With the fall of Turogontoli, the royal host found itself without an enemy left to strike. For the first time in months, the clash of steel and roar of fire had given way to an uneasy quiet.
Days would have to pass before they marched again, this time not to storm walls much to the soldier's glee, but to the princely council, where words would decide what swords could not agree on.
For Alpheo, the battlefield had yielded all it could. Every prize worth taking by blood had been taken. What remained was not for generals, but a simple game of politics.
And yet, had he been left undisturbed, his vision would have stretched further. In truth, his original design was far grander than this sudden pause. He had intended to drive his banners all the way to the Lampianais River, to lock its crossings in Yarzat's grip and choke the flow of food and trade into Sorza's lands.
