While Oakhaven ascended into an age of unprecedented prosperity, a lone figure, a man named Cassius, made his way into the grim, smoke-choked settlement of Ironpeak. Cassius was not a merchant or a lost traveler. He was one of Lord Vaelin's most subtle and effective agents, a man whose face was forgettable but whose mind was a razor. He came not with a caravan of goods, but with a pouch full of royal gold and a heart full of carefully crafted poison.
He spent weeks in Ironpeak, working as a simple laborer, observing the flow of power, listening to the grumblings in the mess hall. He saw the city's newfound prosperity, the steady supply of grain and beer from Oakhaven, the respect Grak now commanded. But he also saw the cracks. He saw the pride of the smiths, their resentment at being dependent on a city of farmers, their jealousy of Oakhaven's 'miraculous' leader.
His target was Ulf, Grak's second-in-command. Ulf was a mountain of a man, a powerful warrior, but he lacked Grak's strategic foresight. His ambition was a raw, simple thing, and his pride was easily wounded. He had been second to Grak for twenty years, and he was beginning to chafe under the old chief's unyielding authority, an authority now seemingly subservient to a boy-lord in the desert.
Cassius approached him one night in a quiet corner of the main tavern, a place where the beer from Oakhaven flowed freely.
"A fine brew," Cassius said, his voice casual. "A gift from your new masters in the valley."
Ulf grunted, draining his own mug. "Grak is the master of this mountain. We are allies with Oakhaven, not subjects."
"Of course," Cassius said smoothly. "Allies. Though it is a strange alliance where one ally provides all the food and all the orders, and the other provides all the sweat and all the iron. It seems less an alliance and more the relationship between a man and his dog."
Ulf's eyes narrowed. "Watch your tongue, stranger."
"I am merely an observer," Cassius said, placing a heavy gold coin on the table between them. It gleamed in the firelight, a stark contrast to the simple iron tokens used in the Confederacy. "I observe that Grak, once the unbending master of Ironpeak, now speaks of 'Lord Castian' with a strange reverence. I observe that the finest iron from your forges now goes to arm his soldiers first. I observe that the bastard prince grows richer and more powerful, while the mighty warriors of the mountain have become little more than his blacksmiths."
Every word was a carefully chosen barb, designed to prick Ulf's pride.
"What is your point?" Ulf growled, his hand resting on the pommel of his axe.
"My point," Cassius said, pushing the gold coin towards him, "is that a man of your strength and your stature should be master of his own mountain. Not a servant to a sorcerer in the sand." He leaned in, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "There are powerful men in the east, men of the true kingdom, who are… displeased with the current arrangement. They believe a strong man like yourself would make a much better, and much more independent, partner than Grak has become. They are willing to pay handsomely, in gold and in power, for a… change in leadership."
Ulf stared at the gold coin. It represented a wealth and a status he could only dream of. The agent's words echoed his own secret, resentful thoughts.
"Grak is my chieftain," Ulf said, but his voice lacked conviction.
"And he is leading your people into servitude," Cassius countered. "He follows this Castian blindly. But what happens when the sorcerer's magic fails? When the King's real army arrives? Will Castian protect you then? Or will he sacrifice Ironpeak to save his own precious city? A true leader puts his own people first."
Cassius stood up to leave. "Think on it, Ulf. The kingdom rewards its friends far more generously than the desert rewards its slaves. When you are ready to speak of how a true king of the mountain might claim his throne, find me."
He left the gold coin sitting on the table, a gleaming seed of treason planted in the heart of the Confederacy's industrial powerhouse. Ulf stared at it, his mind a battlefield of loyalty and ambition. The snake, sent by Lord Vaelin, had found the first crack in the foundation of our empire.