Inside the White Company camp, Tiberius and Jules leaned over the sand table, quietly moving wooden markers as they gamed out possible Volantene advance routes. Vito sprawled in a corner, chewing on a grass stalk while lazily wiping down his crossbow.
"Something's off. Very off…" Jules muttered, sliding a marker to a key crossing on the eastern bank of the Disputed River. "That Myrish general Mitridas is advancing far too easily!"
"Swordbreak Fort — this is one of the most critical crossings in the middle reaches of the Disputed River!" He tapped the map. "From here we can link up with our navy: one force pushing downriver, the other coming up from the estuary. We could roll up every Volantene outpost along the lower river one by one. Or we could just dig in here and force them to attack us — using the river for supply, we'd make them bleed for every inch. The initiative would be ours…"
"So Uncle, how did this Mitridas guy take such a vital crossing without breaking a sweat?" Tiberius asked, eyes narrowed at the latest frontline reports and the official "High Command Bulletin" from the Three Daughters.
"'Our forces, building on recent victories, continue to advance steadily and are now consolidating the entire eastern corridor from Swordbreak Fort north fifty miles to the southern tributary, the Bitter Weep River. Under the brilliant leadership of General Mitridas, the High Command is preparing the next phase of the offensive, aimed directly at the core Volantene strongholds in the Disputed Lands. All units are ordered to maintain high morale and stand ready to deliver the final blow. Victory is within sight! Glory belongs to every brave warrior of the Three Daughters! Our legions advance unopposed, unopposed…'" Tiberius read aloud, voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Don't believe a word of it, Tiberius," Vito drawled, still polishing his weapon. "Army reports are always sunshine and rainbows. Bad news gets buried. Good news gets shouted from the rooftops so even the lowest slave hears it. My advice? Either ignore them completely or treat them like a comedy collection."
[Holy shit, they're popping champagne before they've even won the war!] Tiberius thought.
The tent flap burst open and Lysaro rushed in, face flushed with a mix of excitement and unease.
"Tiberius! Great news!" he announced.
Before Tiberius could ask what it was, Lysaro's next words hit him like a warhammer.
"My father — Governor Lysandro — is coming to the front in person! He'll be here any day now!"
"What?!" Tiberius shot to his feet so fast a wooden cavalry marker clattered onto the sand table. His face darkened, teeth grinding as he fought to keep his voice level. "Lysaro, say that again? Your old man Lysandro… is coming to the front? Has he lost his mind sitting too long in his warm palace surrounded by slave girls and gold? This is the Disputed Lands, not some noble hunting party!"
Lysaro flinched at Tiberius's sudden fury and quickly raised his hands. "Wait, wait! It's not what you think! Father isn't coming to command the battle! He's here as a war envoy on behalf of the Lys Triarch Council — mainly to inspect the newly captured areas east of the Disputed River, boost morale, that sort of thing!"
He paused, then added what he clearly thought was the winning argument, lowering his voice with a hint of pride. "Oh, and he's bringing the newest, highest-priority supplies — weapons, armor, medicine, food — all top quality! And…"
He leaned in conspiratorially. "Father said this shipment will be given priority to the White Company and Lightning Company!"
[Oh, thank you so much,] Tiberius thought, nearly screaming inside. [Who the hell wants your supplies? I just want to lie low — why is that so damn hard?!]
After Lysaro left, Vito tossed his freshly cleaned crossbow aside and snorted in disgust.
"Newest supplies? Priority delivery?" He spat on the ground. "Sounds real nice, but I bet the frontline is starting to bleed and they suddenly remembered the 'elite' units they've been keeping in the rear. A little sugar to fatten us up before they drag us forward to die as cannon fodder!"
He shot Tiberius a sharp look. "Don't let the shiny toys blind you, kid. Lysandro showing up in person with 'gifts' at a time like this? He's definitely up to something. These governors and rich merchants are all the same — smoother talkers than Lysene opera singers!"
Tiberius hadn't even finished digesting Vito's warning when Lysaro came rushing back in, looking embarrassed and awkward.
"Tiberius… there's one more thing I forgot to mention." He rubbed his hands nervously, avoiding eye contact. "About my father's safety… he wants the Lightning Company to handle his personal escort for this inspection."
The bad feeling in Tiberius's chest exploded into full-blown rage. He clenched his jaw, forcing his voice to stay calm. "Just my Lightning Company? What about Uncle Jules's cavalry? The White Company's core veterans? And your father's own household guards? Wouldn't they make the escort stronger?"
Lysaro looked even more uncomfortable. He spread his hands helplessly. "Well… Gastor Ferrero raised the issue in the Triarch Council. He argued that Uncle Jules's White Company is one of the few intact, mobile field forces Lys still has in the Disputed Lands. They shouldn't be pulled away lightly — they need to stay ready to respond to any major Volantene push."
He lowered his voice. "In plain speak, they don't want Uncle Jules anywhere near my father."
"As for the household slaves… after watching that blood combat, Father decided their fighting ability is too low. He trusts the Lightning Company more…"
Tiberius felt the vein in his forehead throb. He took several deep breaths to keep from punching the table. His voice came out hoarse with barely contained fury. "First of all, the White Company is a mercenary outfit your father hired — not some city-funded unit! Because of these stupid political games, your father's safety on the Volantene frontline now rests entirely on my three-hundred-man Lightning Company? We're mostly infantry, for fuck's sake!"
"Second, even if those household slaves are useless, they're still loyal men willing to die for House Rogare! Don't tell me your family can't scrape together fifty guards who'd lay down their lives for him. What the hell is your father thinking?"
Lysaro looked miserable, but he had no power to change it. "I don't know… but right now the only people I can truly rely on are you and the Lightning Company. After all, the Lightning Company is technically my unit — even if we're cooperating with the White Company!" He emphasized that point.
"Although overall command still rests with Uncle Jules, the actual escort duty… well, it's been assigned to the Lightning Company."
Seeing Tiberius's face turn thunderous, Lysaro quickly added, "But don't worry! I won't let Father go anywhere near the real frontline. We'll stay at Swordbreak Fort for three or four days, he'll finish his inspection and morale visit for Triarch Bambarro, and then we'll head straight back!"
Tiberius stared at the equally helpless Lysaro and knew complaining was pointless. He gritted his teeth and started thinking about how to keep Lysandro alive — and more importantly, keep his own three hundred men alive — on a volatile frontline with nothing but politics and sabotage for company.
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