The night above Drakenscar Keep was alive with storm clouds, lightning tearing across the black sky like jagged silver claws. In the great hall below, a tense silence hung heavy. Torches flickered, their flames bending in the drafts that swept through the ancient fortress.
Altharion sat alone at the war table, the glow of a single lantern casting sharp shadows across his face. His armor was battered, bearing the marks of the countless battles from the past week. Yet, his eyes held a sharper glint than ever before.
A faint clink echoed from the far side of the hall. Without looking up, Altharion spoke.
"You're late."
From the darkness stepped Kael, the Shadowblade. His cloak seemed to drink the light, his movements silent, his expression unreadable.
"I was not followed," Kael replied, his voice low. "But time grows short. Our enemies are closing in from every side."
Altharion leaned back, his fingers drumming on the table. "Then it's time we stop defending and start hunting."
Kael's gaze sharpened. "You mean the gambit?"
A faint smile touched Altharion's lips. "Exactly. We let them believe they have us cornered. Then we strike—hard and without mercy."
Kael hesitated. "It's risky. If the decoy fails, we'll be overrun before we can retaliate."
"Then we make sure it doesn't fail."
The doors to the hall creaked open, and Captain Eryndor entered, dripping with rain. He threw a parchment onto the table. "Scouts confirm it. Malakar's war host is less than three days away. And he's not alone. The Crimson Legion marches with him."
Kael's jaw tightened. "Two armies, united under one banner… They've never done that before."
Altharion rose, his shadow stretching long against the wall. "Which means someone powerful enough to unite them has entered the game." He turned to Kael. "We need names. And fast."
Kael nodded once and melted back into the darkness.
Eryndor stepped closer. "And what of the gambit?"
"It begins tonight," Altharion replied. "Gather the Iron Guard. We move under cover of the storm."
---
Hours later, the rain fell in sheets, drowning the world in a roar of water and wind. The Iron Guard rode hard through the forest, their armor wrapped in dark cloth to hide the glint of steel. At their head, Altharion's black steed cut through the mud like a shadow on fire.
They reached the old ruins of Valric's Watch before dawn. The crumbling stone towers loomed like the bones of some long-dead giant, perfect for the trap Altharion intended.
He dismounted and strode into the central courtyard. "Eryndor, position the archers along the western ridge. The rest of you, lay the charges along the outer walls. When they breach the gate, we bring the whole fortress down on them."
Eryndor grinned grimly. "And the bait?"
Altharion drew his sword, the blade catching what little light the storm allowed. "That would be me."
---
By mid-morning, Kael returned, soaked and pale.
"I have the name," he said. "It's worse than we thought."
Altharion's eyes narrowed. "Speak."
"Lord Veyric the Oathbreaker. He's the one who united Malakar and the Crimson Legion. And he's coming here—personally."
A long silence followed, broken only by the wind howling through the ruins.
Altharion sheathed his sword with a finality that sounded like a death knell.
"Then this gambit will not only break their armies… it will end Veyric."
Lightning split the sky, and in that moment, the storm seemed to bow to the will of the warlord in black.
The game had begun.