Early Days of the Dual Monarchy

Lord Andric Felnar

 

 

The Trappers and the Estasean Merchant

 

The heron banner of Danfelgor and the eagle of the Sara nation hung side by side over the great Western Gate as Callis Meridon, an Estasean merchant of middling wealth but great ambition, entered the city. The streets of Danfelgard were as busy as ever, but there was a new energy in the air—a sense of change in the markets and in the taverns. The Dual Monarchy had been proclaimed, and with it, the promise of a new era of trade and prosperity.

Callis had come to Danfelgard many times before, negotiating deals and securing agreements with the guilds, but this visit was different. The tariffs were gone, and a new trading order was emerging. The Guild of Merchants, once wary of outside influence, now sought to establish stronger ties with Estasean and Sara traders and for Callis, this was a wonderful opportunity.

He made his way to the Cargo Inn, a favorite meeting place for foreign traders, where he had arranged to meet Gorvan Pell, a respected merchant from an old family of Danfelgard. As he entered, he saw the usual mix of traders and guild members, but also new faces—Sara clansmen, their long hair braided, speaking in low voices with Danfelgorian merchants. The presence of the tribes in the city had grown since the union, and their influence was everywhere.

Over mugs of spiced wine, Callis and Gorvan discussed the new trade routes opening between Estasea and Danfelgard. The lifting of tariffs meant Estasean wine, silks and spices could flow freely into the city, while Danfelgorian ceramics, glassware and metalwork would reach Estasean markets with greater ease. But there were concerns too, as the Merchants’ Guild worried about the growing presence of Sara traders, who now brought raw materials, livestock and furs direct from the steppe and now had access to Danfelgorian markets.

“There’s opportunity, Callis,” Gorvan admitted, “but there's some uncertainty too - the balance of trade is shifting now. The Sara don’t conduct business like us - their oaths are sacred, their agreements sealed with a man’s word, rather than parchment.”

Callis considered this. The Estasean way was commerce, calculated and written down in contracts, but the Sara way was honour-bound. To deal with them, he would need to understand them - it was time to leave the merchant halls and travel into the steppe to learn not just the price of pelts and furs, but the spirit of trading in this new market.

Leaving the broad squares and avenues of Danfelgard behind, Carllis set out on horseback, his Estasean merchant's robes replaced by something more practical - a thick woolen cloak, heavy felt breeches, sturdy boots, and a fur-trimmed felt cap to shield him from the wind that whistled across the sea-broad plains. He had a guide with him, a Sara trader named Qodar, who rode beside him, followed by a small caravan of pack mules. Their destination was the fur-trapping settlements of the Sara people, where traders bartered for the rich pelts of sable, snow leopard, white fox, and lynx, which fetched high prices in Estasea’s markets.

Their journey led them through rolling grasslands, broken by clusters of hardy trees and the tributaries of the Danfel. At night, they camped beneath a sky full of stars, and Qodar spoke of spirits that roamed the steppe - not the philosophical musings of a Danfelgorian stoic but something woven from the land itself.

Days passed, and the land became harsher. The grasses grew coarser, and forests of pine and birch thickened around them. It was in these deep woods that they found the fur-trappers’ outposts - clusters of wooden lodges surrounded by curing racks, where pelts hung drying in the cold air. The scent of pine resin and wood smoke filled the settlement.

Callis had traded in the markets of Estasea and Danfelgard, but commerce was different amongst the Sara traders . Men and women alike were shrewd and wary, their negotiations laced with banter but edged with steel. A single snow leopard pelt could fetch a cask of wine, a silver bracelet, or a fine Estasean blade, but the bargaining was tough, and Callis found himself in a battle of wits at every turn. Qodar, though his guide, took no sides, watching with an amused smile as Callis struggled to match the sharp tongues and sharper haggling of his hosts.

Besides the traders, Caris met the trappers themselves—weathered, quiet folk who spent months in the wilderness, following the rivers and laying their snares. They spoke little, but when they did, their words carried weight. One trapper, his beard thick and grey, warned Callis of the wolves that ran in the deep woods, who he said were guided by restless spirits. “Not all who set traps return,” he murmured before disappearing into the trees once more.

Yet despite, or because of, the harshness of the environment, there was warmth in the community. Nights in the lodges were filled with song, stories and cups of fermented mare’s milk passed around the fire where the Sara people were not just traders and warriors but poets, musicians, and dreamers. The union of their nation with Danfelgard had not touched their spirit, just given them new opportunities for trade.

