Empress Rhiannon took another sip of her wine, relishing the bubbly liquid as it ran across her tongue and down her throat. The expensive beverage came from prized vineyards in southern Midae, a rare make that only grew on the slopes of the King's Pass, the border between Midae and Avalon. There was a strange natural magic to the two peaks that formed the pass and allowed certain fruits to grow with altered taste.

Rhiannon sucked the flavour from her tongue and inhaled deeply as she set the glass down on the table. She was seated in one of her several escape rooms, dubbed so for they were the only rooms that no one was allowed in but herself. No servants could enter, unless directly ordered to.

There was nothing truly special about the rooms. They were lavishly furnished with comfortable and expensive furniture from every corner of Faeryum but the only purpose they served were to allow the empress a place of total privacy where she could relax in peace. Her allies and subjects knew to never disturb her if she was ever found in one of those rooms and she had often made them wait for hours to gauge the gravity of their need. More often than not, they left and returned later, leaving her in peace.

An allied general was awaiting her audience but she was unconcerned. She knew what he wanted to speak about and she had no interest in it. She was the empress of Noyr and no Swordenish general was going to change her plans.

Rhiannon grabbed the bottle of Royal Peak Flow and filled her glass, watching the red, blood-like fluid slosh about before settling into a steadily rising mass. When it touched the edge of the glass and formed a slight dome, bubbles away from spilling over, she tipped the bottle the other way, smiling pleasantly.

Her expression changed when hard pounding was heard—and felt—coming down the hall. Her wine spilled over the sides, making a small mess, and she twisted her mouth in anger. How dare she be disturbed!

There was a brief commotion beyond the door to her escape room before it suddenly flew open and in walked a tall man dressed in mixed plate, chainmail, and leather armour. Over his shoulders were two, furry wolf pelts and strapped across his back was a vicious-looking double-axe. At his belt was sheathed a broadsword with a hilt of dragon bone. The battle-scarred, red-bearded man stomped over to her, his blue eyes icy, and stabbed a finger at her face as she stood to meet him.

"You will not deny me audience, empress," he snarled in a husky, gruff voice. "Now is no time for your games!"

She fought with all her might to stop herself from killing the man outright. The only reason she didn't was because of who he was. He was the great-grandson of a mighty hero of Swordenish legend, and, as it was now, he already surpassed the feats of bravery and strength of his ancestor. He had been a king before the Ice Queen conquered his kingdom, with terrible loss on both sides. Surviving the war, and seeking vengeance, the Ice Queen of that time, the mother of the present one, had made him her general. Winning her battles and expanding Sworden's borders had given him more power and wealth than he had ever laid claim to as king. It was with his leadership that Sworden had been able to sail across the Frozen Strait and conquer the western territories of Frenis, several decades ago. They now flew the battle axe and mammoth skull of Sworden and were an excellent base of operations for the current war in Frenis.

"It is a pleasure to see you, General Beowulf," she replied stiffly.

"Don't toy with me, woman. I care not for your lies. My queen has ordered me to come here and ask why it is only Sworden's men and women that shed their blood in this war?"

"Whatever do you speak of?" Rhiannon asked, still struggling to keep the man alive.

"Swordenish forces besiege New Alsar as we speak and it will not be long before Frenis's capital falls to us. Swordenish forces raid along the Frenisian coast, spreading fear and disorder into the countryside. Swordenish vessels reinforce your pathetic excuse of a navy in keeping those Frenisian ports blockaded. And it is Swordenish armies that have broken into Nordara!"

This gave the empress pause. She furrowed her brow and eyed the man directly. "Now it is you who must not spread lies, general."

General Beowulf grinned toothily. "No lies, empress. Two mornings ago, as I entered this city, I received an owl from my great queen. She led our armies through the mountain passes, the ones said to be impassable, and into the open country of Nordara. Their city of Crystalis will be under siege in a matter of days and old King Reinlach will be forced to surrender. No aid will come to him from Frenis. He is alone and trapped and his beloved, so-called unconquerable kingdom will belong to The Frozen Queen Svala and Sworden."

"Whatever became of that legion I sent you?" she asked curiously.

Beowulf spat on her carpeted ground and Rhiannon pretended, with difficulty, that she didn't see it. "Your foul-smelling dwarven miners took their time in making those tunnels under the mountains. It was a good idea, I give you that, but it was taking far too long for my great queen. She is young, brash, and impatient, but she is capable, empress—quite capable."

Rhiannon curled her lip slightly. Was he trying to make her jealous? "How did she do it? How did she do what no other general or ruler could do?"

"She used the gifts the gods gave her, empress. She froze everything. She froze the guard towers, the forts, the siege engines, the archers, the soldiers, those damned pikemen, the spellcasters—everything! She nearly died in doing so but it allowed my men to cut them all to pieces and march through."

