Aragon remained in the fief of Belar Miraqen, using it as a staging ground for the war that was to come. The once-peaceful land had transformed into a fortified stronghold, filled with soldiers, blacksmiths, and war beasts. The cries of men training echoed across the valley, the scent of molten iron and sweat filling the air. Refugees, too, continued to pour in, but Aragon had instructed his men to care for them. He knew they would be of use—among them were skilled craftsmen, former soldiers, and even a few who had lost everything and sought vengeance.
He spent days walking through the camps, speaking with the commanders, inspecting weapons, and testing the morale of his forces. The last of the kingdom's remaining lords—Malaica, Rosaryn, Griselda, and Beltar—gathered frequently, discussing strategies and possible alliances. Their forces were nothing compared to the might of the Arakenys, but Aragon was undeterred. He had fought impossible battles before, and he would do so again.
