CHAPTER 22: An Ally's Arrival
Duskwatch Fortress – The Main Gate
They did not arrive like royalty. They arrived like a storm front.
The horns from the gate tower blew a sharp, questioning note. Below, a column of fifty riders sat on weary horses, their armor a mismatch of scavenged Imperial plate and boiled leather, all of it scarred by battle. They were hard men and women, with the wind-burnt faces of people who lived on the edge of the world. Above them, a single banner whipped in the wind: a snarling crimson wolf with a broken chain in its jaws.
House Varkhale had come.
Myrren met them at the gate, her hand never far from her axe. At their head was a man with a thick, graying beard and a deep scar that cut through one eyebrow, giving him a permanent look of cynical appraisal. He dismounted, his movements stiff but powerful.
"I am Theron Varkhale," he announced, his voice a low rumble. "Brother to the Lord of the Broken March. I was told we might find a fellow wolf in this den of lions."
The War Room
Theron Varkhale entered the war room and was met not with a triumphant court, but with the controlled chaos of a fortress preparing for the end of the world. Maps of the northern territories were covered in new, desperate markings. Every table was laden with supply ledgers, weapon inventories, and evacuation rosters. The air hummed with grim purpose.
Kael stood to greet him, not from a throne, but from the center of the room, his sleeves rolled up, his hands stained with ink and grime. Lady Virelle stood observing from one corner, a silent, calculating presence.
"Lord Theron," Kael said, his voice even. "You come at a difficult time."
"So I see," Theron said, his eyes sweeping the room, taking in the scene. "We heard you broke Duskwatch. We heard you sent a message to the High Crown written in blood and fire. House Varkhale approves." He smirked. "We have a long and storied history of irritating emperors."
He unrolled a scroll on the table, its wax seal already broken. "My brother, Lord Torvin, sends his regards. And five hundred spears. We believe a wolf in the north and a wolf in the borderlands can bite the lion in half."
Dren let out a breath of relief from his post by the fire. Five hundred trained spears was more than a reinforcement; it was a small army.
"We welcome your spears, and your house's courage," Kael said. He then gestured to the large map on the wall, where Fend's horrifying arrow still pointed at them. "But you need to understand what you are joining. You are not joining a siege. You are joining a cull."
Kael explained everything. The five legions. The hundred thousand men. The Black Legates. The Purifiers. He explained his strategy: the scorched earth, the evacuated villages, the guerilla war to be fought in the forests and on the supply lines. He did not soften the truth. He laid it bare, brutal and absolute.
When he finished, the room was silent. Theron Varkhale stared at the map, his smirk gone, replaced by a deep, stony gravity. He traced the line of the Imperial advance with a gloved finger.
"So you do not intend to hold Duskwatch," Theron said. It wasn't a question.
"Duskwatch is a cage," Kael replied. "I will not be trapped in it. We will bleed them on every step of their march. We will let the winter and the hunger be our allies. We will fight on our terms, not theirs."
Theron was quiet for a long time. The hope of a glorious, open war against a weakened empire had vanished, replaced by the reality of a desperate, grinding fight for survival against an awakened beast. This was not a war of glory. It was a war of extinction.
Finally, he looked up, and the cynical smirk returned to his face, but this time it was different. It was filled with a grim, defiant respect.
"My brother always said the Vellgaards were fools," Theron rumbled. "They think they can kill a wolf by burning its forest. They don't understand." He slammed his gauntlet down on the table, the sound echoing like a hammer blow. "The fire just makes the wolf angrier."
He looked Kael dead in the eye.
"You are not the king we expected to find. You are something better. Something our house understands." He grinned, a flash of teeth in his beard. "You're a cornered animal with nothing left to lose. And those are the most dangerous kind."
"The five hundred spears are yours, Sovereign," Theron declared. "And my own axe with them. Let the lions come. The wolves of the north are waiting."