As Callis prepared to return to Danfelgard, his mules laden with hand-carved bone jewellery, fine furs and rare herbs, he realized how much he had underestimated the Sara. They were not just nomads or raiders—they were custodians of something old and very powerful.  In this new order, Estasea would have to tread carefully, for the Dual Monarchy was not merely a merging of two realms, but rather the beginning of something greater. Callis intended to be at the forefront of whatever it turned out to be.

The Merchants’ Guild

 

The Great Chamber of the Danfelgorian Merchants’ Guild was thick with the scent of candle wax. The lamps of the great copper chandelier overhead flickered as the merchants—some in silken robes, others in simpler linen - sat round the polished oak table, their faces lined with calculation and concentration. At the head of the table sat Haron Volst, the Master of the Guild, his impassive face showing neither enthusiasm nor apprehension. On the table in front of him were stacks of letters of credit from trading houses, reports from commercial agents in Estasea, and diplomatic communiqués from the palace. He steepled his fingers and spoke.

"The Dual Monarchy is no longer an abstract thing, it is our new reality. Prince Valubani and Princess Pellae are now married, and will soon crowned - with them, the city and the tribes are bound together in a new order. What must concern us now is what this means for our enterprises."

A murmur spread through the chamber before Enric Talvin, a spice trader with connections in Estasea, leaned forward.

"We must not deceive ourselves. This is an upheaval - the Sara have never been bound by contracts or commercial law. They trade in their own way and upon their own terms, and their traders—if we may call them that—are just as likely to barter with furs and salt as to pay with with coin. Also, they do not extend credit. How do we regulate this? How do we ensure our interests are protected?" 

Across the table, Faldin Berrin, a shipowner with an eye for speculation, let out a dry chuckle. "Regulate them? We need them, Enric. The Sara control the overland routes to the interior and their riders can reach places no Danfelgorian merchant ever has. If we can integrate their networks into our own, our reach could extend beyond even Estasea. Imagine the goods - pelts, livestock, rare herbs, steppe silks."

"And their warriors?" interjected Sallos Brecht, a banker who was always concerned with stability. "The Sara live by the sword. How do we know that the same men who shake our hand today won’t turn their arrows and lances on our caravans tomorrow? How are we going to deal with a people who move as the seasons change?"

Haron exhaled and fidgeted with his rings, his voice even. "It is for reasons like these that we must ensure our position is clear from the beginning. The Guild must not be passive - we must work to shape the commercial framework of the Dual Monarchy. We must make sure that trade between Danfelgard and the Sara is built on sound agreements—ones that, of course, favour us."

 

From the corner of the chamber, Aldren Voss, a long-established trader of steppe horses, leaned back in his chair and smiled. "You speak as if the Sara will just sit by their campfire and let us dictate terms. No, my friends, they have their own ambitions and goals. This is may be a kind of conquest - but it is also a marriage, and in marriage, both sides must give and take. If we are wise, we will not seek to impose our ways upon them but try to learn theirs. I have learned at least this much - once a Sara trader has shaken your hand, he is committed to the deal and no contract is needed. To renege on a bargain would bring serious dishonour to him, and he would lose face in front of his whole clan. No-one, not even his own kinsmen would be willing to deal with him again. Let us visit their camps, let the caravans cross the steppes - the more wealth that moves, the greater our share will be."

The debate continued long into the evening with voices rising and falling like the tide. But as the lamps dimmed and the candles burned low, a consensus began to form - the Dual Monarchy was the new reality, and the Guild could not profit by trying to resist it. Instead, they would have to seek to bend it to their advantage, as they always had in the past, in the hope that their coffers would only grow heavier.

The Smugglers

 

The docks of Estasea never truly slept, but as night fell the shadows of the riverfront grew long. One such place where shadows gathered most darkly was the Black Dog, a riverside tavern with a reputation as murky as the waters outside its door. Beneath a low, heavy-beamed ceiling stained by years of smoke, a group of men sat hunched over tankards, their conversation quiet but intense.

"It’s over, I'm telling you," muttered Jarak, his scarred hands drumming on the rough wood of the table. "With tariffs gone, why would any merchant need us? Why would they pay a smuggler’s premium when they can ship their goods up the river clean and legal?"

