Despite what seemed like a successful call to arms, the moment the hall calmed down, the clans returned to bickering among themselves as a constant line of people approached the table where Mark and Yelinda sat.

Internally sighing, Mark nodded as two men spoke, barely hearing the words that they said.

“Please, do me this favor. See that the hunting grounds on the west bank of Arges River be recognized as Jamindi land, and you will have my clan warriors when you travel east.”

“Careful,” Dorkin said. He was an old, graying man who worked as an advisor to the Warmandy and Yelinda. “The hunting grounds around the Arges are coveted for the variety of animals found there. The three other clans that rely on those hunting grounds will not be happy if you recognize the Jamindi claim.”

Gods save me. What have I gotten myself into?

Mark ran his fingers through his hair as he sunk into his chair and leaned forward over the table. The requests were never-ending, and he hardly knew the first thing about this land.

“If the Jamindi were to cede their claims on the western forests and plains that extend beyond, then we might be able to accommodation this request. However, it will still require mediation with the neighboring clans,” Yelinda said.

The men whispered among themselves momentarily before returning their gazes to Mark and Yelinda. “This is an acceptable outcome,” one of them bowed. “Assuming the mediation goes smoothly, you will have our support when you march east.”

“Brilliant,” Yelinda smiled and excused the group.

“Thank you for that,” Mark sighed. “How do they expect me to know how to answer all these requests?”

“Most probably don’t. They all want to use this as an opportunity to get ahead of their rivals. That’s why we have to be cautious. A wrong move here, and we could start a civil war.”

Just what we need when with all the problems banging at our doorstep.

Before Mark could clear his mind, the elders of another clan shuffled up to make their plea.

**Mira**

Raising her hands over a wounded soldier, Mira’s hands began to glow a soothing blue, and the red inflammation surrounding the cut faded away, and seconds later, the wound itself began to close.

How… how is this possible?

The battle had been a decisive victory, but there had still been a decent number of wounded, and the foreign priest Altono had quickly been overwhelmed, resulting in an influx of patients flooding into Mira’s cabin.

It wasn’t the first time she had seen her unexpected powers; that happened a couple of weeks ago. Still, she could hardly believe her eyes whenever she saw her hands glow and the wounds closing.

She had kept her powers a secret until now, but rumors had already begun to circulate as she began healing their warriors. Not that she had much choice; she wasn’t about to restrict healing because she wanted to keep the secret to herself. The problem that ran back and forth through her thoughts was, why now?

The Star Goddess that the Star Maidens prayed to was as much a god as any, but her powers hadn’t been seen for hundreds of years, so what had Mira, just another ordinary Star Maiden, been given these powers?

Mira thought back to her days in the temple back within the Imperium. She had always taken her role as handed down to her as a divine blessing and worked her hardest to be the best Star Maiden she could be, but she knew many others who were far ahead of her in just about every way. So why had her goddess chosen her, and why now?

“Thank you, Star Maiden,” the man bowed and handed her several iron coins.

“Keep your money,” Mira said, pushing the man’s dirty hand away.

“No, please take it. I don’t know what I would have done without you. Me pa died from a wound like this. It wouldn’t heal, and a few weeks later, he developed a fever,” the man said, his gaze downturned. “When I saw how nasty and red my cut got, I feared me little ones would go through the same thing.”

“I understand,” Mira said, placing her hand on the man’s and closing the coins within his palm. “If you want to spend this coin, buy something for your little ones to celebrate.”

The man nodded soberly, “Thank you, Star Maiden. I won’t forget this.”

The moment the man stepped outside, another step in, accompanied by the freezing wind from outside.

“Please, take a seat,” Mira said, gesturing to the empty chair in front of her.

**Trolls**

Tath Gorak directed his warriors as they hauled stones into the keep. Timber scaffolding had gone up, and work was increasingly difficult as the construction climbed higher levels.

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The mutated human slaves had been placed directly under Tath Gorak’s command. He allowed them to work with relatively little oversight since the mason checked all of their work, ensuring its quality. They were in the middle of the Imperial District, with guards armed with crossbows stationed across its walls. Not to mention his own men, who would have little difficulty taking down an escaping mutant.

A couple of his warriors had expressed annoyance at being turned into builders and depraved a spot among the army that had defeated the mutants. Trolls weren’t suicidal or even necessarily bloodthirsty, but Tath Gorak’s people had left their ancestral home and come here under the promise of freeing their troll brethren from a false god and enslavement from the wargs and wanted to get a chance to bestow some vengeance against their enemies.

Tath Gorak himself, however, was happy to keep his tiny tribe alive. If that meant that his people were behind the frontline stacking stones for a fortress instead of fighting, then so be it. He wasn’t entirely convinced this so-called king had the ability to bring victory to the humans anyway, and if his tribe, the last of the free troll tribes, were destroyed, then the hopes of freeing his people would die with them.

**Trumus**

“Good, your people have done well,” Trumus said, eyeing the timber supports as he walked a rocky tunnel alongside several of his men.

