The forts fell in less than a day.

  Frennich’s forces were scaling the walls of the first structure when Taradira arrived. This wasn’t ideal, but within their plan. If resistance was poor, the captain was to take what he could. The base’s commander had some odd plan of trying to lure them inside before cutting and running to one of the other forts. Frennich let the enemy push through, ordering his men to allow them to pass. Taradira’s forces cut them off.

  The second and third forts were within sight of the first, and wasted no time in abandoning their fortifications, the soldiers retreating to the west. The plan, apparently, was that if faced with an overwhelming force like Taradira’s, the first position was to buy time for the rest to retreat. Cutting across the lake and ending up between them threw this plan off. Being surrounded immediately, the first fort did not last long, and the commander made to fall back, only to be intercepted. The other commanders fled, seeing the defensive line falling apart. One of the two groups was intercepted and surrendered after a short fight. Taradira called off a chase on the third group, letting them flee.

  Taradira captured the former occupants of the second two positions bloodlessly, a mere four hundred men expected to buy time, slow down an advance. Another effect of the political posturing - committing too many resources into what was supposed to be Ettsgras territory would have encouraged war sooner and made Celngi out to be the aggressors. Ettsgras’ fast advance would leave no doubt who started the war.

  Sitting in the central room of the middle fort, Taradira looked to Frennich. The commander was smiling, his blond hair plastered to his head. “A successful conquest, General.”

  “We took back the king’s own territory. Conquest comes next.”

  The man nodded, his enthusiasm not tempered in the slightest. “Revenge, sending a message, creating a buffer, all of that.”

  “I hope they don’t start planning their own revenge.” Thoms said from his seat at the table, finally speaking up. The short man had, reliably, stayed at Taradira’s side the whole time. She hadn’t personally fought, so he maintained that position easily.

  “Humans do hold grudges for longer than they live, but it’s not our job to fix the politics. That’s for the nobles to sort out after we win. We’re just soldiers.” Frennich nodded at this, while Thoms frowned but remained silent. “Give a signal to move out at midnight. We have to keep advancing ahead of the main force, start putting pressure on the border. Proper fortifications with larger garrisons are ahead of us. This will be the real battle. We have to break into their territory.”

  “Yes, General.” The two men responded simultaneously.

  “Have you heard anything about what’s happening behind enemy lines?”

  Thoms raised an eyebrow in response to her question. On horseback, he was taller than her, but only by a head. “The mercenaries and the forest people? Nothing about them, no. Did hear about some delays in supplies. The informants we have deeper in the territory haven’t reported much on those kinds of details, and the ones in the towns near the border only know the outcomes. I’d guess there’s been some success, but there’s no idea what’s happening right now.”

  “Could be dead, then.”

  “Hatharen? Dead?”

  “Those were not soldiers, Captain. Those were more comparable to a frontier militia.”

  “Aren’t they your people all the same?”

  Taradira sighed. “I’d like to think they are better than my people, in some ways.”

  Thoms fell silent. She didn’t feel like explaining it, and he had long learned not to pry. She was thankful for that loyalty.

  When the group appeared at the camp, the first thing she wanted to do was send them away. Sending them north would have been a disaster. In her cowardice, she pushed them on to Tullund, who now led them into danger.

  It was time the humans learned what Hatharen could do. For hundreds of years, it was just Taradira. Her feats could be written off as being unique to her, and some of it was. Nenhal could not replicate what Taradira had done. But there was a different kind of horror she could bring. Linara had inspired mercenaries to fight in her name even as she was entirely absent, and Ferene…Taradira didn’t know entirely what to make of Ferene. The woman was already leaving a path of chaos in her wake. Their short meeting gave Taradira an impression of the same kind of drive the half-blood’s father possessed, but putting that towards fighting instead of his strange obsession with medicine made her far more dangerous.

  Her thoughts were interrupted by a lone rider approaching, coming opposite the direction of the march. “General, a scout returned. Enemy has gathered their forces outside of Naymoor. They have around three thousand soldiers, from a quick count.”

  At a hand gesture from her, the man moved his horse to fall in beside her, opposite of Thoms. “Tell me about the city itself.” She asked, not changing her stride. The men around her were clearly paying attention as they marched.

  “They’ve constructed some spotting towers and siege engines, but they have no walls. They have defensive trenches and blockades to stop cavalry.”

  Internally, Taradira frowned. She didn’t let it show on her face, careful to keep herself composed in front of her men.