Varlan, the accepted leader of the group, took a long sip from his wine and smiled, though the smile did not reach his eyes. "You think too small, Jarak. Trade is free, yes, but only where the law can see, and if the law can see, get me? What about the goods that never want to be seen? The little, er.. luxuries that never pass an inspector’s eyes? And more importantly… what about the things neither Danfelgard nor Estasea dare acknowledge on any manifest?"

There was heavy silence as the others considered his words. Urek, a hulking man with the flat nose of a former pit fighter, grunted. "You mean weapons."

"Weapons, relics, special herbs and rare alchemical reagents… people, if the price is right. There's definitely potential in a certain sort of people... girls from the islands, for example." Varlan said, his voice smooth, unbothered. "Anyway, the old routes are changing, but the need for the shadow trade isn’t going to vanish. In fact, with the Danfelgorian merchants cozying up to Estasea, not to mention the Sara and their new king, a whole new market is opening. We just need the right leverage."

Jarak frowned. "Leverage? Against whom?"

"Against those who think they control this new world." Varlan leaned forward, his voice dropping lower. "Danfelgard’s merchants and Estasea’s guilds may believe this free trade is a boon, and perhaps it is, but we are the ones who know how to slip through. Imagine if certain goods went missing before reaching Danfelgard. Imagine if supplies never reached the Sara traders in time for their markets. Imagine if an ambitious young captain of the Merchants’ Guild fleet started to wonder why their ships were losing out while others thrived."

Urek’s slow smile spread. "We stir up trouble. Create distractions and disturbances. Make them doubt each other. Make them need us."

"Finally you've got it." Varlan tapped the table with a precise finger. "Smuggling isn’t just about sneaking past customs any longer, my friends. It’s about control. And we’re about to remind the great trading houses that they still need us."

The men exchanged glances, earlier tension warping into something much more dangerous. The Black Dog was no stranger to illicit plans, but tonight, beneath its flickering lamps, a new scheme was being born that would test the strength of the Dual Monarchy’s trade networks from within.

And Varlan, smiling to himself, knew that chaos was always good for the smuggling business.

The Generals

 

The great stone hall of Danfelgard’s military council was lit by oil lamps, their glow flickering against ancient banners that lined the walls, symbols of past campaigns and old victories. The air was thick with the scent of leather and oiled steel. Around a long oak table sat the generals of Danfelgard, their faces lined with age and experience of command. At the head of the table stood Lord Marshal Grathen Volarik, a man with a formidable moustache, close-cropped silver hair and a duelling scar running down his left cheek. Before him was a map, newly updated to show not only Danfelgorian territories but also the lands of the Sara people. His steady gaze swept over the assembled officers.

 

"This new alliance changes everything," Grathen stated. "For centuries, we have relied on disciplined infantry, our crossbowmen, our halberdiers and our heavy cavalry. Now, we must consider the ways of the Sara—their swift riders, their hit-and-run tactics, their mounted archers. If trained and integrated properly, they could be a great asset. If not... a liability."

General Revik Martoen, a hardened veteran of border skirmishes, folded his arms. "We Danfelgorians fight in disciplined ranks, in shield walls and formations. The Sara fight as the wind blows—loose, fast, unpredictable. Can they even be incorporated into an army like ours?" From the far side of the table, Commander of Horse Kallia Rethos, one of Danfelgard’s highest-ranking cavalry officers, tugged at the leather strap of her tunic and leaned forward. "Perhaps we should not try to fit them into our way of war but instead learn from theirs. They fight in open formations, they strike and vanish before the enemy can react. We have never had such a force at our disposal before." A murmur of agreement rippled through the council, but General Harl Joreth, a staunch traditionalist, scoffed. "Are we truly to stake our future on nomadic warriors? They are fine in the open plains, but in a true battle, against halberds and crossbows, they will scatter like leaves in an autumn wind. Our heavy cavalry will cut them to pieces."

 

Grathen Volarik remained silent for a moment, his fingers tracing the edge of the map. Then he spoke again. "We are not replacing our army, General Joreth. We are expanding it. Our infantry will still hold the line. Our heavy cavalry will still charge the enemy ranks. But imagine this—before our forces even engage, the Sara have already struck, showering the enemy with arrows, vanishing into the mist, drawing them into traps of our making. This is not a weakness - this is an advantage." A silence settled over the room as the generals absorbed his words. "Logistics must be considered," added Quartermaster Rhen Malven. "The Sara do not march. They ride. They do not eat bread and salted fish; they carry supplies of dried horsemeat and fermented milk. Their ways are alien to us, and yet we must build new stockpiles—fodder, not grain. We must allow for mobility, not encampments." Grathen nodded. "And we must learn to fight alongside them. A joint force must train together, so that when battle comes, we do not break apart like oil and water. Prince Valubani himself will see to this. He understands both our ways and theirs and he has already proven his worth as a commander - he is the key to making this work. not to mention that very soon he will be crowned Gorak of Danfelgard."

