“To your right!” A man yelled in the darkness, shifting the group’s attention. They couldn’t see much; the moon's silvery light was shrouded by the forest canopy, but the yellow glow of their enemy’s eyes pierced through the darkness.

“Wargs,” Radic said, stumbling backward.

“Defend yourselves,” Callum shouted, his sword already in hand.

“Too many,” Erin said, raising her crossbow and firing toward the glowing eyes as they worked their way through the forest toward them.

Ignoring his peril, Callum engaged, stepping between the others and the incoming terror of the wargs.

It was barely perceivable under the low light, but Callum caught sight of the swinging, clawed hand and ducked under its path, riposting with an upward stab that caught the beast beneath the arm.

Roaring in agony, the warg stumbled back and swung with its left as Callum pushed forward. Even wounded, the beast was quick, and Callum barely managed to catch the strike with his vambrace, which sent him hurling from his feet to the ground.

“Callum!” Clay shouted as he lit one of the pots Radic had provided. A second warg was bearing down on Callum, who was now sprawled across the ground. Without a second thought, Clay threw the grenade, and flames exploded across the warg’s frame as it moved into range, turning it into a flaming fur torch and filling the forest with a warm light that crackled, burned, and dropped the persistent flames across the ground, igniting any patch of undergrowth not covered in snow.

The grenade only caught one of the beasts, but the light and heat sent several others reeling back in a mixture of fear and confusion, giving Callum a chance to get back to his feet before another attack came.

Roaring something unintelligible, Radic charged to Callum’s side, eyeing down the dozen wargs who glared across at them from only a few yards away.

“Come on then, get it!” Radic taunted.

As if awoken from their apprehension, three wargs lowered themselves and leaped into a charge.

The moment the wargs stepped over the flames left by the previous grenade, Radic threw his own at their feet, exploding around the wargs and setting the legs of two of them alight.

The third stepped into range but was distracted by the inferno burning around it, and it let its guard down. Callum lunged forward, stabbing into the beast’s abdomen.

The warg roared and swung back, throwing Callum away as it hit his plated armor, but Radic was only a second behind, swinging down on the beast’s head and opening a wound that ran from eye to jaw.

Hissing and shaking its head, the warg stumbled backward, forgetting about the flames at its back and setting itself ablaze.

“What out!” Erin cried as another warg leaped forward. Only yards from Radic and Callum, who were taken off guard. Releasing her bolt, Erin caught the leaping warg in its side and sent it sprawling across the ground. But it wasn’t dead, and it raised its head and sneered, changing direction and bounding toward Erin.

“Get back,” Clay shouted, drawing his sword and standing between Erin and the warg.

Clay’s eyes widened; the narrow, petite boy who barely looked his age of sixteen going on seventeen stared down the seven-foot beast of rippled muscle as it descended about him. It was over for him.

Thunder crackled and boomed through the forest, creating a shockwave that made even the stubborn flames of the Greek fire flicker, and a bolt of energy caught the lunging beast and flung it away as if it were a child’s toy.

The other wargs halted their assault on the two desperate boys and turned their attention to where the blast had come, just in time to spot the second as it flashed through the trees and smacked another warg off its feet, leaving it a charred, smoking mess.

With their attentions stolen by the lightning, the two boys recovered and charged the closest warg, attacking from either side of it and landing several blows before it could respond with flailed swipes of its claws.

Another warg turned to support its allies against the two boys, but another crackling burst of lightning slammed into its side, frying the warg where it stood.

A half dozen wargs still stood, and they understood who their real threat was; they charged toward where the blasts of lightning had erupted from but fell short as they met a small formation of spears and shields, catching the weapons’ sharp ends unprepared and recoiling as wounds opened up across their bodies.

Arrows and bolts followed, dotting the fur of the defenseless wargs. The beast’s thrashing bodies and unrelenting strength snapped several spears and ate dozens of bolts and arrows before they slowed, but they had been outplayed.

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Surrounded and cornered, the attacks continued until the last wargs fell to the ground, jerking their last breaths.

“Thank goodness you’re alive,” Mark said, parting his retinue’s formation and stepping over warg corpses as he walked toward his panting knights, whose eyes were wide as if they had just stared down the abyssal embrace of death and somehow survived.

“King Atlas,” Callum huffed, forcing his wobbling legs to straighten and drop into a bow, reminding the other three to do the same.

“Men, see that our brave knights get looked after,” Mark snapped his fingers. “Going up against wargs with nothing but a sword, impressive,” he added as he walked closer.

“We did what we had to,” Callum said.

“Few would have had the courage to stand against them at all, let alone outnumbered. All four of you have made me proud. However, I don’t remember asking you to carry out this quest. Being able to act autonomously is important for soldiers in senior positions, but this is going too far. The four of you will be reprimanded as a reminder of this. I hope you will learn your lesson.”

“Yes, my lord,” the four of them shouted.

