Faywyn.

As the sun peeked o'er the horizon, casting its warming glow upon the green bailey, Levi entered the grand hall of the Keep. Already, his councillors were assembled 'round a sturdy oaken table at its heart. Upon taking his place at the head, opposite his sire, he sensed a slight easing of tension in the chamber. "Good morrow, all," he greeted. A chorus of greetings and acknowledgements met his words.

Following in his wake, Sarah, the Keep's housekeeper, set a stack of scrolls upon the table to his right before taking her seat at a smaller table to his left, laden with parchment, ink, and quill.

Clearing his throat, Levi began, "We've convened to address matters of import this day, as I'm sure ye all ken. But before we delve into that, let us welcome a new addition to our assembly. Meet Madam Eliza, proprietress of Faywyn's alehouse. Some of ye may know her already; I mentioned her arrival before I departed for Towleigh last week. Though a formal introduction is warranted. She represents the Creed of the Twins, bridging betwixt Souville's governance—ourselves—and Lady Vaiu, the Creed's Matriarch.

"Thank you for having me, My Lord," the middle-aged woman said, nodding slightly towards Levi.

"The pleasure is mine," the earl replied, gesturing to the others. "Now, from right to left, Viscount Lancelot of House Dragoon—my Hand, and erstwhile my father's. Opposite him, Steward Robert of House Dywn, our Master of Coin. To his left, Knight Commander Ser Carter of House Twine. Following, Master Gunner Ser Turiel of House Liss, Knight Lieutenant Ser Mannon of House Liss, and Knight Lieutenant Ser Justin of House Sider."

Each man nodded solemnly as his name was spoken, their reserve evident—appropriate, considering their distrust of the spy Levi had knowingly introduced to their midst.

"And of course," Levi continued, theatrically indicating the duke across the table, "my venerable sire, Lord Aden von Grifenburg, Duke of Faywyn and Governor-protector of Souville province."

The duke regarded Levi with a suspicious squint, but Levi merely smiled in return. "As per his request, he observes today's proceedings merely as a spectator; and per our custom, I preside over the meeting. Given ye all know me, I'll forgo further introductions and proceed to our agenda. First, we address the massacre of Longboat, Mells, and South Rock villages. A bounty for the culprits' heads has been decreed: one hundred silver Thales for each slain, a gold Royal for each taken alive. Steward Robert shall earmark three hundred gold Royals for this purpose. Ser Justin—"

"Yes, My Lord?"

"—You are tasked with leading a delegation of ten men to offer this bounty to mountain tribes amenable to parley. Choose wisely, for your safety is paramount. If met with hostility, withdraw without delay; confrontation is ill-advised."

"As you will, My Lord," the knight replied with a bow.

"Ser Mannon," Levi addressed the elder knight, "henceforth you are named Faywyn's Captain of the Watch. Begin the arduous task of reconstituting our Watch, employing idle villagers as ye see fit. Seek counsel from Steward Robert for funding."

"As you will, My Lord," Ser Mannon replied, smiling.

Levi turned to Ser Justin once more. "Upon your return, you shall assume the mantle of Mallowston's Captain of the Watch, appointing a successor to your current office. Seek Viscount Lancelot's aid in Mallowston's reorganization. He is tasked with the responsibility of governing the town in my steed."

"Any objections?" Levi inquired, scanning the table. Silence greeted him. "Very well. Now, regarding Tristan's army at our borders. Madam Eliza has graciously shared intelligence: the Lion of Khule plans to advance through the Strega. Knights, peasants, and mercenaries converge upon Ricos, from Thernas, Khule, Haris, and Wirborough. War stores amass at Ricos, prepared for the coming conflict. Stores of war materiel are being mustered to be stockpiled at the town's harbour at this very moment. According to Steward Robert's prediction, The majority of the army would likely arrive at Ricos and be ready to move in two to three weeks.

"Our focus must be on defence. Patrols shall monitor our borders, and auditors shall be tasked with ensuring the garrisons are fortified. Though outnumbered, our trained, motivated soldiers hold the advantage over levied conscripts. However, I propose a proactive approach: disrupting enemy supply lines, delaying their advance, and confounding their plans as we did the Heras. We cannot idly await their assault; we must meet it head-on. Therefore, I suggest raids upon the amassing host after first delivering a softening blow. This, in tandem with intelligence-gathering efforts, will entail—"

My Lord," Lancelot interjected tentatively.

"Yes?"

"'Tis a bold strategy, My Lord. What do you mean by 'softening blow'?"

Levi nodded before turning to his sire. As the duke's brow arched in inquiry, Levi smiled. "Indeed," he began, rising to his feet and pacing around the table, "we've discussed matters of defence in earnest but overlooked a crucial point: how to safeguard our sovereignty. To merely prepare for a siege, though prudent, leaves us vulnerable. Letters and appeals have been dispatched, yet our plight may not garner timely aid. Suffering a siege from Tristan's army would mean we would be confining ourselves to hiding behind these walls for weeks, months, or even years. Worse still, it is impossible to know when our fellow Algrian lords might deign it important enough to come to our aid should we be besieged. As we all know, aside from the royal family who are currently indisposed and a few others we have very few allies among the aristocracy. I can imagine no less than half a dozen lords whose faces would brighten with glee at the news of us suffering some great misfortune; one prominent example is Duke von Berat of Stotford who had to relinquish the lands that now constitute Souville province when the king sought to dilute the stifling grasp the old houses had on the realm. The only reason I believe von Berat has not sent an army marching west yet to reclaim these lands now that the king is deposed is his ambitions for the throne itself. Hence, we cannot, under any circumstance, allow Faywyn to fall under siege."

"Our solution? A softening blow! We thwart Tristan's advance through the Strega. If his boats are rendered useless, his forces and their baggage train must navigate treacherous, boggy, woodland terrain to reach us. Few routes lead to Faywyn—fewer still without crossing the nearly two-mile-wide Strega."

The hall fell silent. "...And how does the lord propose we achieve this?" Lancelot asked, leaning back into his seat.

The earl turned to smile at his viscount. "How, you ask? Simple..."

"We use Fire-ships."