, the centre of Ulrik’s power. The high walls were impenetrable, the defences unbeatable. There were constantly people working on it, captured slaves from Ulrik’s conquests. They made it bigger, stronger, more fearsome, working until they dropped dead. When Ulrik had first arrived in Wardom, the city was much like any other, scarred from the fall of Threkrig’s Empire, an empire that had been even larger than the Kroanians’ was now. But from this city, Ulrik had beaten back the other conquerors and warlords, and built his Empire.


    Luther and Barstag rode into Kroan together. In and around the city, soldiers were gathering. Hundreds of them were preparing themselves for something. Luther did not know what, but he knew it had to be big. Hope began to bloom in him; maybe Ulrik had already heard of Skadi’s impending attack and was preparing to rebut it.


    An inner wall surrounded the centre of the city, Ulrik’s keep within it. Heavily armoured soldiers stood outside the open gate, stopping all who tried to enter it.


    “What is your business here?” one of the soldiers asked as Barstag and Luther approached.


    Barstag swung himself down from his horse. “I am Barstag Currock, and this is Luther Idason. We bring important news for King Ulrik. It is vital that he hears it immediately.”


    “Tell us, and we shall pass it on to His Majesty.”


    “No. We must deliver this news personally to His Majesty.”


    “On whose orders?”


    “These orders are from Lord Ardaric himself.”


    The soldiers glanced at each other. Orders from Ardaric were not to be trifled with. “Lord Ardaric is inside,” one of them said. “Wait here, while I go speak with him.”


    Barstag nodded. “Very well.”


    Luther waited nervously. If Ardaric didn’t remember them, they would have a serious problem. Inside the wall, soldiers were preparing to leave, same as everywhere else in the city. And it did not look like they were going for a quick trip.


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    After a while, Ardaric strode towards the gate, the soldier in tow. Barstag stepped forward as Ardaric approached. “M’lord, I am Barstag Currock. We met a few weeks ago-”


    Ardaric raised his hand, silencing him. “I remember you. You are Helgon’s men, who went north to investigate rumours. There were three of you, weren’t there?”


    “Our friend was captured, m’lord, and we had to leave him to reach you.”


    Ardaric nodded. “I hear you have news. What do you know?”


    Barstag glanced back at Luther, before turning back to Ardaric. “There are soldiers gathering in the north. They are preparing to march on this land.”


    Ardaric arched his eyebrow. Finally, he turned away. “Leave your weapons and come with me.”


    They followed Ardaric into the keep, the soldiers standing aside to let them pass. Luther left his axe at the gate, Barstag placing his greatsword with it. Ardaric led them to an ornate chamber, a large throne resting at the end. King Ulrik sat atop it. Luther had seen the King a few times in the past, and as always he was surprised by Ulrik’s appearance. Ulrik was shorter than the average man, and as young as Ardaric, no older than twenty-six. He struck Luther as unintimidating, especially for a man who was so feared. In the almost half a dozen years he had been in Wardom, he had managed to create a huge Empire, with further plans for expansion. He was feared across it as well as in the bordering nations, yet he did not look the part.


    A few lords were with Ulrik, bringing him news and receiving orders from him. They were all less important than Ardaric. Luther saw no sign of Lord Valamir, equal to Ardaric and second only to Ulrik. He must have business elsewhere.


    Behind the throne, half hidden in shadows, was Lord Falrash Golthson. For all that Ulrik lacked in ferocious appearance, Falrash made up for it. Tall and strong, a long curved scimitar hung from his waist. He was a lethal warrior and Luther had never heard of him losing a fight. He never left Ulrik’s side, protecting him always. He was old, though Luther did not know how old. Probably one of the oldest in Wardom. His hair was grey and short, his almost black eyes roving the room constantly. He never said a word; in fact, Luther was not even sure that he could speak.


    Ulrik dismissed the lords around him as Ardaric approached. All but Falrash left them. Ulrik gazed at Luther and Barstag as they approached. They bowed before the throne.


    “Your Majesty, these men have returned from the far north, from beyond Vittor, and they bring important news,” Ardaric said.


    “Very well. Speak quickly, for I have pressing matters to attend to.”


    Barstag stepped forward. “Your Majesty, three of us travelled north of Vittor. We found a land where winter reigned. After Vittor, the land opened out and stretched far into the east and west. We learned that recently an uprising occurred in that land. The race of elves rose to power, one in particular claiming the throne. Skadi, she is called. She is rumoured to be very powerful, and she is mysterious.