  If they had constructed walls, it would have been simple to leave part of her advance force outside, laying a mock siege while waiting for the other half of Ettsgras’ army to arrive. The main group would have the equipment to deal with an entrenched enemy and Taradira could force her way forward. However, an open army, ready to move, was a different story. They weren’t trapped by their own walls, and could move to engage her if she moved past, falling back to their defenses if she chased. They were far more likely to attack any smaller force she left behind, and she could not allow three thousand soldiers to be at her back uncontested.

  Fighting here was bad for both sides. Celngi had no little chance of winning with their numbers against hers if she brought her full army to bear, and sacrificing a force this size to delay the advance after their first line fell would put them significantly down on manpower. It was a very costly way for them to force Taradira into making one of two choices. With her forces already arrayed here, going around was out of the question. She’d have to commit to the fight. She could do the expected thing of waiting for the rest of her army to arrive, or she could fight at half strength with her advanced force made up of cavalry and light infantry.

  Celngi didn’t know what Taradira herself could do in this situation.

  “They have picked the battleground for the war to truly start. We will crush them at Naymoor.”

  What Ferene found on the road did not match her expectations. A massive line of wagons, men, and horses marched steadily westward, without being on guard, without showing a notable degree of haste. She slowed her own run, jogging up alongside the wagons at the back, spread across the road, taking up the whole width. As Ferene came into her view, the driver of the closest wagon looked over at her. “Straggler?” The woman asked, before her eyes locked on Ferene’s ears.

  “Where’s Taradira? The general.”

  Her question was met with a long stare, then finally a blink, followed by a shrug. “Have to ask the captain. Fancy hat up ahead.”

  Ferene increased her pace, running past more wagons, men walking, and some on horseback. Quite a few of them stared at her, but none made a move to stop her. They didn’t seem to be on edge, unlike the soldiers from Wellent. They didn’t even seem to be soldiers, at least until she found the captain with the fancy hat. A tall, spindly man with a triangular hat stood out from the crowd, riding a horse in the center of the road. The men near him wore proper uniforms, in the dark grays of Ettsgras. They noticed her, and Ferene quickly found three armed men positioning themselves between her and the captain, though they made no move to draw their blades.

  “I’m looking for Taradira.” Ferene said, slowing her pace to match theirs. One of them shouted at the captain, who turned, looking down at her. He frowned, then turned to one of the uniformed men.

  “Take her to Arnov. She isn’t my problem.”

  Still walking, the man snapped a salute to the captain, then turned to Ferene. “Follow me, please.” He said, and started jogging ahead. Wordlessly, she followed him.

  As Ferene followed the soldier forward, passing more and more wagons, she saw the caravan transform. The number of the people they passed wearing uniforms and carrying weapons increased, the number of wagons decreased, instead replaced with more horses, not all of which had riders. A single uniformed soldier would walk, leading several horses on a line. Ferene passed many such arrangements until her guide moved into the procession, running up alongside a massive wagon pulled by six horses. The vehicle was half again as wide as the others on the road, open-topped with only a wall separating the bed from the driver. Ferene’s guide stepped up onto a board attached to the outside, talking with one of the men inside. She followed, getting a view into the vehicle. A large table occupied most of the space inside, with two men seated on one side and one man on the other. The table seemed to be mounted on something that stabilized it, the map laying on top of it steady despite the rocking of the vehicle.

  Alone on his end of the table, a bearded man spoke up. “I recognize that one. She got rid of Captain Alref.”

  “This is her? Hop in, then.” A younger-looking man on the other end pointed to the empty spot near the first speaker. “Welcome to the command post, you can join our strategy meeting.”

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  Ferene did as told, swinging over the wall of the wagon and sitting down on the stood mounted to the floor. There were bundles of some kind under her feet, the wagon being used to transport cargo in addition to the map table. “I’m looking for Taradira.”

  “She should be around here.” The bearded man reached out, tapping a point on the map. “Crossing the border soon, based on reports.”

  “I can run to catch up to her. Is it along this road?”

  “We’re here right now.” The younger man who invited her inside said, tapping another place on the map. “No direct road through this area, so you’ll want to cut across the countryside. Move southeast to find the road again, and you’ll get to Naymoor a day after her.”

  Ferene glanced at where he pointed, then stood up, leaning over the side of the wagon and pointing forward. “That way?”

  The younger of the three looked at her in confusion, then started pointing at the map again. The man beside him, silent until now, grabbed his hand and pulled it away. “Captain Coryan, I believe we are dealing with someone not familiar with abstract navigation.”

  The bearded man, next to Ferene, laughed. “We owe you, girl. Can you ride a horse?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll send you on ahead with our next messenger. Taradira will know what to do with you. She’ll be glad to see you, I’m sure. In the meantime, take a break.”

