CHAPTER 21: The Rider on the Wind
Duskwatch Fortress – The Northern Gate
The rider came near midnight, a ghost on a half-dead horse. He was one of Dren's best scouts, a man named Fend, but the man who fell from the saddle was a hollowed-out version of him, his face etched with frost and a fear that was colder than any winter. His cloak was torn, and an arrow was snapped off in his saddle's cantle.
"Sound the alarm," he gasped to the guards who lifted him. "Light the high beacon. Send word to the Sovereign."
He clutched a small, water-stained leather satchel to his chest. "The storm… it has a name…"
The War Room
They gathered around the great stone table, the leaders of the rebellion, a fractured council bound by a single man. Kael stood at the head, his face a mask of stone. Myrren was beside him, her hand resting on the hilt of her axe. Dren paced nervously, while Lady Virelle stood poised and still, her expression unreadable. Seyda watched from the shadows near the fire, her crimson veil hiding her face. The spy, Nalen, stood by the door, a silent observer now part of the inner circle.
Fend, the scout, leaned over the map, his trembling finger tracing a path south.
"I've never seen its like," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "Not an army. A nation on the march. We saw the banners from the ridges of the Blackwood. Five full legions."
Dren let out a low whistle. "Five?"
"More," Fend rasped. "A hundred lesser houses have answered the call. And there are others… a column in scorched-black armor that marches apart from the rest. The locals call them the Black Legates. Executioners, they said. And another group, thousands of them, led by priests in red. They carry no weapons but fire and iron scripture."
Seyda stepped forward into the light. "The Purifiers," she said, her voice a low hiss. "The Archlector's hounds. They do not take prisoners."
Fend nodded, his eyes wide. "They are marching on the King's Road, but their outriders are everywhere. They burn everything. Every farm, every village. They aren't trying to conquer the north, Sovereign. They're trying to erase it."
Silence descended on the room, heavy and suffocating. The sheer scale of the force was almost incomprehensible. One hundred thousand men. A force to break kingdoms, now aimed at their single, defiant fortress.
Myrren was the first to break the silence, her voice sharp and practical. "Our walls won't hold against a force that size. Not for long. How much time do we have?"
"Two weeks. Maybe three," Fend said. "They move slow, but they don't stop."
Lady Virelle spoke for the first time, her tone as cool and calm as a winter morning. "An army that large has a weakness: it must be fed. Their supply lines will stretch for a hundred miles. A surgical strike..."
"A strike against a beast that size?" Dren scoffed. "That's not surgery, my lady. It's suicide."
All eyes turned to Kael. He hadn't moved. He stared at the map, at the single, massive arrow Fend had drawn pointing directly at them. He saw the faces of the people in the town below, the conscripts he had freed, the rebels who had followed him. He heard the bells of Velvrahn, a sound he had not forgotten.
He finally looked up, and his gaze swept over each of them—Myrren's fierce loyalty, Dren's scared bravado, Seyda's burning faith, Virelle's cold ambition, Nalen's quiet resolve. This was his council. This was his rebellion.
"We don't have walls strong enough," Kael said, his voice quiet but clear, cutting through the fear. "We don't have the numbers. We don't have the supplies."
He paused, letting the weight of the truth settle.
"So we will not give them the battle they expect." He looked at Myrren. "Send riders to every village loyal to us within fifty miles. They are to pack what they can carry and fall back to the Ravencair mountains. Scorch the earth behind them. Burn the fields, poison the wells. Leave nothing for the legions but ash and winter."
He then turned to Seyda. "Your Red Veil will not be on the walls. They will be in the forests, on the roads. I don't want them to fight. I want them to haunt. Let every Imperial patrol that ventures from the main host vanish without a sound. Let them hear whispers in the woods at night."
Finally, he looked at Virelle. "My lady, you spoke of supply lines. Show me."
A new energy filled the room. It was not hope, not yet. It was something harder. It was purpose. The shock had passed. The war had a face.
"They march to erase a belief," Kael said to them all. "Then let them starve on it."