– How many? – Derek tossed to Bergil, standing surrounded by the men of war.

He had no map of Flammehav, nor did any of the other kings of Vakkerland, for none of them had been able to cross the borders of the demon kingdom that terrified their enemies until now. Derek Merkswerd – King of Men was the first and last to reach the walls of his capital.

– Thirty thousand, my king! – shining like a polished coin, Bergil replied.

– Excellent. Just think: perhaps tomorrow we will free the world from demons! – The king laughed, and his commanders shouted with one voice: "Hail Derek, King of Kaldwind!".

– Shall we attack tomorrow, then? – He commanded a large force of spearmen and was terribly proud of his friend's confidence in him.

– Yes, tomorrow," confirmed Derek.

– Must it be at dawn? – One of the warlords asked.

– No, noon. The warriors need to sleep and rest. The demons don't stand a chance anyway. They don't even have a single cannon. Fools never thought they'd have to defend their cities from their enemies," Derek smiled mockingly.

– Lead us, our king! – Bergil exclaimed. – We will follow you to both Hell and Heaven!

– To get there we all have to die first, and I'm not going to die yet! – chuckled Derek. – Andrada, my treasure, deserves the highest honors, and when I return to Sturfjell, I will reward her properly!

– But don't take her to your bed: I don't think she'll like it, for everyone knows she's proud as a wolf! – Bergil laughed loudly.

The whole kingdom knew of the king's love affairs, and he did not hide them.

– Her surname is a fox," the king grinned.

– A fox, then! Such a fluffy, affectionate fox! – Bergil laughed again, but he was the only one laughing: the other warlords stared at the ground, for they dared not mock His Majesty. Only Bergil, Derek's best friend, could afford such liberty.

– My friend, I think it's time for you to get married! – Derek smiled, squinting his eyes. – How do you like our Hedda?

– No way! I'll kill you! I like being a lonely bear! – Bergil grumbled unhappily and hurried to steer the conversation in another direction: "I thought maybe we could give our warriors some wine. They deserve it!

– I want sober warriors," Derek cut him off. – The wine will come after we've won, so tell them that.

– As you say, Your Majesty. – Bergil bowed to the king and left the tent.

– You too are free to go," Derek ordered the commanders, and they left him alone.

"I'll bring my daughters a nice crown each," he decided, sitting down on a roughly chipped wooden chair with a mug of water in his hand. During the war he had always observed a rite of sobriety so that wine and honey would not cloud his judgment. – Lamar has a wife and a daughter, and they must each have a crown worthy of my daughters' heads. I must remember to give orders that Lamar and his family are not to be touched: they will be executed in public, in the main square of Sturfjell, as will their vile relative, the murderer Daryal."

The night passed. The morning came. The warriors, rested and full of vigor, were just waiting for the king's order to storm the hated Røvann. Huge brass cannons were placed in front of the walls of the city, ready to crush the stone with their iron cannonballs and bury thousands of enemies under the rubble of houses and the royal palace. All that remained to be done was to wait for the loud signal of the king's horn, calling for fierce merriment.

At noon the low song of the brass horn blew through the camp of the men who were already standing in squads: the archers, with their large bows and quivers full of arrows, stood before the numerous crossbowmen, whose arrows could fly much farther than those of the archers. Each warrior knew that this would be the last battle, and anticipated celebrating the victory with good wine from the cellars of the demon king's palace.