The black stone of the Iron Horn jutted like a jagged tooth against the gray northern sky.
Vice Commander Elara marched toward the fortress at the head of his infantrymen, unable to mask his awe. General Ulric Stone had taken a crumbling, forgotten castle and turned it into an absolute meat grinder.
Jagged trenches scarred the snowfields, bristling with wooden spikes. Catching the faint glint of steel from the dug-in crossbowmen, Elara shivered and not just from the biting cold. He knew heavy cavalry waited in the tree line and beneath the stone bridge, ready to snap the jaws of the trap shut.
The iron gates groaned open. Kelvin drifted through the entrance, his boots hovering an inch above the slush. Elara trudged in on foot, still haunted by the lingering horror of the burning valley.
General Ulric Stone waited in the courtyard. The former bandit warlord leaned casually against a stack of crates, running a whetstone down the edge of a combat knife. Breath pluming in the freezing air, he looked up. His scarred face split into a terrifying, jagged grin.
"Heard a loud noise a few miles north," Ulric called out, sheathing the blade. "Sounded like thunder. Sky's clear, though."
"A minor atmospheric disturbance," Kelvin replied, his boots finally touching the slush. "The Dwarven Vanguard has been neutralized. No survivors."
Ulric barked a rough laugh. "Brilliant. The artillery powder?"
"Sent back to Kent's stronghold with the main host," Kelvin said. "Too volatile to drag to the frontline. Graves will secure it."
"Smart move." Ulric turned his dark eyes toward Elara. The young Vice Commander was pale, the slaughter of the mind-controlled mercenaries still weighing heavily on him.
Ulric crunched through the snow, pulled a battered metal flask from his coat, and tossed it. Elara fumbled but caught it.
"Sir?"
"Drink," Ulric said. "Cheap northern whiskey. Burns the ghosts out of your throat."
Elara took a swig and immediately coughed. The fiery liquid scorched his chest, making his eyes water, but the shivering finally stopped.
"You did good work with that axle trap in the gorge, kid," Ulric said, crossing his arms. "Thought like a bandit. Used the terrain to snap their wheels. But you look like you're going to hurl. Why?"
Elara wiped his mouth. "The explosion, General. The mercenaries... we used them as walking bombs. It was a slaughter. They didn't even have free will."
Ulric's smile vanished. "Listen to me," he said, his voice dropping low enough to cut through the wind. "Those mercenaries took Dwarven gold to sell human slaves. If we'd marched them to a prison, they would have drained our rations, tied up our guards, and eventually tried to slit our throats in our sleep."
He stepped closer, dropping a heavy, armored hand on Elara's shoulder.
"This is war. The traitor in the Capital is playing a numbers game. We're outmanned, out-funded, and fighting on three fronts. If we fight with honor, we die. If we fight like monsters, our people live. Understand?"
Elara met Ulric's gaze and took a deep, freezing breath. "I understand, General."
"Good." Ulric slapped the boy's back hard enough to make him stumble. "Now, get your men into the eastern trenches. I want overlapping lines of sight."
"Are we expecting the main Dwarven army soon?" Kelvin asked, leaning on his staff.
"Not just them," Ulric grunted, moving to a war map pinned to a courtyard table. "Got an eagle from Oakhaven. Kent arrived in time to stop a horde from burning the village to ash. But the Capital... the Capital is dead silent."
Kelvin's ancient eyes narrowed. "The royal summons."
"Exactly." Ulric stabbed a scarred finger at the center of the map. "Kent's in the west. We hold the north. Maltida's in the south. But William, Bella, and Duncan are walking straight into the lion's den. The corrupt nobles are gathering all the Paladins in one room."
Ulric looked up at the mage. His jagged smile returned, entirely void of humor.
"The northern border is locked down. But I have a feeling the real bloodbath is going to be in the Royal Court."