When Wolves March

The sun hung low, dragging long shadows across the valley. In the distance, nestled against a bend in the river, stood Tathar's Cross, a walled border town of the Varkaan Empire. Its stone buildings shimmered in the haze, rooftops lined with copper and tile, and the Empire's pale falcon banner fluttered from a high tower and the city walls.

From the watchtower of its southern gate, a soldier watched.

Inside the town, it was lively. People were moving with purpose. Some strolling the market, while other busy in their own life and work.

In the keep of the Town, the situation was entirely different.

Tathar's Cross was a small border town in the province if Iskorith of Varkaan Empire.

Governor Harren de Voss ruled this province. 

Upon hearing of the Harkoraal arrival on his lands, he send a messenger to Baron Renualt who overseed several border towns and forts.

Baron Renualt in response sent words to Viscount Auren Drevhal to solve this issue with Harkoraal.

Obeying the orders, Viscount Auren sent a messenger his personal advisor Edran who was stern looking old man to Harkoraal.

Senjar stood by a scaffold where carpenters shaped beams. Beside him, Kaelric and Mara reviewed inventories in hushed tones.

Kaelric's tone was dry. "They'll come. The town's too close, the camp's too busy. You're rebuilding on their front porch."

Senjar gazed westward. "They'll come, yes," he said. "But not with swords."

He'd been right.

By midday, the guards whistled. A procession rode in: a dozen silent cloaked horsemen bearing the Governor's seal. Ahead strode a heavily armored knight flanked by plain, clothed soldiers. At their head walked Edran an old man in dark robes, one side of his scarred face fixed in inscrutable gaze.

The lead envoy stopped before Senjar. Kaelric and Mara stepped protectively close.

Edran removed his hood. "Arl Senjar of Harkoraal," he said, voice low and controlled. "I bring greetings from Governor Harren de Voss and Viscount Drevhal. I am Edran, their advisor. They wish to speak."

Senjar stepped forward. His expression was steady, controlled.

"Welcome, Advisor Edran. Our camp awaits your questions."

Edran nodded. "Governor sends peace, but he watches closely. He asks why you grow arms and wagons within the Empire's borders, and what you seek to build here."

Kaelric's hand went to his dagger but Senjar raised a hand, calming.

"Our forge builds tools, not siege engines," Senjar replied. "Our wagons carry grain, not war. We settle to live, not conquer."

Edran's scarredd eyes flicked behind Senjar, over the camp, smokestacks, wagons, busy men and women.

"You speak of peace," he said. "Yet peace costs coin, and coin buys soldiers."

Senjar responded evenly. "Trust is earned. Let me meet your superiors in Tathar's Cross. Let my words speak before my arms do."

Edran paused. Then nodded. "Your words will be carried back. You will have an invitation."

With that, he mounted his horse and the group withdrew, orderly and watched by Kaelric's guard.

Senjar watched them leave.

"I don't think we will get an invitation." Kaelric spoke to Senjar.

"I know, the Empire have a history with Eastren tribes."

"I say we attack first Arl."

"Gather all the Elders, I am calling for a meeting."

"Yes my Arl."

That evening, a horn sounded from the keep's wooden steps. Men and women, elders, chieftains, seasoned warriors, gathered under torchlight in the unfinished great hall. Beams and scaffolding framed the open space.

Senjar entered last, flanked by Kaelric, Mara, and Rell. At the center stood a circle of hardened faces. No banners. No ceremony. Just patience.

Senjar cleared his throat. "You all know why we're here."

A general stepped forward, Garrin, broad and scarred. "The Empire sent a messenger. Our camp is within their soil. They ask questions. We must answer with strength."

An elder, Morva, shook her head. "Strength brings war, not peace. We are rebuilding, not fighting, Arl."

Kaelric cut in: "Peace costs grain and steel. War costs lives. What's your choice, Arl?"

Senjar held his gaze steadily. "Mara, tell me about coins."

"Low, condition is not good for war."

Then he looked at all the people that were present in this council.

"Tell me Lords, why have we, Harkoraal declined in these recent decades."

No one spoke, but they all looked at their young leader.

"We lacked magic."

Senjar tone became serious.

"When Morhaal begin their assault, even then we had a handful of mages."

