“I don’t want to die, Master.” He hadn’t spoken much with Lady Tome but he had the feeling she was a jealous woman. “Have you forgotten the elf has a pure physical affinity? They didn’t seem concerned about it at the feast.”

“She’s still a woman.”

“If she wants to be. Healers don’t only heal. There are men that pay good money for a little extra length on their sword.”

Polluck laughed, a little Herbanacle sloshing over the rim of his cup as his arm shook. Lancecain winced softly at the waste. “You know something about that, do you?”

“I’m perfectly happy with what I have. The point I’m trying to make is that if they can do that, I imagine it’s possible to forge a sword, even if it isn’t very durable. Especially for someone with magical talent that belongs in legends. I suppose I should also mention again that I don’t particularly want to be the next duke.”

“It’s not about being the duke!” Polluck said, jumping to his feet. “It’s about changing the war. The north has grown soft. It feels like there are more outsiders than us marching in the campaigns and there are orders actively working to curb the war.”

“They are advocating for more time before the campaigns and forging deeper connections with the rest of the kingdom.” Things Lancecain didn’t necessarily disagree with. The way his master looked at him, he could have said that the James needed to burn at the stake and Fort Victory abandoned. Lancecain held up a placating palm and hid behind his cup.

“Fewer and fewer titans have been spotted for the past decade.”

“Those are unreliable studies.” If two titans showed up one year, and ten the next, anything between those numbers could show up the third year. There was no rhyme or reason behind it. Anyone that said they could prove otherwise was either arrogant or crazy.

“I’m not talking about any studies. I’m talking about my own experience fighting in the north for two decades. I can feel it. Those bastards are weakening. And yet, we’re not pushing any farther because we’re weakening right alongside them. Victory’s founders had to fight three times as hard with a fraction of our supplies. Our records show that they brought down ten times as many monsters every campaign. Do you know why Lance?”

“Because they were better trained and far more reckless?” he replied drolly.

Polluck glared at him. “Because they believed. They believed in the war and they believed they would win or die trying. That’s what the north lacks. Belief.”

Lancecain struggled to keep his expression neutral. The Herbanacle helped. “There is plenty of belief in the north.”

“Belief? No. There’s adherence to tradition. Men and women treading the path of their forefathers. They follow the James because they’ve always followed the James. They fight because they don’t know any other way to make a living. But they don’t believe.”

Polluck scoffed. “Do you know how the Bleak Moons got their name? Because the campaigns used to be a death sentence. When they left Victory’s walls, they knew they would come back victorious or they wouldn’t come back at all. They didn’t compare titan trophies or kill counts or whatever other nonsense the younger knights are doing these days, trying to find meaning in the war. The war should be all the meaning they need.”

“Do you want things to go back to the way they were? Because I’d have to disagree.”

“Not the way they were. The purpose of a new generation is to improve from the old. My concern is that the new generation of Victory’s soldiers isn’t up to the task. I’d hoped that a strong leader could turn that around. That you’d turn them around.”

Lancecain shook his head. He didn’t think he was the strong leader to bring Victory back to its former glory that his master imagined him to be. If he could do his part to keep the people of the north safe and happy, he would be content. Slapping aside countless suitors to marry a James daughter like the Northern Devil and fighting to be duke required a rampant ambition like his master’s. One he’d tried to instill in Lancecain but it never took.

It didn’t take a strong leap in logic to understand that his master had selected him for the task as he had no hopes of seducing Alana, and therefore becoming a James, himself. A disturbing thought but he wouldn’t fault the man for his vision. His means of achieving it were rather tame and he’d never tried to force Lancecain into anything.

“Alana is plenty strong enough to lead Victory into a bigger and brighter future.”

“I’ve told you to stop being sarcastic. Your voice is too polite, people can’t tell if you’re being serious.”

“I was completely serious. Why do you think I was being sarcastic?”

Polluck dropped back into his chair and took a large pull of his drink. “Besides leading what could be the shortest campaign in the history of Victory and promptly leaving the north? Her father arranged for me to instruct her at the Hall. She refused my instruction, citing that the elf was her teacher.”

Lancecain frowned. He didn’t doubt the woman’s ability but learning from someone who didn’t share her affinity, and didn’t even use spells, would put Alana at a severe disadvantage. “I’m sure she has her reasons.”

“Yeah. Love brain. She’s building a life for herself outside of Victory. I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t bother to return next winter.” Polluck drained the rest of his cup. Lancecain didn’t hesitate to refill it, trusting that his master’s silence meant he hadn’t reached his limit. “Cheh. Forget it. A simple knight like me should have known better than to try and meddle with Victory’s future. I’ll stick to swinging my sword. What about you, my heir? What is in store for your future?”

“Is swinging a sword not good enough for me?”

“There’s no greater honor. But you can be more. You may not be a duke in this lifetime, but you can still change Victory for the better. You don’t need a title to lead people.”

Lancecain’s brows furrowed as he felt the first hints of concern. “That sounds like you’re asking me to start a coup.”

“Impossible. I’m saying you can fight the idiots trying to make the north sound like a pit of corpses. The young people see the old skeletons who’ve lost their will to fight spouting nonsense about how their lives will be oh-so much better outside of Victory and put down their swords. I almost don’t blame them. No one wants that kind of fate. You present another option.

“You’re young, strong, handsome, and personable. Wealthy too, eventually. The other young knights admire you. Someone like you should be the face of the campaigns, not useless fossils trying to destroy us from the inside.”

Lancecain didn’t immediately reject the notion. “I don’t know how to be a symbol. I’m just me.”

“And that’s more than enough. Victory doesn’t need heroes or saints. We fight for ourselves. What the younger knights need is someone to rally behind.”

“Well, if you’re asking me to do nothing, I accept.”

“You’re too old to be a brat. Of course it’d take some work. You’d be trying to inspire a bunch of empty husks. If they weren’t northerners, I’d tell you it was completely impossible.”

“Oh?”

“Southerners put too much faith in gold. There’s no room for anything else.”

“That so? Well, we can talk about the rest over a meal. You need something on your stomach if you’re going to keep drinking.”

“It’s time to get serious, Lance,” Polluck called, raising his voice as Lancecain entered the kitchen. “I can feel it, in my bones. The north is changing.”