King Sortsill swiped the back of his hand across the table, scattering the clay armies onto the floor. There was another knock on the door. “Your majesty, the assembly has been waiting three hours. They’re becoming rather impatient.” “Tell them if they want to survive they’ll wait an extra five! The fools!” The door burst open. Lord Drephin, a short noble that governed the South of Tavalask, stood there, holding the sides of his large middle. Bruhn, the elderly butler, glared at his back. “We’re the fools?!” Drephin large face reddened. “We’re just trying to get back home to equip our people!” King Sortsill rose and slammed his hands on the table.