  Ferene fell silent, and was quickly forgotten as the three men - all of them captains, she quickly realized - discussed things over their map while the wagon slowly plodded along.

  “Naymoor has one and a half thousand people, from estimates. That’s a quarter of our goal.” Captain Coryan said, pointing. “If we follow the original invasion plan, striking deep into enemy territory, we don’t need to go further than Galbr to meet the king’s demands.”

  The bearded man, Captain Arnov, shook his head. “Rather than forcing our way to their capital, or destroying key cities to cripple an ongoing war effort, the way the map changes when we add cities will affect a lot. We have to support and defend our new territory. Taking Galbr would mean we end up with a long, narrow, curved piece of land, surrounded by imperial territory. It makes more sense to move laterally and create a wide front.”

  “It might look better on a map, but if we are capturing towns, we should prioritize the most important ones. Barakin is twice the size of Naymoor. We can take that, and then everything in between. It’ll be-“

  “Barakin is a mining city. Taking that would encourage a counterattack. It’s too important for them to let us take.”

  “We should just push to Galbr anyway, show them they can’t stop us, put our demands forward and open a negotiation. The king can send someone to argue with them about what they’ll give us. We should run a military campaign and leave drawing borders up to the people who actually want to do that. We already have fallback options if we can’t make that push.”

  The other two fell silent at the young man’s outburst, and Ferene spoke up.

  “If you win, will you go north?”

  All three looked at her, confusion on their faces. “What?”

  “Olentor and Wellent. They think you will go there if you win.”

  “A woman wearing the colors of Wellent sits in a meeting with three of Ettsgras’ captains and asks them for their invasion plans of the north.” Captain Gallen said, smiling.

  “If the king tells us to march north, we’ll march north.” Arnov shrugged.

  “If you lose, will Celngi march north?”

  “We won’t lose.”

  Ferene fell silent. There was so much confidence in that reply. That kind of confidence had gotten Cerise and Wellent’s general killed, but she didn’t say that.

  “Naymoor used to be a small village, just six houses and a well, on the frontier. Now it’s the largest city on the official border of two nations, home to over a thousand people, with twice that number camped outside, ready to fight to defend it.”

  Frennich, standing behind Taradira, spoke up. “How long ago was it that small? I don’t remember hearing about any recent growth.”

  “A hundred and eighty years ago. I passed near it once, around then.”

  “A hundre-right. Right.” Frennich cut off his complaint, and Thoms, at Taradira’s side as always, chuckled. “They are prepared for a fight, regardless.”

  The three of them looked across the bumpy, uneven plain at the city, surrounded by tents and makeshift fortifications. Small barricade segments making a maze to approach, backed by several wooden towers.

  “We outnumber them, but they have a defensive advantage, and we lack heavy armor. What’s the plan, General?”

  “Divide our forces into three parts, and move to approach on three fronts, in a half-encirclement. Make it look like we’re getting ready for an extended siege, waiting for our reinforcements to show up. It’s the best conventional strategy, and it’s what they want us to do.”

  “And what are we really going to do?” Frennich asked.

  “Take up position, wait six hours, then attack on all fronts at once. I want to see how they react. If a weakness in their defense shows, there’s a possibility we break them immediately.”

  “And if one doesn’t?”

  Taradira didn’t take her eyes off the city. “Then it might take a day. No more than that. Thoms, find Gelvain. I want him to take charge of the third force, to the south. Frennich will take the north. You’ll be in charge of the center. Equalize our numbers across all three zones.”

  “Where you will be?” Frennich asked.

  Putting the city to her back, she turned to him. “I’ll be fighting wherever I’m needed.”

  Tall as he was, he still had to look up at her. “Leading from the front?”

  She nodded and walked past him, into the mass of the army that was waiting for her. Her army - a part of it, at least. Even more support trailed a few days behind. “It’s not fair for me to not be putting my life on the line. You need to be ready for me to move at a moment’s notice, and stay in control no matter where I am.”

  In comparison to the horses she rode in the north, the mount she borrowed from Ettsgras plodded along the road. The beast was still easily faster than her over a long distance, but even someone with Ferene’s lack of experience could feel the difference in speed. Her horse followed the one in front of it, the messenger leading the way to Taradira.

  The messenger was a girl - the first Ferene noticed in the massive train of people - just barely passed the point of adulthood. The two of them rode in silence, Ferene watching the area around her and seeing very little of interest. The land was flat and wet, and when they left the road it got even wetter.

  “There.”

