Months had passed since the siege, and the wounds of the war were slowly beginning to heal. Damon's hand, though still stiff and bandaged, was mending, and the walls of the Vexin fortress were being rebuilt with a renewed sense of purpose. The people of the borderlands, now a unified force, were not just a collection of clans; they were a single, battle-hardened people. The alliance between Damon, Isolde, and Arion was stronger than ever, a testament to the shared hardship they had endured.
In the midst of this hard-won peace, a new ally arrived. Lord Eran, a powerful lord from a neighboring kingdom with his own grievances against the King, rode into the fortress with a force of 5,000 well-trained troops. He was not a pure friend, but a pragmatic one, a man who saw Damon's fight as a chance to weaken his own rival. His men, a sea of fresh armor and new banners, were a massive boost to the Vexin's morale.
In the war council tent, Damon, Isolde, Arion, and Lord Eran sat around a large table, a map of the borderlands spread between them. The mood was one of quiet optimism. Eran, a man with a cold, calculating gaze, spoke with the confidence of a man who held a strong hand.
"The King's army is a broken thing," Eran said, his voice a low rumble. "We will use their arrogance against them. We will meet them in the field, and with our combined strength, we will crush them."
"Your troops are a great asset, my Lord," Damon replied, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "But the Queen's strategy is still a problem. We have won battles, but the war of attrition has taken its toll. Our supplies are low, and our people are tired."
Isolde, ever the strategist, spoke with her usual clear-eyed logic. "Our victories have come at a great cost. The King's forces, though defeated, are not a broken army. They have simply learned to fight a different kind of war. We must be prepared for a new, larger army, a force that will not be so easily defeated."
The conversation continued for hours, a careful, measured discussion of tactics, logistics, and the long-term goals of their new alliance. The Vexin, with their new ally, were no longer just a defensive force. They were an army, a powerful, confident faction that was ready to take the fight to the King. The alliance was more than just a military pact; it was a political statement, a symbol of defiance that would echo throughout the kingdom.
But their newfound confidence was shattered by the arrival of a grim-faced scout. He ran into the tent, his face pale with fear, and threw a piece of parchment down on the table. It was a royal decree, a message from the King to his lords, announcing a new, terrible force.
"My Lords," the scout stammered, his voice filled with a desperate terror. "The King... the King has hired them. Ten thousand mercenaries. The Dogs of War. They are gathering on the borderlands. They are a force of unimaginable size and brutality."
The room fell silent, the cheerful atmosphere of the war council now replaced with a cold dread. Ten thousand mercenaries. A force that was not loyal to the King, but to gold. A force that would not fight with honor, but with a brutal, unthinking violence. They had won the battle, but the war had just taken a new, more terrible turn. The question of what to do next hung in the air, a heavy, silent shroud.