One after another, the armies returned. No matter their size, no matter how prepared they were, no matter the order they belonged to, none of them could face the wrath of a bad storm. The proud warriors of the north turned tail and fled like children before their first monster, suffering countless losses that grew progressively worse the longer the poor soldiers took to return. It went from the armies losing some of their numbers, to losing half, to only fractions of them returning.

Lancecain wasn’t the only one who took an interest in the situation. As more armies returned and the weather of the fort slowly but progressively worsened, many people stood ready to welcome the survivors, hoping for news. It was always the same. Unexpected storms that lasted longer than they should have and came with a frightening frequency. As he feared, the chaos wouldn’t end by itself.

Zachariah’s army was one of the last to arrive. Lancecain felt a twinge of sympathy as he saw the injured Moons slowly marching through the gate. If a single one of them had been spared injury, he couldn’t tell from the abundance of wounds, not all of them bandaged, and numerous limps.

Zach was an experienced commander, though nowhere close to the level of a senior, and he was a James son. He had enough bannermen and resources to command a large force. Lancecain would have guessed he left Victory with no less than a thousand soldiers. The force he saw returning couldn’t number more than a few hundred. Less than half of the army had returned. Victory hadn’t seen such terrible casualty rates in generations.

Not even the favored heir was spared from his army’s troubles. He marched at the front, his face dark as storm clouds. There were no cheers. No one sidled up beside him to offer words of comfort or ask questions. The crowd just watched silently as they made their way to the Bleak Moons’ building.

Lancecain tactfully gave him time, deciding to leave him be for at least a day before trying to look into his experience and probing the duke’s intentions. To his surprise, he didn’t have to wait nearly as long. He was making dinner for himself and his master when someone almost knocked down their front door with their heavy pounding.

Lancecain dropped his knife and opened it to find the heir apparent standing on his doorstep, sans armor but still covered in bandages. From his state, it was clear he hadn’t accepted healing, leaving the life-saving magic for more severe cases.

Lancecain couldn’t help feeling a bit of approval at the sight. It was what made Victory special. The son of the duke received the same training as the son of a servant and both were taught how to endure for the greater good.

“I need to talk to your master. Maybe you too.”

“You have impeccable timing, lord. I was just starting dinner.”

He stepped aside, letting Zach pass him before shutting the door firmly. He made a quick trip to the kitchen to grab cups and Herbanacle. Zach scowled as he saw the bottle but he didn’t refuse when Lancecain poured him a cup and guzzled it down, sighing deeply. “Ancestors. Wish I had some of this out there. Fuck, I wish had those crazy women too. Is it true they didn’t suffer a single loss? And they returned before anyone else. Alana’s luck is monstrous.”

Sir Polluck, in his usual place before the fireplace, huffed. “I hope you didn’t come here in the middle of the night to complain about your sister, lord.”

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“Do I look like I have that much free time? Trust me, it’s important.”

“I’ll finish the meal,” Lancecain said. Ten minutes later, he came out of the kitchen with three plates and another cup. He passed out the food and poured himself a drink. Once everyone was comfortable, Zachariah broached his business.

“I’m sure the two of you know the storms have come early. You also have to know they are getting worse. What you might have guessed is that this isn’t natural. Something up there is causing this by making the north warm.”

Polluck scoffed. “That’s lot of snow to melt.”

“And they’re doing it. We marched back through cold slush instead of snowbanks. Most miserable experience of my life.” He took a large gulp of his drink, face flushing. “Cold water seeping in my boots while ice smacks me in the face. And it’s only going to get worse. We have to do something about it. Father is assembling a scouting force. Their role is to push into the north and discover what’s causing this. Stopping it would be great but this is not the time to sacrifice more lives unless it’s absolutely necessary. He wants to know if you’ll volunteer.”

Polluck glanced at Lancecain from the corner of his eye. Having been his disciple for many years, the young knight could read that look easily. Lancecain had yet to learn everything his master could teach him but he knew enough to carry on his legacy. Even his signature spell was written down and hidden away in the house. Campaigns were always dangerous. With the worsening storms and the urgency to discover an unknown enemy, this mission was far worse. Polluck was thinking he might not return and Lancecain agreed.

“Of course I will.” Despite that, there was never any doubt the senior knight would accept. “Though I don’t recommend bringing along too many Duelists. If you need speed, the last thing you need to be worried about is several men suffering from mana strain.” Lancecain silently agreed. Duelists didn’t have the most endurance. They could handle a normal campaign fine but it sounded like this force would be sprinting day and night. A task the Moons would be better suited for.

“Father understands. What about you, Lance? Can you use your master’s prized spell yet?”

He shook his head. Even if he could cast it, his mana pool meant he could only activate it for less than a fraction of a second. He’d have to be right on top of a titan to use it and that was a dangerous place to be.

“Then you better sit this out. Not the time to be taking chances. We’re already risking enough, sending out a group with so little information and under a tight schedule. Three days to prepare for a second campaign. What a nightmare.”

“Three days?” Lancecain exclaimed. “That’s madness.”

“Normally, this is when I tell my disciple a knight of Victory is always ready to take on the hordes of the north, no matter the time or place…but this is indeed sudden. People need time to recover from their injuries and we need to gather supplies.”

“Ha! You think I don’t know this is mad? The world is mad. We don’t have time. If you all could leave tomorrow, Father would open the gate personally and throw you out, so to speak. As for supplies, you can forget it. We’ve got dry rations and you can have as many as you can carry without slowing down.”

Lancecain shook his head. “That’ll do them for a few days. A week, most.”

“It’d be great if this was over in a week. If it isn’t, they’ll have to chew burnt monster bits while running. This isn’t the time to talk about how hard life is, Lance. Do you know what melting snow means? Think about those mountains constantly looming over us. All the snow up there. All the monsters up there. I think everyone will agree that it’s better we suffer a little to figure out what’s going on before the birds get pissy about something disturbing their nests.”

The young knight frowned as the situation was put into perspective. Victory’s war against the northern hordes was only possible because the real threats, the Lords of Winter that were thought to make their homes atop the Bleak Peaks, stayed out of the fighting. He was sure his fellow knights would agree some discomfort during an impossible mission was worth it to keep the status quo. Especially after so many losses. There was also the matter of the estrazi and Khan’s betrayal.

Lancecain feared that three days wasn’t fast enough.