"By the gods, Lothair... they had an entire battery waiting for us."
Lothair didn't answer right away. He stood tall at the edge of the ship, his sharp eyes locked on the shrinking coastline.
He pulled his cloak tight against the wind, his mind spinning incredibly fast.
"King Erik knew we were coming," Lothair muttered, his jaw clenched tight.
"He hauled City Titan steel all the way up here... Ragnar is playing a much deeper game than we thought."
"So what do we do now?" Gauzlin asked nervously, wiping the salty sea spray from his beard.
"Do we turn the fleet entirely around?
Do we sail back to Denmark and tell the Emperor that the north is impregnable?"
Lothair slowly turned his head.
The look he gave the Marshal was so cold it made the freezing ocean wind feel warm.
"If you ever suggest running away like a beaten dog again, Gauzlin, I will throw you over this railing,"
"We are not sailing back. We still have thirty thousand men."