 

The discussion turned to matters of strategy. How best to deploy the Sara riders? How to integrate them into scouting forces, flanking manoeuvres, ambushes? Some of the generals remained skeptical, but others saw the possibilities. Great kingdoms of the past had fallen to mounted archers but now Danfelgard would be able to deploy such warriors as its own. At last, Grathen Volarik straightened. "We have been given a gift. A weapon we have never wielded before, so the question is not whether we will use it, but how." As the council adjourned, the generals left with some still uncertain, others eager to test their new allies. The future of Danfelgard’s army had changed forever, as out on the open steppe, Sara riders galloped beneath the endless sky. Some of the generals left the war chamber, but the most senior figures remained behind, drawn into earnest discussions - the room, so often a place of singular military purpose, was now filled with divided opinions.

 

At the heart of the contention was General Revik Martoen. A man of strong discipline and loyalty to traditional military doctrine, he stood rigid, his hands clasped behind his back. “This is folly,” he growled. “We have fought for generations with crossbows, shields, and heavy cavalry. War is not a game of reckless charges and wild horsemen. We are abandoning the very discipline that has made our armies strong.” Opposing him was Commander of Archers Kallia Rethos, “And what has your tradition earned us,General Martoen? Stalemates? Long sieges? Endless deadlocked engagements where we work ourselves against the enemy like a knife on a grindstone? The Sara do not fight wars of attrition - they fight to win and win quickly” Martoen sneered. “They fight like bandits.” Before Kallia could snap back, General Harl Joreth, another hardliner, spoke. “Do we really mean to entrust our defense to a people who, until recently, raided our borders? Will they fight for us and not turn on us the moment it suits them? We are arming our former enemies.” Kallia countered, “They are no longer our enemies. They are our allies now, and our Prince is one of them. Prince Valubani has every reason to see this alliance succeed. He has already fought beside us and shown what a capable general he is.” “Prince Valubani may soon wear a Danfelgorian crown,” Martoen said, voice low, “but he is still Sara in blood and spirit. When the time comes, where will his loyalties lie?” A heavy silence fell over the room. An unspoken truth hung in the air — there were those among the Danfelgorian elite who had not fully accepted the Dual Monarchy. To them, the Sara were still a wild nomadic people, and their prince was still an outsider.

 

At that moment, the doors swung open, and Prince Valubani entered. He combined the uniform of a Danfelgorian Field Marshall with the posture of a warrior of the steppe—confident, assured and in control. He was accompanied by Princess Pellae. Behind him trailed Lord Marshal Grathen Volarik, his expression unreadable. No-one noticed the tiny mouse nestling in the Princess' wide sleeve. “I could hear your voices down the corridor,” Valubani said calmly, his sharp eyes sweeping the assembled officers. “It seems I have arrived just in time.” Martoen, to his credit, did not look away. “Your Highness, we were merely discussing the... logistics of integrating the Sara cavalry into our forces.” Valubani smiled faintly. “Logistics? No, I think you were questioning my people’s worth on the battlefield.” He stepped forward, resting his hands on the edge of the map. “Tell me, General Martoen, how many battles have you fought? Have you ever fought one where the enemy fled before your forces even reached them?” Martoen frowned. “That is not how wars are fought.” “That is how wars are won,” Valubani replied. “The power of the Sara is not in brute force, but in constant movement, striking the enemy before he knows he is in danger, his men harassed, ambushed, picked apart before the battle even begins, his supply lines cut, his officers killed in the night.” Some of the generals shifted uneasily.