Rhiannon found herself impressed. "Even her mother could not have managed that. Little Svala is indeed, as you say, capable."

"I already knew this. Now, if you please, answer my damned question."

"You would do best to remember who you speak to, general!"

"You're a right powerful, dragon-shifting empress with centuries of experience behind you and magic more potent than I could ever imagine but right now I don't give a troll's tusk about any of that. I care about my men and my country and my queen. I want to know why we are doing all the dying while your legions, other than that useless one you sent me, are doing nothing but populating brothels, growing fat, and sipping on foreign wine! You started this war; now fight it!!"

"I have my plans and strategies in place, general. I will not alter them."

Beowulf growled, his face reddening. "Do those plans include hundreds of Swordenish fighting men and women dying?"

"Yes," Rhiannon replied nonchalantly with a light shrug.

The general's eyes bulged and his whole body vibrated. Rhiannon raised an eyebrow in interest and entertained herself in watching him restrain his building rage. She smirked and said, "Truly, general, you need not worry about anything. I have everything under control."

Beowulf's wide eyes narrowed menacingly. "Sworden is an allied nation, empress, not one of your vassals or provinces. Perhaps you'd best remember that."

Rhiannon chuckled. "Or what, general? Sworden will break the alliance and fight against me? Your nation would stand alone against my legions and the combined armies of King Charming and Reinlach. You wouldn't last a month."

"Nordara was said to be impregnable," Beowulf reminded.

"King Siegfried Reinlach was foolish to employ so few fire mages. He trusted in his pikes and cannons and they failed him. Your queen, able as she is, would not have succeeded had fire been launched against her."

To her surprise, Beowulf smiled. "You could be wrong, empress. My queen has been doing nothing but training and fire now affects her little."

Rhiannon rolled her eyes. She was growing bored with the discussion and wanted to return to her wine. "Send her my regards, will you? There is nothing left for us to talk about. I have my plans, they will not change, and you will simply have to swallow your hubris and do what you do best—fight."

"You can tell her yourself, your highness," Beowulf said through a grin. "She will be here in five days. She will have questions of her own to ask, and she will not be as gentle as I was."

Rhiannon sighed in boredom. "Very well then, general. I will speak to her then. Now, please, leave."

The scarred general turned and left without a word or bow, slamming the door behind him.

Rhiannon settled into her chair and inhaled deeply.

Children, the lot of them, she thought in annoyance. There was no patience in the world. War meant battles and battles meant death. Someone like the mighty Beowulf should understand that, no? Her legions were not on the move for there was no one to move against. Sailing forces to Sauradia, while it was in such a state of disarray, would only aid the sultan in uniting it. As long as Sauradia was in turmoil, it was no harm to her. This gave her legions time to train, upgrade their arms, and memorize the extensive drills and battle strategies they were forced to learn. This ensured that even the lowest-ranked soldier of the legion could, if demanded to, direct others of the battle plan. It demanded utter discipline of the highest extent and Rhiannon had viewed enough wars in her lifetime to know that discipline and skill, above all, is what won battles. If the soldiers were unwavering and talented in battle, forces ten times their size could not defeat them. It is what had given her an empire.

Well, that and her dragon fire.

Beowulf had been right about something, however, she soon realized. Sitting idly by as Avalon reinforced itself without worry was not something she enjoyed the thought of. That detestable King Arthur stood alone against her but, outnumbered as he was, he alone could make even the most cowardly man fight to the death.

Discipline and skill.

If she did not attack him, or at the very least send petty raids to disrupt order and burn supplies, she could find herself caught between two mighty forces. General Beowulf's warning rang clearly in her ear.

What if Sworden turned on her? Would Queen Svala allow such a thing?

"Who am I kidding?" the empress muttered. "Of course she would." The queen was yet in her teens and desired power and respect. Single-handedly breaking into Nordara was no easy feat and she would be high on pride when she arrived in five days. She may even demand that Noyran legions be sent out to fight, as if she had the authority to do so. Foolish enough to believe herself invincible, she might threaten to break the alliance if things continued as they did.

Rhiannon sighed and rubbed her brows with one hand. Children, she thought. So much like children... Despite bearing a deep hatred for him, she nearly wished Merlin was there to speak with her. At least he, with his own centuries of life, would understand how frustrating it was to deal with such impatient allies.

Memories of Merlin sprang in her mind, few pleasant, many of them unpleasant, and they calmed her somewhat. She delved into them deeper and it was not long before images of King Arthur materialized and her calm was washed away in a torrent of hate. Her hands clenched into fists as she imagined the man's face and that accursed sword of his.

"I believe it is time we meet again," she whispered to the empty room before downing her wine.