“Good. Oh, and who are these?” Mark's brow curled as he watched the men from the temple stepping into the light from the torches and burning undergrowth.

“Priests and students from the Temple of Samuuda. Servants to the Wind God,” the old man leading the group bowed. “My lord.”

“The Wind God?” Mark tilted his head. “Right, I almost forgot your temple is in service to the Wind God, which means so is Venjimin.”

“Something the matter, my lord?” the old man said without raising his head and still bowing.

“No, but I think I have a job for you. Later. Now tell me, if you and your people were following my knights here, I assume that means you wish to join me?”

“Yes, if you would have us,” the man nodded whilst bowed.

“Good, you may rise. All of you are now citizens of Winterclaw. Make me proud.”

“Citizens?” Radic questioned and bowed his gaze as Mark’s met it. “Sorry, my lord. I didn’t mean to–”

“No. It’s fine,” Mark interrupted. “The decision was impromptu. But we’re no longer slaves to the Imperium,” he added, turning back to the priest. “Do you accept my offer?”

“We do. Of course we do,” he hurriedly nodded. “We would be proud to be citizens of your kingdom, great king.”

“Good,” Mark said and waved some of his soldiers over. “Tend to these men as well.”

“Yes, my lord!” an armored soldier saluted and hurried over to help the worn priest and their students.

**Imperator**

Returning to Winterclaw, Mark reunited the priests and their students with Venjimin. The small school and temple Venjimin had built with his help would barely fit the influx and would no doubt have people sleeping on the library floors and just about everywhere else.

Mark had decided that he would need to take the temple under his own control as soon as possible. Not only could they use it as a place of education for their people, but not everyone was going to fit in Winterclaw, especially not with the dwindling resources surrounding it.

But there was another issue he had identified. This would strengthen the Temple of Samuuda even more, and while he hadn’t outright asked the question yet, he assumed it was the same Wind God that the Wamandy Clan worshiped. In the immediate, this was a good thing. It gave him loyal followers that he would take back with him to the temple.

Since the wedding hadn’t been finalized, nor had the requests for gifts been made, Mark saw great benefit in having his own people with him to help understand the exchange and provide aid in the negotiations. After all, he wasn’t about to just sit back and let things be dedicated to him. He would make sure that the politics were all delicately placed for his and Winterclaw’s benefit.

However, the growing strength of the Wind God couldn’t be ignored. He had to be careful; if it became the unquestionably dominant religion in Winterclaw, then he wouldn’t be able to do much about it without looking like a zealot. He would need a delicate touch to maintain the appearance of secularism while also promoting the Lightning God. After all, that would be a momentous aspect of his power and influence, something he couldn’t allow to be sidelined.

This is getting out of hand. I can’t just sit back any longer. I have to reveal my true nature and start developing a new temple.

The keep was coming along nicely, though it was still a long way from completion. It was where he planned to base his religion, not just as a headquarters for his knights but as the temple itself. This had been considered from the ground up, with great care in building the structure to be imposing and dominating, with giant arches, high ceilings, and massive, pointed roofs that jutted out from the complex’s center and into the heavens.

Mark was confident in his plan, but it was taking too long, and he didn’t have the spare manpower to dedicate more resources toward it with the approaching war against the wargs.

He needed something else. Something he could use to build up his image and a name. Something that his people could rally around.

Simply coming out as the Lightning God’s avatar seemed reckless. It had the chance to alienate any Imperials who clung to their belief in the God-Lord, and without a means to show off his gifts, he would come across as looking like just another Imperator but without a suit. Would that be impressive enough to convince the people of his righteousness? Maybe some, but Mark wanted his reveal to be undeniable. Something that would be written down in great tomes and passed on for countless generations. That was the kind of statement he wanted to make. That was the kind of statement that would unite the people of the Frontier around him.

Mark searched his thoughts for answers. But it seemed as if it was staring him in the face. What better way to make a show of his big, flashy reveal than during a battle?

Where and how…

He wanted to rally his people around his image before he took on the bulk of his enemy. Mark still needed to grow his forces significantly if he hoped to defeat the warg’s main army, and creating an appropriate image for himself would aid in that task.

I need to split them up, and I need to do it before the wedding. Somehow, I have to lure an army of wargs into a confrontation that we can not just win but do it convincingly.

Mark glanced over his maps again, trying to figure out where best to stage his plan.

“I might need the help of Elowen and Venjimin to plan this… no, wait, not Venjimin,” Mark mouthed. The old man might be loyal to him as a king, but he was also loyal to his god. He didn’t want to share the details of his plan and why he wanted to execute it with anybody he didn’t consider a potential follower of the Lightning God.

“Elowen, the knights, Trayox, Reida, and Leonard. These will be my conspirators,” he mumbled to himself as he drew up his plans.

We will take a combination of Imperials and barbarians into battle, and I will show them that I am not just a king but the chosen of a god!