 

“We have not come to replace your armies,” Valubani continued. “We have come to make them better and teach you another way to fight that does not involve endless, costly sieges or forcing the men into grinding shield-wall engagements.” He turned to Martoen. “And as for loyalty—our lands, our families, our future are now bound to Danfelgard. We fight for them as much as you do.” Martoen’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Joreth, however, asked, “And if the Sara cannot fight under command? If they refuse orders from Danfelgorian officers?” Valubani met his gaze, “You will let the Sara conduct themselves in any campaign.” He gestured to the map. “Their own warbands and their own tactics - you will tell them where to strike, but let them decide how.” For a long moment, silence reigned. Then, from the far side of the room, Grathen Volarik finally spoke. “This is not a debate that can continue indefinitely. Our kingdom is changing, whether we like it or not, and we must either master new ways of war or be left behind.” He turned to Martoen and Joreth. “The question is not whether we will accept the Sara into our armies, but how we will adapt alongside them.” Martoen’s expression was stony, but at last, he gave a slow nod. “Very well,” he said gruffly. “Let them prove themselves.” Joreth shrugged, clearly reluctant but seeing no choice. “But under close watch,” he said.

 

Valubani smiled. “That is all I ask. But hear me when I say that the Sara will never fail you. They are not conscripted men like yours - they fight for their forebears, their tribe and their honour.”

As the war council finally adjourned, the future of the Dual Monarchy’s army had been decided - there would be some tension, but the first steps had been taken. As the generals departed, one thing was obvious to them all - the armies of Danfelgard would never be the same again.

Gitcni the Spymaster

 

Gitcni stood at the window of his office, overlooking the sprawling city of Danfelgard beneath him. He could see the avenues and boulevards of the city - the busy market squares, the quiet alleys where rumours passed from hand to hand like coins, and, beyond them, the docks where the riverboats brought news and contraband alike. His gaze was not focussed just upon the city, but also on the world beyond. The Dual Monarchy was a turning point, and to many, it seemed like a moment of risk—an untested alliance with an unpredictable people. However, to Gitcni, it seemed like a gateway. He turned back toward the polished oak table in the centre of the room, covered with documents, reports, and coded messages from his agents. At its heart lay a map, one that now had to be reconsidered in light of the new order.

 

Gitcni’s fingers traced the steppes on the map, marking the great Sara clans and their nomadic paths. Here was one obstacle he could not seem to get round. The Sara, for all their internal rivalries, possessed one thing Danfelgorian spies could never crack - absolute bonds of kinship. No bribe, no threat, no deception could turn a Sara against his own. Their blood ties and loyalties were too deeply ingrained to ever be infiltrated. It was an uncomfortable limitation, because Danfelgard had always relied on its network of informants, and bribed and blackmailed to exert control. The Sara, however, lived differently. They had no archives to be stolen, no courtiers to whisper secrets over wine, no corrupt politicians or merchants to be leaned upon with threats of exposure. For the time being, he would have to be content with gathering what he could from Sara malcontents - if indeed any existed - or through those few outsiders who had earned the tribes’ trust. But...if the steppes were beyond his reach, so be it. He had another frontier to explore.

 

Gitcni’s eyes moved southward on the map, to the Estasean delta, where the river Danfel met the sea, and where an opportunity lay. The trade pact that had abolished tariffs between Danfelgor and Estasea meant more than just an increase in commerce — it meant movement. More merchants, more ships, more exchanges of goods and information. For decades, Estasea’s closed networks of smuggling, bribery, and underground dealings had operated in the shadows of its Special Committee and the Five Anchors. Before, it had been a battle between Danfelgor’s spies and Estasea’s counterintelligence, a dance of betrayal and counter-betrayal played between well-guarded borders. But now the doors were wide open. Gitcni could already see the possibilities unfolding. He could slip his agents into Estasea under the guise of traders and guild representatives. With the increased traffic along the river, his people could work themselves deeply into Estasean society, as part of the very trade networks that kept the city alive.

 

Even better, the Estaseans themselves had unknowingly given him a perfect tool—discontent among the smugglers. With the abolition of tariffs, the great merchant houses of Estasea were poised to profit, but the illicit networks that had thrived on smuggling now found themselves in real danger of losing income and relevance. Some of them would adapt, whilst others would resist, and that was where Gitcni planned to make his move. The people who had been a thorn in Danfelgard’s side for years—the same smugglers who had worked under Vareon Dirik and the Shadow Trade Network—could now be turned to his advantage. Resentment could be cultivated and rivalries could be deepened. He could pit them against the Special Committee, turn their anger into leverage, and in doing so, help to destabilise Estasea from within.

