A handful of men gathered on the docks, hands raised to shield their eyes as they peered out to sea. "Big ships," said one with a fishing net slung over his shoulder. "Warships."

  "Can you make out what banners they're flying?" asked a younger fisherman beside him, sporting a trim little mustache. "Goria preserve us—please don't let them be pirates!"

  "Pirates, my arse." The net-man bundled up his mesh. "What pirate could ever sail a warship that size? That's a navy, you understand? The sort that wages war at sea like we trawl for fish."

  Word spread swiftly; more and more people congregated on the docks. They gossiped endlessly about the fleet drawing ever closer across the water, nearly forgetting their proper work. Eventually they simply sat along the pier's edge, speculating whether the warships belonged to the Seven Seas Kingdoms or to Godma. "Why aren't you lot putting out to sea!?" A stout woman passed by, hands planted firmly on her hips, voice thick with reproach. "Put out for what?" a young man shot back with a sneer. "To go tour that warship?" The woman stormed off, cursing under her breath.

  "There's a boat coming in!" Someone's voice suddenly cut through the crowd's murmur, discordant and sharp, and every nerve drew taut. One could see the longship had once known gentler days—intricate carvings adorned her hull, crafting her into a work of art. Having endured the great battle, she now carried an air of ruin, shields hanging haphazardly along both flanks. Some twenty-odd souls were aboard, half of them Red Swan Isle shortbowmen. Those dozen-odd shortbows were enough to chase more than half the fishermen clear off the docks.

  "We are the navy of Shahani." The man who appeared to be an envoy swung himself over the longship's side; his boots crunching into the beach sand. "We've come to reinforce Cynthia and drive back those Godman savages."

  Though his Common Tongue was passable, not a single fisherman dared respond. "There's no need for alarm, gentlemen." He made placating gestures with his hands. "We're your allies." Still, no one spoke.

  The envoy cursed quietly and considered his options. An inadvertent glance back revealed every archer on his longship with bow fully drawn, as if preparing to loose a volley at any moment. "Gods above." He waved his hands frantically. "I beg you, all of you—lower your bows." At last, the fishermen dared to breathe again.

  Roughly two quarters of an hour later, the warship Narwhal berthed at Bellita Port. The village headman had summoned nearly every villager to the harbor in welcome, but Prince Wally Laren Ctiton of Shahani had no inclination for pleasantries. The prince, normally vain and fond of grand spectacles, merely offered a perfunctory wave alongside the Princess Consort to the assembled crowd before hastening with his adjutant, Henris Weber Ian, to the headman's house at all speed. The speech he'd planned to deliver at the harbor to the people of Bellita came to naught; that parchment, penned in the Princess Consort's elegant hand, was likely already digesting in the bellies of two whales. Siv had wanted to accompany them as well, but between Lydia's injuries and the prince's urging, she abandoned the notion.

  The village headman's house in Bellita reeked of mildew, a fact that seemed to neither surprise nor particularly trouble the prince, though he wrinkled his nose from time to time. He couldn't guess the age of the old man propped up in bed before him, but one thing was certain: time had long since abandoned him. After a fit of coughing, the headman hastily wiped at the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand. "I'm old, my body's failing me—couldn't make it to the docks to greet you myself." His voice was faint, barely above a whisper, near death. "For that, I apologize, Your Highness."

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  Prince Wally waved his hands hastily, fearing that guilt might steal the old man's last breath. "You needn't give it another thought." His tone was respectful. "Time is precious, so let us speak plainly. I trust you already know why our navy has come here?"

  "I know, I know." The headman nodded. "You're bringing reinforcements for Queen Claire. Good men, it seems—so the people of the Western Seas haven't forgotten us after all!"

  (It is I who have not forgotten you—not my subjects, nor that obstinate old fossil.) "We would never forget Cynthia, of course." He smiled, though whether the old man could catch that detail remained uncertain. "My wife, the Princess Consort of Shahani, is none other than the younger sister of Cynthia's Queen, Claire Grace."

  "Yes, yes!" The old headman reached for a cup of some restorative beverage, but his arm shook with such violence—a tremor to rival an earthquake—that nearly all of it splashed onto the floor. "I remember that too. When Princess Siv sailed to wed in your island kingdom, she departed from our very own Bellita. I kissed her hand myself; I blessed her at the docks!"

  "We're grateful for your blessing, headman. She's doing quite well now." Henris leaned against the window, toying idly with a dagger, allowing himself a barely perceptible smile. The headman nodded while setting down his cup. "Let us return to the matter at hand."

  "I know what you wish to ask, Your Highness. From here to Cynthia, there are essentially only two routes to choose from." Henris Weber Ian tucked away his dagger and crossed his arms. "We're listening."

  "The first route departs south from the village, circles wide around Kulen Mountain, passes through the South Wymar Forest, and eventually reaches Cynthia. This path is straightforward—I doubt I need elaborate further. It's simply a great detour. Everyone knows the advantage: no one wants any involvement whatsoever with that accursed mountain. The disadvantage is the distance—it takes considerable time."

  "How long, roughly?" It was Henris who spoke.

  "Even without encountering trouble, half a month at minimum."

  "Tell us about the second route." The prince's impatience was evident.

  "The second route is equally obvious, if I may say so." Wally found he rather disliked the headman's condescending manner of speaking. "You depart directly east from the village, traverse Kulen Mountain itself, pass through West Wymar, and finally reach Cynthia. The drawback is plain as day—precious few can guarantee crossing that mountain without losing their lives. But the advantage is equally tempting: the time is nearly halved. Which is to say, in less than a week you could reach Cynthia. Provided, naturally, that you can make it past Kulen Mountain."

  Adjutant Henris gave a slight nod, apparently weighing their options. "I've heard from more than one source just how terrifying that accursed mountain truly is," Wally said. "But I must reach Cynthia in the shortest time possible. I wonder if you remember—several days ago at dawn, a tremendous sound came from Cynthia's direction. It seemed like a collision of some kind, yet also carried the roar of some beast."

  "I remember, my prince. It woke me from an old man's pleasant dream."

  (Some pleasant dream indeed.) "I don't know what actually happened, but Cynthia appears to be facing catastrophe. Therefore, I haven't much time."

  "Cynthia hasn't much time either." The headman sighed. "I don't know what occurred that dawn, but according to reports, Cynthia's walls have already been breached."

  "The walls!?" Prince Wally recoiled in shock. "That wall that seals Cynthia tight as an iron barrel—breached!?"

  "So I'm told."

  "Bloody hell." Wally Laren Ctiton brought his fist down hard on the chair's armrest. "Those Godman bastards actually pulled it off. Henris, we cannot delay another moment... we depart tomorrow."

  "Entirely agreed, my prince."