"What happened?" Frederick demanded as the cart pulled up to the three wagons, the druids, and the mercenaries guarding them, now camped on the dry ground outside the walls of the inn yard.

One of the Wolleman mercenaries named Alonzo stood to greet the commander. "Bit of a scuffle with some local boys," he began, gesturing to his bruised face, "former soldiers, took offense to our northern friends and the Ostervallans being here."

Frederick frowned as he instructed the laborers where to unload the cart and where his people should load them, everyone sweating under the heat of the early afternoon sun. The occasional breeze from the east did nothing to cool the men as they worked but Isaac was grateful the wind didn't bring eye-watering stench like it did in the city.

Alonzo continued, "we told them the war with Osterval was over, and that we were escortin' the druids west past the mountains at the invitation of the king himself to end the drought, didn't care. Just kept sayin' that we were traitors, chummin' around with the enemy and that all northmen will resort to pillagin' soon as they get a chance."

Frederick shook his head and sighed. "Some people will take a lot longer to move beyond the past, some never will," he muttered. "So did you start the fight or did they?"

Alonzo shrugged, "can't say, every one of ours says it wasn't us. Innkeeper insisted it was our fault no matter of who actually threw the first punch for bringin' foreigners around. I can say we came out on top, though," he finished with a grin.

Isaac took a drink from his waterskin and looked around the bustling camp. Mark was getting the cut on his face cleaned and dressed. Svarja was with the other northerners, all talking animatedly over one another in their own language with broad gestures and loud voices. Many in the group Frederick left behind were sporting bruises and split lips. Isaac knew that many in Wollema would bear contempt for Osterval and the north for years. He knew the heat of anger and bitterness all too well, how it seeks any object it can latch on to. Osterval and Wollema had numerous skirmishes over the years, fighting over border territories each insisted belonged to them but the two nations could trade on mostly friendly terms during more pewceful times. When the Tarid empire landed on Wollema's western shores, Osterval siezed the opportunity to take land they had long insisted belonged to them.

When the Tarid forces were washed away by the flood following the massacre of the Callers who were holding back the rain, Wollema could focus her attention on the eastern front. Engineers copied the air gun and cannon designs captured from the remains of the Tarid base and the weapons were deployed to great effect. Wollema pushed Osterval back and began taking ground when their enemy copied the weapons themselves and employed them. The commanders of both sides initially kept the same formations they were accustomed to, resulting in the deaths of thousands on both sides as bullets and cannon balls tore through the dense infantry squares. When the diplomats finally negotiated peace and the borders returned to the same state they were before the war, many soldiers were consumed by deep bitterness that all the death and suffering inflicted on both sides was for nothing. A bitterness made worse in Wollema by the drought that meant soldiers were returning home to hunger, thirst, and the diseases that ran rampant in cities overcrowded by malnourished people. Throughout the war Isaac was often tempted to succumb to hatred like many of his comrades did, but he knew that the men on the field opposite him were merely soldiers born in a different part of a map, marched out by leaders they had no choice in.

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"Got some news for you, Commander." Alonzo said, his voice startling Isaac from his thoughts. "Messenger came ridin' through before we had the fight. Said that a war's broken out in the north."

Isaac blinked in surprise. "Eh?" Frederick exclaimed. "War? We don't have the resources to go to war, nowhere near enough supplies to sustain an army in the north!"

Alonzo raised his hands and shook his head. "Sorry, sir, I wasn't clear. It's not a war with the north, it's a war in the north. Some sort of rebellion going on, started just after we left the port, sounds like."

Frederick said nothing, only turned and walked towards the northern men and women who were still speaking loudly amongst themselves. Isaac followed a few feet behind.

"Commander Frederick," Rolf began, "You are here to ask about the rebellion?"

"I am," Frederick replied as the northerners turned to face him.

"It is likely Jarl Hjalkar. He has always been vocal about the need to adapt to the changing world, convinced that our people could be prosperous if we ignored the teachings of the druids about not disturbing the land overmuch, and worried that if we stick to the old ways we will eventually be conquered by some southerner."

"High King Svein kept Hjalkar and his allies placated in the past by assuring them that the druids would use the deep winter to keep any invaders at bay," Svarja added. "But tales of what your magicians, Callers, did in the west made it to our ears and cast doubt on the druids' ability to keep you out with the weather alone."

"Yes, and then we heard stories of southern armies so large the numbers were unbelievable," Rolf said, stroking his braided beard. "The rumors were dismissed as exaggeration at first, too outlandish to be true, but too many sources repeated the same things about the size of the armies and your new weapons. Hjalkar has grown bold in his insistence that we need to change if we are to stay alive and free."

"And what of you? How does the rebellion affect you?" Frederick asked.

"If we were in the north we would follow our Thanes, however they ally themselves," Rolf replied. "But we are now in the south, so the politics of Thanes and Jarls and Kings do not matter."

"Will you be joining your people?"

"Perhaps, when this is all over." Rolf replied, gesturing at the still-chanting druids. "We said we would do this job with you, so we will see this through to the end."

"Very good, I didn't doubt the sincerity of your word but I wasn't sure if your customs would demand that you return home in this situation."

The northman laughed. "The war will not be decided by the presence or absence of Rolf Haddsson alone!" he exclaimed, placing a hand on Frederick's shoulder. "We said we would travel with you to see the druids safely west to join the others already there, so we will do just that. Few in the north are as despised by men or gods as a promise-breaker." A chorus of agreeing murmurs arose from the other northerners, nodding their heads. "Besides, there will be plenty of time to perform glorious deeds to be written in my book, even if I must wait a few weeks more to do them."

"Excellent," Frederick said with a nod, "as soon as our business is concluded I will see that you are all paid and whoever wishes to return north can do so but I also learned of several promising leads for work in the south while I was in the city and any of you who wishes to stay and work for me is free to do so."

The goods were now fully loaded on to the wagons, the laborers began pushing their empty cart back towards the city. "No chance we'll be able to make it to the next inn by nightfall today," Frederick shouted as the mercenaries broke camp, "but I want to put some distance between us and here in case the lads from last night bring some friends for a second round." The group began pushing west along the road. Far off on the horizon, past the mountains, Isaac could see a band of dark storm clouds, the first such clouds he had seen since coming through this valley half a decade ago.