  Ferene turned her head forward, and saw people spread out across a plain. Four separate camps seemed to have formed - one far away, and the other three closer, all of them filled with motion. The messenger girl grabbed at the short pole strapped to the side of her horse, which Ferene thought was some kind of lance or spear. Holding it in one hand, the girl lifted it upwards, pointing the tip towards the sky. A piece of cloth unfurled, and the two of them rode into one of the three closer camps as men started shouting at them.

  The form of Taradira was unmistakable. She towered over the humans around her, a pillar of black armor. As the girl dismounted, Ferene followed suit, waiting. Taradira had a short discussion with the messenger before pointing her in another direction. The girl set off immediately, and the general turned her gaze to Ferene.

  “You again.”

  Unsure how to respond, Ferene stayed silent, looking up at Taradira. There was so much she wanted to say, wanted to ask, but the situation was wrong. It looked like a battle was about to start.

  “Are you here to fight?” Taradira asked. Ferene nodded. “Do you think you can keep up with me?” Ferene nodded again. “Then do your best.” With that, Taradira turned and started running. Ferene launched into a run of her own, easily catching up with the general as she ran to the edge of the camp.

  Coming to a stop beside her, Ferene found herself looking at a strange sight. Hundreds of soldiers spread out before her, orderly lines of archers launching arrows blindly forward, tightly packed groups of men carrying shields and spears. A crash sounded not far from her, and the ground burst into flames. Someone yelled about fire, someone else started screaming. She looked to Taradira, and saw the massive woman standing up straight, towering over everyone around her, drawing her sword. The curved, black metal was another wrongness. Every other weapon was silver, straight, and pointed. Good human steel. The Hatharen blade was none of that. The humans fought against each other, an invading force and a defending force, but Ferene knew the real invader, the thing that should not be here, that did not belong, was Taradira. A smile spread across her face, and she looked directly at Ferene.

  “Attack!” The general roared.

  All around her, the cry was repeated. Drawing her sword, Ferene found herself yelling, leaping forward even before Taradira made her move. Again, she was running, charging forward, the orderly ranks parting before her, until they didn't, and she found the spears and shields pointing at her rather than away from her.

  In one wide swing, she battered weapons away, the soldiers shying away from the brutality of her charge, but only for a moment. As her momentum carried her forward, she found herself surrounded. Wildly, she attacked all around her, an enemy in every direction. She barely thought, was almost unaware of what was happening, her body reacting to what she saw with her eyes before her mind even registered it. Every fight in her past came back to her as she killed without hesitation, eliminating threats as they appeared.

  Someone stabbed her in the arm. She spun, slashing the man with her sword, only to stumble as she tried to move away from another attack in another direction. Just as fast as it had begun, the trance she was in collapsed, and she found herself filled with dread. This wasn't her war. Who were these soldiers, and what had they done to deserve death? She looked at the one closest to her, a woman that had dropped her spear and was holding a short sword in both hands, raising it upwards to deliver a killing blow. She looked just as terrified as Ferene felt.

  That fearful expression was still on her face as her head tumbled to the ground. Taradira stepped over the falling corpse of the woman, slapping the hilt of her sword against Ferene's collarbone.

  “You keep fighting! You don't stop until they surrender or die!” Taradira yelled down at her, before storming off, battering her way through another group of soldiers.

  Looking around, Ferene saw death all around her. How many of the soldiers on the ground were ones she put there, and how many were from Taradira? Their own forces moved forward, following the path of destruction the General left in her wake. Ferene turned, and ran after her.

  Before her, Taradira lashed out, cutting down soldier after soldier with her sword before the flow changed direction, the opposing force moving away from her, falling back, trying to reform a wall with spears and shields. With her own shield, Taradira blocked spear thrusts, calmly defending herself as the wall turned into a semicircle, moving to surround her.

  Their attention was too focused on Taradira, they weren't ready for Ferene. Not using her sword, she crashed into the nearest soldier, on one end of the still incomplete circle, toppling him over into the next in line. Some turned to her, and Taradira sprung into action, bashing her shield against an enemy's, forcing him back as she swung her sword through the opening. The slaughter resumed, humans falling to the ground around the two of them.

  Taradira slammed her shoulder into Ferene's, pushing her down. Falling into a crouch, she looked up, only to have her view blocked, the massive Hatharen standing over her, holding her shield over her head as a volley of arrows fell on the two of them. Shafts sunk point-first into the ground around her, but the pause lasted barely a moment before it was over, and Taradira was running forward again. Pulling herself to her feet, Ferene followed in her wake. It was just like Taradira said, she wouldn't stop until they surrendered or died.