The Chronicles of a Scalebound Sage: Wandmaker Vol.2

Interlude WM [96.5] Princess's Gambit Part 1

The war for the Diredain Forest had shifted; the druids attack had pushed the wendigo forces from important holding in the northeast. However when reinforcements had gone to back up the wendigo defensive line the druids retreated and cut off the supporting force while launching a surprise offensive in the heart of the Ragnarsson Domain. The integrity of Yuhia was in a precarious situation with the druids now deeper in wendigo territory and marching on the capital of Ragnarsson Noble Family.

The voices of the war council echoed through the chamber, like the clash of blades on a battlefield. The room was dim, lit only by a roaring hearth and a handful of guttering lanterns suspended from iron chains above the central table. Maps and figures sprawled across the surface, their shadows dancing wildly with each flicker of the flames. The air was thick with tension, not from the gravity of the battle being fought miles to the south, but from the palpable disdain emanating from those seated around the table.

Representatives from each of the Royal Factions had come together in the middle of a power play to bring as much glory as possible to their family and to the Royal they represented. The room was divided into those that backed the First Princess Sigrun, First Prince Arnar and Fourth Prince Baldur the later of whom had been gaining more and more support.

"This position is untenable," General Sten Torvaldsson muttered, stabbing a meaty finger at the southern flank of the map. "The druids are pushing harder than we anticipated, and our supply lines are stretched to their breaking point. Reinforcements won't arrive in time. We need to fall back to Hylstad Keep."

Sten was the leader of Forth Prince Baldur's faction and a large nighthand wendigo with a long military record full of achievement and accolades. In any other room he would be the de facto military leader without reproach but here he was but one of many such people.

"And hand them another victory?" scoffed a wiry woman in blackened steel, General Solveig Brantendottir. "The druids are emboldened enough without gifting them the high ground. We hold the line until reinforcements arrive. If they die in the process, so be it—soldiers are replaceable."

Ingrid's eyes moved between the faces of the generals, her expression unreadable. She knew General Solveig personally, as she was the representative of the First Prince Arnar's faction and a general of Salstar forces. A person hand picked for the job by none other than Ingrid herself. There was no comradery now however and Solveig looked at Ingrid as if she were a traitor that should be executed.

Ingrid rolled her eyes. These were supposed to be the best strategists to defend the nation's interests in this conflict yet here they bickered like merchant wives haggling over spoiled goods. The royal succession had turned the unified front against the druids into an ever divided factions of squabbling idiots not fit for the role. It was a bitter irony that she, Ingrid, once hailed as the Sword of Salstar, was relegated to sitting silently at this table, treated as a decoration, a trophy of the First Princess's triumph in a bid for support and power in the succession war for the throne.

Ingrid knew she was now a pawn for the First Princess to move. A failure of the Salstars that now moved against the interest of her Husband Lord Ulfar. In a way she was a traitor because of her weakness. Her gaze flicked briefly to the large iron doors, her thoughts already slipping beyond this room, to the battlefield where real decisions were made. The din of the generals' voices receded into a dull hum, the drumming of her fingers against the armrest of her chair the only sound she could focus on.

"Ingrid." The sharp tone dragged her attention back to the room. Solveig was staring at her, lips curled in a thin smile that didn't reach her cold eyes. "What do you think, Lady Sword of Salstar? Or do you only speak when ordered?"

There was malice in every word she spoke. A ripple of laughter moved through the room, subtle but cutting. Ingrid's jaw tightened, her teeth grinding together as she forced herself to remain composed.