 

He moved from the map to a stack of parchment detailing the latest developments in his intelligence network. There was so much work to be  done — new identities to be created, new safe houses to be established, new informants to be recruited. He had already dispatched orders for increased surveillance on key figures in Estasea’s administration, particularly those within the Special Committee.The Dual Monarchy had not simply changed the balance of power - it had changed the very nature of Gitcni’s game. Before, Danfelgard had been a cautious infiltrator, subtly pressing against the barriers set by Estasean security. Now, with trade flowing freely, those barriers had been lowered. Gitcni smiled. A world without borders was a world ripe for manipulation.

As long as he played his cards right, Danfelgor would not merely survive this new order—it would thrive in it.

 A Blacksmith in a Changing City

 

Brenik the blacksmith had never thought much about politics. His world was one of iron and fire, hammering out horseshoes, blades, and tools in his forge on the edge of Danfelgard’s market district. But now  he found himself caught up in the changes taking place in the city.

Since the arrival of the Sara warriors and their traders, demand for his work had shifted. The Sara had little use for the heavy armour favored by Danfelgorian knights and city guards, which was too cumbersome for their swift horsemen. Instead, they sought lighter, more flexible armor, curved sabers rather than straight swords, lanceheads and reinforced stirrups for their warhorses. Their traders brought high-quality goods from the steppe, bartered in exchange for his work, and their haggling was relentless.

In the market square, the debates took place daily. Some craftsmen welcomed the new opportunities, seeing a fresh demand for goods and a new clientele to serve. Others, especially the older craft guild masters, resented the presence of the Sara, fearing that their own traditions would be eroded. “Danfelgor of old was built by our hands!” one of them raged in The Dragon tavern one evening. “But now must we bend to their ways?”

Brenik wasn’t entirely sure how he felt. He missed the stability of the old days, but he also saw a chance to grow his trade, so he reasoned that he would have to adapt, or be left behind.

A Noble in a Divided Court

 

Lady Merivelle had spent her life navigating the intricate currents of power in Danfelgor’s court. Born into an old aristocratic family, she had been raised to wield influence with quiet precision—aligning with the right houses, securing alliances through marriage and trade, and never stepping too far from the city’s traditional power centers.

Now, all of that had been upended.

The Dual Monarchy had shaken Danfelgard’s noble houses. Some of the merchant-lords had been quick to seize the opportunities it presented, striking deals with the Sara to invest in trade routes through the steppe and establish new caravans, whilst others, more conservative, seemed to see it as the beginning of their decline. The question of loyalty was dividing the court - would Danfelgor’s old elite continue to hold sway, or would the Sara prince gradually claim more and more authority?

Merivelle, a natural pragmatist, had not yet declared her stance. Instead, she observed as she attended court gatherings and banquets, where Sara nobles, unused to the rigid etiquette of Danfelgard, rubbed up against the city’s merchants and noble elite. She listened to whispers in the palace halls about secret opposition groups that were said to be forming. She made careful overtures to Princess Pellae, who—though young—was proving to be a formidable player in her own right.

There was danger in hesitation, but there was also danger in moving too soon. The tides of power were shifting. She intended to make sure that, whichever way they turned, she would not be swept away.

A Foreign Observer: The Ambassador from Ormir

 

Ambassador Solvar of Ormir had seen many things in his long career, but nothing quite like the transformation taking place in Danfelgard. His homeland, a distant island kingdom, had long maintained trade relations with the city, but always on favorable terms. Danfelgard had been predictable—a merchant-run city-state, profit-minded and diplomatically cautious.

Now, it was something else entirely.

Solvar had spent weeks sending coded reports back to Ormir, trying to make sense of the new political order. The Sara, once seen as little more than nomadic raiders, had become effective rulers of one of the great cities of the world. Their warriors patrolled the streets, their traders bartered in the markets, and their shamanic priests whispered strange incantations at the river’s edge. The Danfelgorian nobles and merchants were divided, some welcoming the change, others resisting it.

And then there was Estasea. Solvar had expected its merchants to resist the new trade agreement, and he had not been altogether disappointed. Visiting in disguise, he had overheard conversations in dockside taverns—smugglers lamenting lost profits, sea captains debating whether they could still find ways to outmaneuver the new trading arrangements. There were rumors that some factions in Estasea might try to take drastic action to disrupt the new alliance.

To Ormir, all of this was both an opportunity and a threat. If Danfelgard grew stronger under its new rulers and a powerful new alliance, it might challenge Ormir’s influence in the region. If it collapsed into chaos, that too would have consequences, so Solvar would have to tread carefully, watching for weaknesses, and ensuring that Ormir’s interests remained safe.