“We estimate over five miles of caves beneath Winterclaw have already been dug,” the man beside him said. “So far, we have connected the brothel, The Black Harpy, and a couple of our guard houses to the tunnel network.”

“Good, good,” Trumus nodded as he ran his hand against the rock wall. “With this complete, we will be able to act across Winterclaw without worrying about who might be watching. Make sure the additional tunnels are completed before our great king finishes his keep. My informants tell me that he plans on expanding his little order of knights once it is complete.”

“Yes, boss. I’ll make sure it’s done.”

“Good. We can’t underestimate those knights. He has already mandated them to uphold the law, and I’m sure it won’t be long before they start sticking their nose in our business. Carry on, I must attend to other business,” Trumus waved and turned back in the direction they had walked.

Tumus, the boss of Winterclaw’s guard, had a never-ending stream of newly minted business owners to talk with, many of whom he had helped reach their positions. He had lent the money required to buy almost half the trade contracts and helped dozens buy up land for rigar farming, and managing these relationships was a never-ending ordeal. Not that it bothered Trumus; he was sticking fingers into just about everything that was happening across the little kingdom, and because of that, his power had grown substantially. Unfortunately, King Atlas had a habit of placing thorns on his side. Between his tribunes, his council, and now his knights, he kept introducing positions of power that habitually resisted his influence.

It’s going to be a long wait for their return, Trumus growled internally as he walked the tunnel.

Luckily, he had managed to sneak a loyal man into the King’s retinue heading to the West, but he doubted any news that came from that encounter would be good.

It was a difficult position to be in. The guard captain had once been more open to switching sides, but as Winterclaw’s power grew, so did his own, and he was now committed to its success. However, success would mean little if he didn’t find himself at or near the top of whatever it achieved.

When we meet again, things will be very different, traitors. His face bent into a scowl, and he remembered people from his own clan selling him out for their own benefit. Trumus had been forced to flee those bastards and everything he ever had. He was forced to become a refugee and beg to survive, but it paid off, and he managed to secure not just safety but power in this new kingdom; when the time came, he would use that power to get his vengeance.

**Mine**

The old ruins nearby the mine remained empty, as few dared to venture too far from the guards' safety. However, log cabins had started to go up around the mouth of the mine itself.

A few days within a mine wasn’t so bad, especially when the alternative was the icy embrace of the Frontier, but that got old quickly. Soon, the occupants were just happy to see the weak sunlight piercing through the thick cloud coverage. This doubled for people who were making their living off the land. At least the miners and the guards were at their place of work when in the mine, so there was a convenience to living within it, but those who didn’t quickly seek to move their accommodation outside of it.

Once the skeletons of cabins and tents appeared outside, the guards soon followed. They had only been tasked with guarding the mine itself, but sitting around doing basically nothing outside wasn’t much different from inside, especially when they had a fire to gather around. So, once the people living there offered iron coins or rabbits here and there in exchange, the guards quickly moved their operation.

The settlement forming around the mine was still tiny; only a single cabin had been finished, with another three on the way. A few spike barriers were set up to block the paths leading up to the mine. But that was about the extent of the development.

**Frostwind**

The former trading post had grown into a depressing state for a while, but as more commoners from Winterclaw moved into it and began harvesting the region, it had brightened up.

Now, there were sounds of families and clucking chickens to drown out the begrudged moaning of drunken sellswords.

Better yet, the battle had brought wealth into the outpost, as many men who participated in it had managed to get their hands on loot. This resulted in some working girls deciding to return to the trading post on their own accord.

However, compared to Winterclaw, the settlement was still rather bare, and many homes remained empty since the Imperials fled—a stark difference to Winterlcaw, where homes were overcrowded, and tents and other makeshift accommodations filled just about everywhere they could be shoved into. Furthermore, the sense of victory they had experienced quickly waned, and now people were once again anxious had the pending storm, with most of those who moved to Frostwind being older or younger people who moved without families. For those with families, safety was first and foremost, and everyone believed the best place to find that was Winterclaw itself.

**The Battlefield**

Tired eyes glared across the body-strewn fields. Spears and arrows protruded from the icy blanket that covered the dead, and the ruins of war wagons and other weapons of war were scattered in pieces.

The scouts ran along the edges of the battlegrounds, eyeing their enemy. There was no secret among the federation of clans that they would have long ago lost this war if not for the Imperials.

The flying ships came swooping down whenever the wargs were close to breaking through and bombarded them with their lightning. They had even lost a few of their impressive weapons to priests and giants while supporting the clans, but barbarian people were not foolish enough to think that the Imperials did it for them. Everyone was aware that They were being used, but they had little option but to keep fighting.

It was one thing to blast an enemy’s weak point with lightning as it was deeply engaged in combat and broke its spirit. But if the clans turned their backs and fled, they would be cut down and massacred.

So they fought. Beaten down and barely hanging on, they kept going. Fighting back the hordes despite knowing that another enemy sat back, waiting and ready.

But what choice did they have?