For me, there was no triumphal rest. Victory had bought us something far more precious: time. Time for the land to breathe, for the wounded to heal, for the barony to call back strength before the Duke's fury returned.
Our homeland bore the proud name of Valoria, a southern kingdom blessed and cursed by its geography. To the south, the kingdom's lifeline opened onto the Sea of Swords, a broad expanse of blue whose ports carried grain, wine, and silk into distant lands. To the west, Valoria was hemmed by a loose federation of fractious principalities—never unified, ever quarreling, but dangerous when stirred. To the east, lay the smaller kingdom of Edria, a proud but fragile state dwarfed by Valoria's armies.
And to the north—where our fate always turned—was the powerful realm of Kandaria. For a century, Kandaria and Valoria had clashed like wolves over the same pasture. The last war had been brutal, ending only with both kings dead upon their thrones, their nations bleeding into civil strife. Kandaria was now torn between rival claimants. So too was Valoria, though the Crown Prince Renard had already seized much of the court's loyalty and the armies' command otherwise, the prince might be facing betrayals on the first defeat or maybe even worse an assassination.
It was to this Crown Prince that our victory at the pass now mattered most.
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A Letter from the Capital
Five days after the battle, a royal courier arrived in our hall, bearing a scroll sealed with the golden lion of Valoria. My father broke the seal, and I read the words aloud, my heart pounding as the words echoed through the chamber:
To Baron Elias and his son, Aleric,
The Crown acknowledges with great honor the victory at the Stone Pass. By your courage and stratagem, the advance of the traitor Duke is broken, and Valoria's southern shield stands firm. You have preserved not only your barony but the strength of the realm itself. For this, gratitude flows from my hand to yours.
Reinforcements and coin are dispatched, to secure your lands and ease the burden of war. When peace is restored, your deeds shall not be forgotten, and fitting reward shall be given.
—Renard, King of Valoria
At the words fitting reward, I saw my father's lips tighten with pride, though he said nothing. For myself, the prince's praise burned in my chest like fire. This was not just survival. This was recognition.
Yet I knew words and coin alone could not save us from the next storm. I stood before my father and the council that same night.
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Orders for the Barony
"Father," I said, "this reprieve must be turned into strength. We must drill every recruit, not merely levy them with pitchforks. Form them into companies, train them daily, give them steel in their hands, not wood. When the reinforcements arrive, mix them among our men. They will learn discipline faster beside veterans."
At once, murmurs broke out around the table.
Old Ser Brandt, scarred from a dozen skirmishes, shook his head. "The boy asks too much. Farmers are not soldiers. A month's drill will not turn them into knights. We'll waste coin and patience both."
Steward Morien adjusted his spectacles, frowning. "And coin is what we have little of, even with the Prince's gift. Feeding hundreds of mouths drawn from the fields will empty our granaries faster than Baldome's raids ever could."
A younger knight, Ser Darius, leaned forward. "Aleric is bold, but he is not wrong. If we face five thousand again, pitchforks will not save us. Better poor soldiers than none."
Before the debate could swell, I pressed on. "And the villages—the Duke's riders will raid the countryside the moment they regroup. We cannot afford scattered folk to be butchered. Bring them within the walls of Harlond Keep. Build shelters if you must, use the prince's coin to feed them. Let the capital of our barony swell, and the Duke will find nothing but empty fields to burn."
Again, dissent rose.
"Impossible!" cried Morien. "Do you know how many huts and wagons that would require? The keep is already crowded. We'll breed plague faster than loyalty."
Ser Brandt grunted. "Abandon the villages, and we abandon our pride. We will look weak—rats hiding in stone."
I met their objections firmly. "Better rats alive in stone than corpses in ash. Empty villages can be rebuilt. Dead peasants cannot rise again. If the Duke finds nothing to pillage, his men will starve or turn back."
For a moment, the chamber rang with voices, some for me, some against. Then my father, Baron Elias, raised his hand, and silence fell. His eyes, sharp and grey as steel, lingered on me.
"You speak with more wisdom than many twice your age, my son," he said at last. "The Duke will strike again, and when he does, I would rather meet him with trained men behind strong walls than broken peasants in burned hovels. The council is ended. Aleric's plan will be carried out.He has proven his worth,"
Taking a breath he again says "Drilling the soliders is Darius's responsibility and accomodating the refugees is Mine."
Though Ser Brandt still muttered and Morien sighed heavily, the matter was settled. And in that moment, I felt the first true weight of command settle on my shoulders.
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March of the Prince
Beyond our barony, the kingdom itself stirred. In the capital, banners were raised, horns blown, and men gathered beneath the lion standard. Prince Renard himself prepared his march south, bringing with him seasoned knights and levies from loyal baronies. The Crown's armies would move, and with them, the weight of Valoria's might.
The game of succession was far from over. But for the first time since the war began, hope flickered like a flame in the dark.
And in the barony of Deryn, I knew: my role in this war had only begun.