The sun set on the Ashen Plains, but for the first time since she had been set adrift, Gwendolyn felt a spark of hope amid the desolation.The land's ancient magic had chosen her, awakening abilities she never even knew existed.Yet as she huddled in the rocks, the whispers of the soil grew louder, hinting at greater revelations—and dangers—yet to come.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The grand hall of King's Court, once a beacon of unity under Thorgrin's rule, now echoed with the squabbling of the nobles who had replaced him.Aldrich sat at the head of the table, his throne like chair dwarfing the others, something that had not gone unnoticed.He had gathered his closest allies together, but looking around the room, he no longer knew if he could trust these.
Were they plotting and scheming behind his back, annoyed that they had yet to taste the sweet, promised rewards of their actions?Were they waiting for him to fall, so as to step in and replace him at the helm?Or worse, were they actively progressing ways to bring him down?When you deposed the king, even killed him, all bets were off when it came to loyalty, he mused glumly.
It had been mere weeks since the coup, and Aldrich's grip on the Ring felt firm, even if the transition had been a bumpier road than he had hoped.Gwendolyn had been exiled to the Ashen Plains, where she would quietly perish and be forgotten.The remnants of the Silver were scattered throughout the kingdom, and with all their captains and generals dead, in chains, or scattered in the wilderness, showed no signs of being a force anywhere near strong enough to pose a threat.
The boy-prince, Guwayne, he had presumed drowned—though that nagging seed of doubt planted by Vargul had turned out to be more than likely a reality.But he had acted swiftly to cut off that loose thread.The Shadowed Veil had been dispatched to track him down and kill or capture him, and their report was expected any day.The Shield's breaches continued, news of new ones reaching his ears almost every day, but even that was no bad thing as long as they simply took a few villagers out.It provided a convenient pretext for maintaining martial law.
But Aldrich's masterstroke was the alliance with Vargul and his barbarian hordes.When the staged invasion took place, which was imminent, the inhabitants of the Ring would know real terror, allowing the "Council of Protectors" to swoop in as saviors.The people would beg for strong leadership, and Aldrich would provide it, carving the kingdom into fiefdoms for his loyalists while he claimed the crown.Thor, Gwendolyn, and their son would be conveniently forgotten, any loyalty to them swiftly replaced by the gratitude towards the new regime for providing food for their bellies, a roof over their heads, and a guard at their gate.
He cleared his throat."What news from the borders?"he demanded, using the voice he had adopted for such meetings, for such demands.One he thought befitting for someone in charge of the kingdom.
Baron Holt grunted, unfolding a parchment with meaty hands."Scouts confirm the hordes gather.Vargul's warriors—ten thousand strong, by our estimates.They've crossed the Whispering River, as agreed.The first raids should hit the outlying farms by dawn tomorrow.Our forces are positioned to 'repel' them after a suitable show of destruction."
Lady Elowen smiled thinly."The timing could not be better.My spies whisper of further unease among the peasantry.Whispers of the old queen's fate spread like wildfire.This incursion will redirect their fears nicely.Let them see us as protectors, not usurpers."
Aldrich nodded, a predatory gleam in his eyes.Vargul had been a shrewd partner—greedy for gold and land, but controllable.The chieftain's hordes were fierce brutes, worshippers of storm gods and wielders of crude but effective axes.Their "invasion" would be brief, theatrical, ending with a negotiated retreat once Aldrich paid the promised tribute.Then, with the threat "vanquished," the nobles would consolidate power, dividing the Ring's riches.It was flawless.He also knew he was the only one in the room who had the vision to think of such a plan, and the balls to push it through.
A sudden clamor at the hall's doors shattered his self-assurance.A guard burst in, armor clattering, his face pale as fresh snow."My lords!Urgent missive from the Mid’en watchtowers!"
Aldrich waved him forward impatiently."Speak, man.Has Vargul begun early?Probably got drunk and forgot the day.A minor deviation—we can adjust."
