Rimegarde loomed like a frozen nightmare on the horizon.
The fortress-city clung to a series of jagged cliffs that cut through the southern wilds like the blade of a god. Frost-coated walls gleamed under the pale morning sun. Turrets bristled with crossbow platforms, and ballistae sat waiting behind massive gate towers sculpted in the likeness of Dominion saints.
But Duncan saw no saints here.
Only executioners.
The crucified bodies of rebel leaders lined the eastern wall, encased in ice like grotesque trophies. Banners of scorched wolf-hide and blood-dyed linen fluttered in the wind—Dominion heraldry that promised death to all defiance.
Kaelen scanned the battlements through his frost-lens. "They've reinforced. Looks like an extra regiment came down from the north. At least six hundred inside, half of them war-hardened."
Alra nodded, clutching her notebook. "Rimegarde wasn't just a border garrison. It's a cold vault. Dominion used it to store frostfire canisters—alchemical weapons banned after the Eastern Reaches rebellion."
Duncan's jaw tightened. "So they're planning to burn the Wildmarch with ice instead of flame."
Kaelen looked at him. "What's the play?"
Duncan turned to the assembled commanders. Around the fire sat Ironfang beastkin, Flameborn lieutenants, former Dominion tacticians, and three elders from the broken mountain clans.
"We do not siege Rimegarde," Duncan said. "We hollow it."
They leaned forward.
That night, as snow swept over the clifflands, a small strike unit moved beneath the city—through an ancient aqueduct tunnel mapped by the mountain elders.
The tunnels were narrow and dangerous, barely stable. One wrong vibration could collapse the entire section. But it was their best chance.
Duncan, Kaelen, Alra, and six others advanced in silence, torches blackened to keep their glow minimal. At the rear, beastkin scouts carried frost-laced bones that whispered the locations of hidden runes in the dark.
Hours passed in cold, wet stone.
Then came the hum of mana engines.
They were under the city.
A hatch loomed overhead—steelbound, rune-sealed. Alra stepped forward, brushing her fingers over the glyphs.
"This is old Dominion work. Seven-layer ward. Bloodbound."
Duncan drew his knife.
"No need for decoding."
He cut his palm and pressed it to the seal.
The steel shuddered.
Alra's eyes widened. "That shouldn't have worked. Your blood—"
"Isn't just mine," Duncan said quietly. "Not anymore."
The hatch opened.
They emerged into the storage chambers of Rimegarde.
It was worse than they'd imagined.
Barrels of frostfire canisters stacked like grain. Crates of chained wildbeasts—starved, mutated, bred for siege—lay in cold stasis. Dominion soldiers passed just beyond thin walls, unaware.
Kaelen turned to Duncan. "One strike. We end this before they can breathe."
Duncan nodded.
Then the alarms began to ring.
"Move!"
The next hour was chaos.
Alra set fuses. Kaelen led the charge against incoming guards. Duncan carved a path through frost-armored elite units with Ashborn gleaming in the dim blue light.
They didn't have time to hold. Only time to burn.
Alra planted the final charge near the frostfire reserves, yelling, "We've got two minutes!"
"Go!" Duncan ordered.
They retreated through the tunnel as shouts and footsteps echoed behind them.
Kaelen sealed the hatch with a rune-stick, just as the first wave of Dominion troops breached the chamber.
Then the mountain shook.
A muffled boom thundered upward. Seconds later, fire and ice exploded through the cracks of Rimegarde's lower levels.
The city groaned.
And began to fall.
From above, the rebel host watched in awe.
Frost-coated towers shuddered and cracked. Stone gave way as alchemical fire tore through Rimegarde's underbelly. Ice turned to steam. Walls buckled. Screams filled the wind.
Then—collapse.
Half the city crumbled into itself.
A monstrous section of the outer wall fell with a sound like the end of the world, crashing into the frozen ravine below.
Duncan and his strike team emerged from the foothills minutes later—smoke-covered, bleeding, but alive.
He looked up at the ruin.
No more crucified bodies.
No more banners.
Only ash.
They claimed what was left of the city by nightfall.
Dominion survivors surrendered. Prisoners were freed. Stores of grain and steel were salvaged. Word was already racing ahead, carried by hawks and whisperers.
The rebellion had burned Hightower.
Now it had broken Rimegarde.
Two strongholds gone.
Two black thrones shattered.
Kaelen leaned against a cracked pillar, watching Duncan address the troops from a broken rampart. "You know," he said to Alra, "at this rate, we might actually win."
Alra didn't smile.
"Maybe," she said. "But we haven't seen the real war yet."
Kaelen frowned. "What do you mean?"
She looked up, eyes distant.
"We lit a fire in the frost. But something darker is starting to move in the smoke."
Far north, across stormy peaks and ruined skyroads, something heard Rimegarde's fall.
And it began to stir.