"Morhaal on the other hand have hundreds of mages in their ranks."

Then he looked at Kaelric.

"Kaelric, I want you to hire battle mages. Go to Erethari lands and request mages from their court. If they don't give then look for rogue mages and recruit them."

"I want to increase the military strength of our tribe."

"And Kaelric, look for a seer, the old the better."

Kaelric noded. "It will be done, my Arl."

He paced slowly amid the circle.

"We will meet this envoy, if they summon me, I go."

Rell crossed his arms. "You are young. They will mock you, Arl."

Senjar paused. "They may try."

Mara spoke, voice soft but firm. "We have coin. We have trade. We have food. But most important, we have purpose."

Senjar nodded. "We strengthen this camp—grain from trade, weapons from the forge, alliances from our words. If the Empire offers partnership, we take it. If they demand submission, we refuse. But either way, we remain free."

A younger chieftain, Telmar, frowned. "And if they carry steel behind the mask?"

Senjar lifted his chin. "Then we will be ready. You will come with me."

Silence settled, heavy and resolute.

Finally, Senjar said quietly: "Rest now. Tomorrow, we see if the Empire comes to our door."

"Garrin, you stay."

One by one, the circle bowed, accepting. Weight shifted from turmoil to unity.

"Yes, Arl."

"Garrin, I want you to build me a network of spies in the Empire and also to the east. I want to know of everything that is happening in these lands. Everything. Can you achieve that?"

Garrin was mastermind in this kind of work. He also served as a Master of spies to Arl Drogmar.

"It will require coin and trained men."

"You will get the coins, but as for men train them yourself."

"I will do it, Arl."

"How much time do you need?"

"For this province, I will achieve results in a month. But for the hearts of Empire and East. It can take years."

"Do it Garrin. Do it fast."

"As you wish, Arl."

"You can leave."

He bowed in respect and left.

Kaelric stepped beside Senjar, voice low: "You could have struck today."

Senjar met his old friend's eyes. "Power without vision kills more than swords. Our time will come. But not yet."

Two days had passed, Harkoraal camp prepared in silence. Warriors polished steel, smiths sharpened blades, and scouts kept watch along the perimeter. The scent of fresh baked bread drifted through the air, an act of both routine and readiness.

Senjar stood before the main gathering area, Kaelric and Mara at his side. The hush broke when guards signaled an approaching rider.

It was Edran again, this time accompanied by two others, one carrying a sealed letter, and another bearing a small chest wrapped in silk.

The party stopped before Senjar. Kaelric and two guards stepped forward.

Edran removed the wrapped chest and presented it.

"A token from Governor Harren," he said, "for Arl Senjar." Inside lay crafted drinking horns inlaid with silver and etched with the Varkaan falcon. A gesture of diplomacy.

Senjar took one horn and examined it. He then accepted the sealed letter.

Edran, his voice low and formal, said: "The Governor invites you to a formal meeting at Tathar's Cross in three days. He offers safe passage, courteous lodging, and honest discussion. No guards beyond courtesy are required, but you may bring one."

The camp watched in silence.

Senjar looked to Kaelric. His general bowed slightly in agreement. Then Senjar nodded back to Edran.

"Three days it is. I accept."

Edran handed over the letter. "The hand mailed escort will guide you at dawn."

He paused. "One more thing."

Senjar raised an eyebrow.

"The Governor asks you not to bring your warband into the town. Your honor and tribe should be represented, but not your might." Edran's eyes hardened just enough to convey warning.

Senjar pocketed the letter. "Fair."

Edran straightened. "Return the honor of my lord, and we shall live in peace."

The envoy departed.

Senjar returned to the camp's central courtyard. A hush broke as he walked through the gathered warriors and townfolk. He raised the silver drinking horn.

"To peace," he said. "And to the strength to keep it."

A low murmur followed. Kaelric leaned in, voice firm: "You trust them?"

" My father said to me once: Trust take years to build, Senjar. Do not trust anyone especially a ruler."

"So, no. I don't trust them. But, I will go to the meeting."

"If they kill you then what?"

"They won't kill a young Arl, who has just become a leader of Harkoraal and is learning the ways of politics and power." Senjar said that with faint smile.