    “Skadi is gathering an army. Across her land, people are preparing for war. That is where the king of Vittor and his soldiers went, to join her army. They plan to come here, to expand their reign and overthrow us. One of our number was captured by them. He may still be alive. Your Majesty, I beseech you to send your soldiers north, to stomp out this army before it is ready.”


    Ulrik leaned forwards on his throne. “This is the news you bring me? Of elven armies and rulers? And you expect me to believe it?”


    “But Your Majesty, it is true. We saw evidence of it ourselves.”


    “Really?”


    “Yes, Your Majesty. You have to do something. If you do nothing, we won’t stand a chance!”


    “Is that how you speak to your king?”


    Barstag bowed low. “No, Your Majesty, I am sorry. But what I tell you is the truth.”


    “Hmm. I have more pressing matters to deal with than vague threats from a strange army. Lorr has burned. The Prollans have struck at Lorr, and in their haste have left themselves unguarded. I am going to capture Prolla, now, while they are weak.” Ulrik looked to Ardaric. “Get them out of here.”


    Ardaric led them out of the throne room. Outside in a long hallway, he stopped and turned to them. Luther was still thinking on what had just happened. He couldn’t believe they had failed, and that Ulrik wasn''t going to fight Skadi.. Rage and despair welled up within him.


    “Is King Ulrik truly going to do nothing?” Luther demanded.


    Ardaric looked at him coldly. Barstag laid his hand on Luther’s shoulder and stepped past him. “What Luther means to say, m’lord, is that we think the threat from Skadi is very real and something should be done.”


    “I will speak with the King,” Ardaric said. “But do not get your hopes up. He rarely changes his mind once he has made a decision.” Ardaric looked from one to the other. “You both did very well to survive and bring us this information. It won’t be forgotten. Come with me to Prolla. I need soldiers of your skill and commitment. You heard what his majesty said. We are going to war, and it will be tough. You two will answer directly to me. Rest now. We leave early tomorrow.”


    Ardaric returned to the throne room, leaving Barstag and Luther alone in the hall. Barstag sighed. “Come on,” he said as he began walking away.


    “How can we let this happen?” Luther demanded as he walked after Barstag.


    Barstag didn’t look at him. “We don’t have a choice, Luther. Ulrik has made his decision. We did all we could.”


    They strode out of the keep into a courtyard. Luther grabbed onto Barstag’s shoulder. “You are willing to let this happen? You are willing for Wolfgang’s death to be for nothing?”


    Barstag spun on him. Luther took a step from the anger in his eyes. “No, Wolfgang did not die for nothing. Wolfgang didn’t die for Ulrik, or Ardaric, or the Empire, or any of this,” Barstag said, swinging his arm around to indicate everything. “He died for us. He sacrificed his life so we could keep ours. Don’t forget that. And don’t waste your life. We will go to Prolla with Ardaric. And if Skadi comes, we will fight her with everything we have. For Wolfgang.”


    ***


    The army left Kroan City the following day. King Ulrik rode at the head of the army, surrounded by many lords. No one wanted to miss the chance to prove how strong they were to Ulrik, so very few lords stayed behind. Luther and Barstag stayed with Ardaric, joining his guards. The city was left empty behind them.


    They marched ever southwest, towards the Prollan border. Other groups of soldiers continually joined them, more lords leading them. Practically every soldier in the Kroanian Empire was going for Prolla, the largest host assembled in a long time. Their going was slow, as was to be expected of a group that size. Ulrik did as much as he could to keep news of their army from reaching the Prollans, but it would be impossible to keep it secret altogether.


    A few days into the march, the young Lord Valamir joined them. He brought many bits of news from across the Empire and beyond their borders. He spoke of the split in Lorr between Erion and Xavier, the fall of Lorr’s army in Camelot, and of the death of Cyclops. News of Cyclops’s death was the only time Luther ever saw Lord Falrash smile, and it sent a chill down his spine.


    Valamir confirmed what Ulrik had said, that the Prollans were pushing into Lorric territory. It didn’t seem that they had heard of the Kroanian army yet, but everyone knew that once they did they would be forced to retreat back if they wanted to defend their land. Ulrik hoped to make at least some advances into the Prollan Kingdom before he would have to deal with them, and he pushed the army to go faster.


    Four days after leaving Kroan, they crossed the border into Prollan territory. They arrived at the city of Legaros. It was heavily fortified, and soldiers watched from the walls. They seemed to expect the Kroanians, at least some word of the army having reached them. But they still had no chance.


    At midday, Ulrik unleashed his hordes upon the city, with orders to kill any who resisted. By nightfall, Legaros was theirs.