In a single day, Shieldhaven was transformed from a quaint highland court to a bristling fortress. On the Mhor’s orders, the castle was readied for any attack. The guard was doubled at all posts, the mighty gates were closed and the portcullis lowered, heavy wooden shutters were fitted to the higher windows, and bolts, arrows, stones, and oil were laid by the embrasures and murder holes. More than half of Shieldhaven’s lords and courtiers were gone. Some had simply left for safer lands, but most of those missing had returned to their manors and estates to raise the soldiers they owed the Mhor in time of war. Between Mhoried’s mobilization and the abrupt departure of the court, Shieldhaven seemed empty and hostile.

The Mhor strode along the battlements, examining the castle’s preparations. In truth, he’d left the defense of Shieldhaven itself to his lieutenants and captains. They knew everything there was to know about defending a castle, and the Mhor trusted them implicitly. As far as he could tell, they had overlooked nothing. The only question remaining was how many troops he’d leave to hold the fortress.

At one of the minor turrets on the eastern wall, Mhor Daeric found Tiery waiting for him, bundled in a heavy cloak against the unnaturally cold weather. Beside him stood a tall, lean man with a square face and a short, iron-gray beard – Lord Baesil Ceried, the commander of Mhoried’s armies. Baesil held the rank of count, which meant he belonged to the highest tier of nobility subject to the Mhor’s rule. Each count held one of Mhoried’s ten provinces in the Mhor’s name. Many nobles accumulated titles and honorary positions to go with their hereditary lands, but Baesil had earned the right to lead Mhoried’s army through years of campaigning. While Mhor Daeric was uncertain of several of his counts, he considered Baesil Ceried and his county of Byrnnor to be unshakable.

Baesil was armored in light half-plate, and wore a black, knee-length surcoat over his arms, embroidered with the falcon of Mhoried. Unlike many high officers, Baesil didn’t pretend to any great skill at hand-to-hand fighting. He often said that he fought and won with his wits, not his sword. Both men bowed as the Mhor approached. “Good day, my lord,” said Tiery.

“Gentlemen,” the Mhor replied. “There is news?”

Baesil nodded, his face sour. “Ill news, my lord Mhor. The northlands are worse off than we had hoped. We’ve just received word that Markazor’s hordes forced a crossing of the upper Maesil in Marloer’s Gap, scattering Lord Ghaele’s forces. Kraith has sent every goblin from the Sielwode to the Stonecrowns against us.”

The Mhor kept his face calm, but his stomach turned. This was almost the worst news imaginable. Dealing with Ghoere’s army would have been difficult enough, but if Markazor had launched an invasion at the same time… for a moment, he teetered somewhere between rage, panic, and terror. He gripped the battlements and looked out over the deceptively peaceful countryside. “I may have worse news than that,” he said after a moment. “It seems that Dhalsiel, Maesilar, and Balteruine refuse to answer the muster.”

“Traitorous dogs,” Baesil growled. “Maesilar and Balteruine I expected, but what can Dhalsiel gain from sitting on his arse? Markazor’s a stone’s throw from his gates.”

“He claims that he must keep his soldiers near at hand to guard his lands.” Daeric glanced at Baesil. “Can we stand against Kraith and Tuorel without our full strength? Do we have a chance?”

“It’s bad, my lord,” Baesil said softly. “Ghoere and Markazor have caught us between the hammer and the anvil. This is no coincidence – they planned this as a joint attack. And I suspect Tuorel’s been dealing with Count Maesilar for months, trying to find his price.”

“ Trust Tuorel to bargain with goblins,” added Tiery wearily.

“We can’t fight the full strength of Markazor and Ghoere at the same time,” the Mhor said flatly. “One or the other, we could meet and stand against. Baesil? What’s your opinion?”

The general thought for a long time, weighing his words.

“You’ll have to let the northlands burn,” he finally said.

“Ghoere’s army is the greater threat, and they menace the lands that we can’t afford to lose. If we defeat Tuorel, Maesilar might waver, since he won’t want to face you without his master’s help. Balteruine will follow where Maesilar leads.

Besides, we’ve already got forces responding to the fall of Riumache.

Calling them back to send them north will take too much time.”

“At least they’re at opposite ends of the country,” Tiery observed.

“We won’t have to worry about facing both armies at the same time.”

The Mhor rubbed his hands over his face and drew in a long breath. The bitter air stung his nose and throat, but the pain served to sharpen his attention. He hadn’t slept since the reports of Ghoere’s invasion had first arrived, a day and a half ago. Tuorel had taken Riumache by crossing the Maesil more quickly than any army in history. “How’d the Maesil freeze?” he wondered aloud. “I’ve seen ice floes in plenty of winters, but nothing an army could risk.” Neither of his advisors could offer any insight.

“Your orders, my lord?” Baesil prompted.

“March south and engage Tuorel,” the Mhor said. “Drive him back across the Maesil if you can, but I’ll settle for bottling up his army in Riumache. Also, detach one company of Knights Guardian for duty in the north. I want them to lead the levies the highlanders raise against the goblins. If we have to give ground to Kraith to gain time, do it – I just want his advance slowed, so that the people in his path have a chance to flee their homes and muster their militias.”

“Very well,” Baesil said, bowing. “I’ll send the orders immediately.”

He started to leave, and then paused. “I’ll set out at first light tomorrow, my lord. I need to be with the army going against Ghoere.“

“Do so. I will follow in a day.” The Mhor watched Baesil stride off across the wall, helmet tucked under his arm. The general was already calling for his captains and lieutenants and shouting orders. Daeric turned to Tiery and took him by the arm. “Come, walk with me a moment,” he said. They passed through the turret and crossed another section of battlements.

When they were safely out of earshot on the open battlements, he stopped and said, “Tiery, I’ll need help to defeat this invasion. Baesil will try his best, but we’re too badly outnumbered. Arrange for couriers to be sent to Alamie, Diemed, and Roesone.”

“Will any of them help us?”

The Mhor sighed. “Daen Roesone’s not strong enough to risk war with Ghoere, not unless Diemed guarantees his borders, and I don’t think Vandiel will do that. Alamie is obsessed with Tuornen, and Diemed won’t want to act alone against Ghoere. I doubt any of them will come to our aid.”

“At least you have a claim of kinship with Vandiel of Diemed. He may be willing to support you.”

“We didn’t help him against Roesone.” Mhor Daeric ran his fingers through his hair. “Also, send for Bannier. His magic may speed our messages or slow our enemies.”

“Very well, my lord,” Tiery said. He hesitated, watching the Mhor. “You are worried about Gaelin?”

Daeric spared him a single hard look. “Someone seems to be trying to kill my sons. Of course I’m worried.”

“He had sense enough to send word immediately,” Tiery said. “Do you think that Lady Tenarien was able to dispatch any of her men to meet him before she was invested by Ghoere’s army?”

The Mhor snorted. “Who knows? She may have received the message in time, or it may have been too late.”

Sensing his anger, Tiery nodded. “I’ll see to those messages.”

He turned and hurried away, leaning on a cane.

The Mhor watched him leave, his mind already churning with the next questions he’d have to address. Before he could make any decisions, a wave of exhaustion washed over him.