Ironhold wasn't a fortress. It was a tumor growing out of the cliffside.
It smelled of wet stone, unwashed bodies, and the metallic tang of blood that never quite scrubbed out. The Vanguard returned not as heroes, but as ghosts slipping back into their graves.
They entered through the lower sally port, a narrow tunnel slick with moss. The guards—Vane's men, wearing mismatched plate and leathers—nodded at Karn but kept their hands near their crossbows. Trust was a currency no one could afford here.
"Split the loot," Karn ordered as they reached the barracks, a cavernous room filled with bunk beds and the sound of coughing.
Jax took the Black Banner armor. Horg took the weapons.
Kael stood there, mud caking his boots, the smell of the dead rider still in his nose.
"What about the prisoner?" Kael asked.
Karn pointed a thumb toward the upper levels, where the stone was dressed and the torches burned cleaner. "Vane's property. Don't ask about the meat once it goes into the kitchen, Rat."
"I need my share," Kael said. His voice was hoarse.
Karn paused. He turned his milky eyes toward Kael. "You survived. That's your share."
"I need coin," Kael insisted. He didn't back down. He couldn't.
Karn grinned, exposing yellow teeth. "Gutty. I like that. Go see the Quartermaster. Tell him Karn sent you. You get two silvers for the assist."
Two silvers. It was nothing. It was everything.
***
The infirmary was a hole in the wall near the latrines. It cost three coppers a day just to have a bed, and another five for bandages that weren't used.
Elric was lying on a straw pallet, his face grey in the dim light. The wound on his side had been stitched, but the skin around it was angry and red. Fever heat radiated off him.
"You're late," Elric rasped without opening his eyes.
"We ran into a patrol," Kael said, kneeling beside him. He placed a waterskin and a small loaf of bread on the stool. Stolen from the mess hall.
"Did you kill them?"
"Yes."
"Good." Elric opened his eyes. They were glassy. "Did you hesitate?"
Kael looked at his hands. They were steady. "No."
Elric let out a breath that rattled in his chest. "Then you might live through the week."
"I got coin," Kael said. "I can pay the leech for better medicine."
"Keep it," Elric snapped. He tried to sit up but collapsed back with a groan. "Save it for steel. You're fighting with rust. It will get you killed."
"I'm not letting you die in this hole, Elric."
"We all die in a hole, boy. The only difference is how much dirt they throw on top of you."
The door creaked open. A man in a velvet doublet—too clean, too rich for this dungeon—stepped in. He held a handkerchief to his nose.
It was Vane.
Behind him, two guards dragged the prisoner. The Black Banner soldier was naked now, his body a map of bruises. He wasn't defiant anymore. He was shivering.
"Out," Vane said to the leech who was tending to another patient. The leech scrambled away.
Vane looked at Elric, then at Kael. His eyes were like polished coal.
"The boy effectively blinded a charger today," Vane said, his voice smooth, cultured. "Karn says he has instincts."
"He's a survivor," Elric grunted. "What do you want, Vane?"
"Information," Vane said. He gestured to the prisoner. "And an audience. The boy should learn the cost of business."
Vane pulled a chair over and sat facing the prisoner. He didn't produce a torture instrument. He produced a ledger.
"Your name is Sorren," Vane said casually. "You were born in the Free Cities. You serve Captain Kaelen of the Black Banner. And you are currently three months behind on your tithe to the Guild."
The prisoner blinked, confusion warring with pain. "How...?"
"I know everything that has a price," Vane said. "Now, tell me. Why is a heavy cavalry unit patrolling a goat track in the Black Reach? There are no caravans there. no villages. Just rock and old bones."
"Patrol," the prisoner wheezed. "Standard patrol."
Vane sighed. He closed the ledger. "Standard patrols don't carry sealing wax and cartographer's tools."
He held up a small leather case. It had been in the prisoner's saddlebag.
"You weren't hunting men," Vane said softly. "You were hunting a location."
The prisoner went rigid.
"The Ash-King's Marker," Vane whispered.
Kael felt the name like a cold draft. The Ash-King. A myth. A ghost story from before the Empire.
"I don't know..." the prisoner stammered.
Vane nodded to the guard. The guard stepped forward and broke the prisoner's finger. Snap.
The scream filled the small room. Elric didn't flinch. Kael forced himself to watch.
"Location," Vane repeated.
"They found it!" the prisoner screamed. "The crypt! In the Sunken Vale! We were securing the perimeter!"
Vane smiled. It was a terrifying expressions. "The Crypt of the First Sword. Interesting."
He stood up, dusting off his doublet. "Dispose of him."
"Wait!" the prisoner begged. "I told you! I told you!"
"And now you are a liability," Vane said.
The guard drew a knife. Kael looked away as the wet sound of a throat opening ceased the begging.
Vane turned to Kael. He flipped a silver coin through the air. Kael caught it.
"Buy a sword that doesn't shame you," Vane said. "We ride for the Sunken Vale in two days. You're officially Vanguard now."
Vane walked out, stepping over the spreading pool of blood.
Elric stared at the ceiling. "The Crypt of the First Sword," he muttered.
"Is it real?" Kael asked.
"It's real," Elric said. "And if the Black Banner opens it, this war won't be about borders anymore."
"What will it be about?"
Elric closed his eyes. "Extermination."