The wind howled off the eastern coast, sweeping black ash over the battlements of Eldhaven.
Below, the Flame Guard drilled in perfect rhythm, steel flashing under the gray sky. Above them, Uthred stood on the ramparts with Jorlan, watching the sea.
"They'll come by water first," Uthred said. "The Empire always begins with the tide."
Jorlan nodded. "Then we light the cliffs."
Already, beacon towers were being prepared. Flame-slicked oil was loaded into barrels. Signal hawks waited in cages to carry warnings across the coast.
War had come. Not in a sudden scream of horns—but in the slow build of thunder.
At dawn two days later, a horn cried out from the north coast.
Uthred was already mounted before the echo faded.
Vale rode beside him, cloaked in flame-colored armor. Her pregnancy slowed her slightly, but her will made up for it tenfold. She had appointed three captains to command in her stead if needed—but she would not be absent from the opening of this war.
They reached Emberwatch Bay by nightfall. Smoke hung heavy in the air.
What they found was a village half-burned, and not by Eldhame's fire.
The Empire had come and gone—sailing fast ships, striking without warning. Houses were torched, livestock taken, and the local watch tower collapsed into ash.
Jorlan found tracks near the cliffside.
"They took prisoners," he said. "To send a message."
Uthred didn't speak. He simply lit the beacon tower with his own torch.
Let the Empire know—they were seen.
Back in Eldhaven, Vale took command of the southern defenses. She directed engineers to reinforce the outer harbors with black-iron barricades. Trained archers lined the stone walls day and night.
She personally drilled the women of the outer districts—those too old or too stubborn to flee.
"I won't be remembered as the queen who hid behind her husband," she told the court. "This city was mine before I wore a crown."
Word spread like wildfire. Even former rebels came to swear fealty at her gates.
Uthred watched her from the battlements one morning as she led a sword drill. He turned to Maera.
"She'll outlive us all," he said.
Maera smiled. "She already has."
The first direct assault came at dawn one week later.
Three Dust Empire warships broke formation and sailed into Varnan Cove, a narrow inlet northeast of the capital. But they didn't expect the Flame Guard's counter-tactic: oil nets submerged just beneath the waves.
As the enemy ships crossed into the trap, archers loosed flame arrows.
The water itself ignited.
Two ships burned in minutes.
The third tried to turn—but a squadron of cliff archers peppered the deck with flaming bolts. The ship split in half before it could retreat.
One survivor washed ashore.
Uthred had him dragged to the square.
"Tell your Emperor," he said, "that his war begins and ends in fire."
Then he lit the pyre.
But victory was not without cost.
The third beacon tower—Stormglass Point—fell during the battle. Uthred rode to the wreckage himself. All ten defenders were dead, their bodies pierced with black iron bolts fired from Dust Empire siege bows.
And among the dead was Branoc—the woodsman who had once taught Uthred to hunt in exile.
Uthred knelt beside his body.
He placed his father's coin in the man's hand.
"You gave me the woods," he whispered. "I give you peace."
That night, the sky over Eldhaven burned with a thousand torches as a vigil was held for the fallen.
Three nights after the vigil, fire erupted in the granary district.
The blaze spread fast—too fast to be accident.
Jorlan and a dozen Flame Guards fought to contain it while Maera coordinated evacuations. Vale, already weakened from the stress, collapsed while overseeing triage.
Uthred carried her himself back to the keep.
A healer examined her.
"She needs rest. The child is strong. But her heart is not steel."
Uthred watched over her as she slept, gripping her hand.
That same night, a captured arsonist confessed:
"I lit the fires. For the Empire. The Queen must not bear a successor."
Uthred convened his war council.
Maera, grim-faced, placed two maps before him.
"One shows our next move—reinforce the eastern ridge and cut off the sea paths."
The second showed the palace.
"If you stay at her side, others will lead."
Jorlan said nothing.
Uthred stood, silent.
Then he pushed both maps aside.
"We move the war to them. But I do not leave her."
Maera raised an eyebrow. "Then who leads the front?"
Uthred turned to the shadowed archway.
From it stepped General Theron—a legendary warrior, long thought lost.
"I do," Theron said.
And with that, the war marched east.