The victory over the serpent-banner army was still fresh, yet the air in the capital was not filled with celebration. Instead, a quiet unease spread through the streets like smoke from a hidden fire. The people cheered Veer as he rode through the city gates, but their voices carried an undercurrent of worry. Word had traveled fast — another army was gathering beyond the hills, one far larger and more disciplined than the one just crushed in the storm.
Veer could feel the weight of those unseen eyes on him as he entered the palace. The grand hall, with its carved stone pillars and gold-inlaid floor patterns, was bathed in the warm glow of hundreds of oil lamps. Yet despite the light, there were shadows in the corners — not of objects, but of intentions.
The court was assembled, and the murmurs ceased as Veer stepped forward. On his left stood the war council: Bhairav, grim as ever, General Rudra with his arms crossed, and the scholar-priest Arivan, whose mind was as sharp as any blade. On his right, the noble houses — lords and ladies whose loyalty had been bought, won, or grudgingly accepted.
"Your Majesty," Lord Karun began, bowing slightly, "the scouts report an army approaching under the banner of the Sun Hawk. You know what this means."
Veer nodded slowly. "I do. The Sun Hawk banner belongs to King Virath of the Western Marches. And Virath has never marched without profit in mind."
A murmur of agreement and unease swept through the court. Virath was known for two things: ruthless expansion and the use of spies and diplomats as weapons sharper than any sword.
Bhairav stepped forward, his gravelly voice cutting through the whispers. "We crushed the serpent-banner army because they came at us with fury, not cunning. Virath is different. He will use politics before steel, and steel only when it will finish the job."
Lord Karun's gaze narrowed. "And politics means this court will be tested. We all know some among us will be tempted by Virath's gold."
The words hung heavy in the air. Several nobles shifted uncomfortably, their faces unreadable. Veer's eyes scanned them — not with suspicion, but with the steady calm of someone who knew trust must be earned, not assumed.
Later, in the war chamber, Veer studied a large map spread across the table. Red markers showed the alliance's current positions; black ones marked potential enemy movements. His fingers traced the passes where Virath's army could enter, each a knife poised at the kingdom's heart.
Arivan leaned in, his voice low. "Majesty, the danger is not just his army. Virath will send envoys — men with honeyed tongues and offers that sound like salvation. If even one of your allies believes peace with him is better than loyalty to you, the alliance will fracture."
Veer straightened. "Then we make sure no such thought takes root."
The opportunity to test that resolve came sooner than expected. The next evening, an envoy arrived from Virath's court. He was tall, dressed in flowing gold and crimson robes, his hair oiled and bound with a hawk-shaped clasp. His voice was smooth, like water flowing over polished stone.
"Great King Veer," he began, bowing low, "my master, the illustrious King Virath, sends his congratulations on your recent victory. He offers a gift — peace between our realms, sealed by a treaty of mutual prosperity."
The court listened intently. The envoy's words were skillfully crafted, every sentence designed to sound generous while hiding the hooks beneath.
"And what," Veer asked, "would this treaty require of us?"
"Only the ceding of the border fortresses along the Western Pass," the envoy replied smoothly, "and a modest annual tribute of grain and silver. In return, King Virath will ensure your lands remain untouched."
Gasps echoed in the hall. The border fortresses were the kingdom's shield — without them, the heartland would be exposed.
Veer's gaze sharpened. "You ask for the keys to my home in exchange for promising not to break in. Does Virath think I cannot see the trap in his gift?"
The envoy smiled faintly. "Majesty, I think you see it well. But ask yourself — is it better to hold the keys and face the storm, or give them away and enjoy the calm?"
Before Veer could respond, Bhairav stepped forward, hand on his sword. "We will take our chances with the storm."
The envoy's smile did not falter, but his eyes hardened. He bowed once more. "I will tell my king you have declined his generosity. But remember — storms do not always give warning before they strike."
With that, he left, his footsteps echoing in the silence.
The moment the envoy was gone, the court erupted into argument. Some lords insisted rejecting the offer was wise; others warned that refusing Virath outright might hasten war. Veer let them speak, then raised his hand for silence.
"We will not yield our strength for the promise of safety," he said firmly. "If Virath wishes to test us, we will show him the cost of underestimating this alliance."
That night, Veer stood on the balcony of his chambers, the moonlight glinting off his armor. Below, the city slept, unaware of how close danger had come to its gates. He thought of the envoy's words — and the truth within them. Storms did not always give warning.
But Veer had learned something in the last battles: it was not enough to wait for storms and react. Sometimes, a king had to ride into the storm himself and break it before it gathered strength.
"Prepare the riders," he told Bhairav the next morning. "We will not wait for Virath to come to us."
By the week's end, the alliance banners were once again on the move, but this time, the march had a different rhythm. It was not the desperate rush of defense, but the steady, relentless advance of those who intended to strike first. Veer knew the risks — riding into enemy territory would leave their own lands exposed. But a bold move could unsettle Virath, forcing him to rethink his strategy before he could even set it in motion.
As they rode west, the hills gave way to rocky passes. Scouts reported movement ahead — not the main force of Virath's army, but small detachments, likely testing the defenses. Veer ordered them to be shadowed but not engaged; he wanted information more than blood.
On the third night, Veer met with his commanders around a fire deep in the pass. The wind howled through the rocks, and the smell of snow was on the air.
"Virath will expect us to defend our walls," Veer said, "but we are here. That alone will force him to change his plan. The question is — will he send his army against us now, or try another envoy first?"
Bhairav chuckled darkly. "If he sends another envoy, I'll save him the trouble of walking back."
Arivan frowned. "Do not be so quick to kill messengers. Words, even false ones, can reveal more than swords."
Veer nodded thoughtfully. "Then we wait in the pass. The storm is coming, but this time, we'll be the ones to choose where it breaks."
Far to the west, in the torchlit halls of his own palace, King Virath received news of Veer's advance. He smiled — not in surprise, but in satisfaction.
"So," Virath murmured to his advisors, "the young king comes to me. Good. Let him think it was his idea."
The game had begun.