The army was the Marauders, the elite fighters of the fearsome usurper king of Gladius, Randwulf the Conqueror. Originally cobbled together from the countless bandit groups infesting the Crescent Mountains, the Marauders were refined over the years following the conquest of Gladius. Organized and outfitted as a conventional army, Randwulf's harsh training ensured that they were no less formidable. If anything, the fusion of Titian and Gladian elements made the new generation of Marauders even more powerful than its forebears.

At the head of the main formation rode Randwulf himself. His pride allowed for nothing more than a vanguard detachment of tenscore to march before him. The Wolf of Cygnus had lost little of his vitality over the past twenty years, still every bit as fierce and hungry for power. More than anything, however, he was driven to the East by the prophecy of his downfall. The warlock Shadowblight had predicted his rise to power decades ago and the King had little reason to doubt the ill oracle that followed his triumph.

His dreams were haunted from that day onward. The Eagle in the East, the key to his destruction, was always there, its talons seeking his blood. If Randwulf did not stop it, the Eagle would rob him of everything he had fought to gain.

Biding his time for twenty years was one of the hardest things he had to do in his entire life. His preparations for the invasion of Gladius paled in comparison, but it was a necessary evil. He had to firmly cement his grip on his new kingdom, lest it fall out of his hands in his absence. Also, he had a greater purpose in coming to Byrn, but to achieve it he first needed to perfect his powers. The preparations were finally complete and his Marauders drew ever closer to their destination. Nothing would stop him now.

He raised his hand to summon Cadmus Martial, the commander of the Marauders, who rode close to the King's side. The former cavalry officer had been looking forward to the campaign, eager to strike at Gladius' longtime enemy. Like Randwulf, age had little effect on him save the greying of his hair. He was still an able swordsman and thirsted for battle.

Before Cadmus could respond, a cloaked figure appeared before the King, hovering just above the ground and gliding backwards to keep pace with his horse. All of the warlock's apprentices dressed essentially the same, but this one allowed himself a few trappings to distinguish himself, fineries his ascetic master scorned. Although the hood masked his face as he bowed before the King, Randwulf caught a trace of a serpentine grin cross the apprentice's mouth.

Randwulf frowned. "From now on, you will approach me like a man, not a wraith."

The King did not like the warlock or his apprentices to begin with, but this one was the worst. He was proud to the point of arrogance, showing only enough decorum to avoid an encounter with the lash. He was treacherous and obsessive, a dangerous combination worsened by a tenuous grip on sanity. Permitting his continued survival carried considerable risks, but his skills and knowledge were useful. As long as he could be kept in his place, it was too much of a waste to get rid of him.

The apprentice bowed low, spreading his arms in a theatric display. "My loyalty is to you, sire, and to my master, naturally." He glanced over to Cadmus. "I am not the first traitor to be accepted into your ranks. Am I, Lord Cadmus?"

Randwulf raised a hand and to stay the fiery patrician's wrath.

The apprentice bowed again, once to Randwulf and then to Cadmus. "I am afraid His Lordship misunderstood me," he said, his voice slick as oil. "I only meant to say that Your Majesty has been aided in the past by men of vision, men who wanted to be on the right side of history."

The apprentice made a sweeping gesture for dramatic flair, saying, "More than two hundred years have passed since the last time Byrnans and Gladians crossed swords, but Byrn has always had to be vigilant to preserve its borders. With the Ardovans to the north and the Nemerites to the south, the threat of invasion is a constant worry.

"Twelve watchposts line the border. Individually, the detachments at each watchpost amount to very little, but they can signal the other watchposts and spread the alarm throughout the entire kingdom in no time at all."

The apprentice did not even flinch at the prospect of his homeland's ruin. "As Your Majesty wishes, of course. The only real obstacle is the city of Dragova, near the castle. The bulk of army is stationed there and unless they have fallen upon hard times recently, they outnumber the Marauders by a fair margin."

The apprentice held a hand to his chest in feigned surprise. "My, there is no hiding from a fellow heir of the Eight Stars, is there? Yes, sire, it seems the lesson of Kudret the Invader went unheeded, but surely it plays to your advantage."

Randwulf made a dismissive wave of his hand. "Yes, but enough of that. What else can you tell me of the kingdom's defenses?"

The apprentice lowered his voice conspiratorially, more to annoy Cadmus than anything else. "Actually, sire, there is another unconventional threat to this campaign."

The King was dubious of how valuable this story would be, but he did not plan to dismiss it out of hand. If nothing else, it would kill some time. He nodded for the apprentice to proceed.

The apprentice bowed, clearly pleased at the indulgence. "Well, sire, it all started ten years ago..."