Duncan rode his horse at a walk, Seavig, Anvin and Arthfael beside him, their men close behind, and glanced back and saw with satisfaction that they were all one force now. Seavig’s men, hundreds strong, had merged seamlessly with his own. Their force numbered well over a thousand men now, far more than Duncan had ever expected to see when he had departed the gates of Volis; indeed, he had not even expected to survive this long.

They marched south and east, trekking for hours into the new day, following Seavig’s guidance through his province as they headed away from Esephus and toward the Lake of Ire. On the march since dawn, late afternoon clouds now hung heavy in the sky, none of the men, even after a long’s night battle, willing to stop. They were all, Duncan could sense, filled with a sense of purpose, one that had not swept across Escalon since the invasion. Something special hung in the air, something Escalon had lacked for years, and which Duncan had thought he would never see again: hope.

Duncan felt a sense of optimism welling within him, one he had not felt since his early days as a warrior. His army had doubled in size already, villagers along the way all too eager to join him, and momentum, he felt, was building of its own accord. Volis was free; Argos was free; Esephus was free. Three of the strongholds of the northeast were now back in the hands of Escalon, and it was all happening so fast, so unexpected, like a midnight tide. The Pandesian Empire still had no idea. And that meant that Duncan still had time. If he could manage to just sweep through Escalon fast enough, maybe, just maybe, he could oust Pandesia before they could rally, before the greater Pandesia caught wind. If he could drive them all the way back through the Southern Gate, from there he was sure he could use Escalon’s natural terrain to hold chokepoints and keep Escalon free once again.

The key to all of this, Duncan knew, would be rallying the strongholds, and the warlords who controlled them. With the weak king deposed and the capital in Pandesian hands, what remained of free Escalon lay in scattered strongholds, each, like his, with its own force, its own commander. And in order to convince these men to follow, Duncan, he knew, would have to give them a show of strength: he would have to take the capital. And in order to take Andros, he would need the men who controlled the heights around it: the warriors of Kos.