The guard swallowed hard, unfurling a bloodstained scroll."Not begun, my lord—escalated.The hordes crossed the borders last night, hours ahead of schedule.They didn't raid; they conquered.Eldridge Village is fallen—burned to the ground, its defenders slaughtered.Reports say they're marching on Fort Grimwald, not with raiding parties, but in full battle formation.Catapults, siege engines...organized, like an army of the old empires."
Silence gripped the room, thick as fog.Aldrich's stomach tightened."Impossible.Vargul knows the plan.He knows he will not be paid unless he complies.This must be a misunderstanding.What about our defenders, surely they turned them back, as agreed, with just enough casualties to keep up the pretence?"
Baron Holt snatched the scroll, his brow furrowing as he read."By the gods...survivors speak of no mercy.Women and children put to the sword, granaries seized, not looted.”He read on, the blood draining from his features.“Aldrich, you can forget about your ‘just enough casualties.’They wiped out our entire guard.”He turned the page, his hands trembling as he digested what his eyes saw.“They're fortifying positions, establishing supply lines.This isn't a stage play; it's a full invasion!"
Lady Elowen's composure disintegrated.“There must be some misunderstanding!Unless..."Her eyes widened."Vargul played us.He used our gold to arm his forces, our intelligence to map our weaknesses."
Aldrich rose, his face flushing with rage."Summon the ravens.Send word to Vargul—remind him of our pact.If he oversteps, the tribute ends.He will get nothing apart from the cold edge of a blade.Our armies will crush him."
But even as the words left his lips, doubt gnawed at him.Vargul's hordes were supposed to be a disorganized rabble, fueled by plunder.Yet the reports painted a different picture.How had they acquired such might?Aldrich paced, his mind racing back to their clandestine meetings.Vargul had seemed eager for the ruse."A fake war for real gold," the chieftain had boomed.But now...betrayal.Had he been played all along, as Elowen suggested?By a barbarian savage?Never.The reports must be false.They must be exaggerating.
But more messengers arrived in quick succession, each bearing worse tidings.Fort Grimwald had fallen by midday, its gates destroyed by enormous battering rams.The hordes had seemingly bypassed the smaller hamlets Aldrich had earmarked for them to attack, striking directly at strategic chokepoints: bridges, mountain passes, river fords.Reports detailed how Vargul’s men had moved with ruthless efficiency, dividing into columns that encircled key towns, cutting off reinforcements.In the south, an area they should never have been anywhere near, raiders had seized the port of Wavecrest, burning ships in the harbor to prevent escape or aid from ports along the coast.Whispers among the reports spoke of Vargul himself leading the vanguard, his banner—a snarling wolf beneath a storm cloud—fluttering over captured battlements.
The council chamber devolved into pandemonium.Lesser nobles bickered, accusing one another."You promised control!"one shouted at Aldrich."Now the barbarians are at our throats!"
"Silence!"Aldrich roared, slamming his fist on the table.But inside, panic coiled like a serpent.He had orchestrated the coup with precision—bribing Proudlock, ambushing Thorgrin, imprisoning Gwendolyn.The Shield's weakening had been his opportunity, the beasts a distraction.But inviting Vargul...that had been the keystone.Now it crumbled.The hordes weren't allies; they were conquerors, exploiting the kingdom's division.Aldrich realized with chilling clarity: Vargul had never intended a fake conflict.This had been his plan all along.
And he had opened the door to him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
The northern winds howled with a ferocity that seemed capable of tearing the world apart all by itself, whipping snow and ice into a blinding frenzy that clawed at Thorgrin's face like the talons of some vengeful spirit.And after all he had been through, all that he had learned, he wasn’t ready to dismiss that that was what it actually was.
He stood at the edge of the cirque, his spear planted firmly in the frozen ground, his breath coming in visible puffs that mingled with the swirling flakes.The Heartspire loomed behind him, its black stone now marred by deeper fissures that wept a sickly luminescence, as if the obelisk itself were bleeding the essence of the world.Grimolf and his clanspeople moved with desperate urgency around it, their chants a rhythmic counterpoint to the earth's growing unrest—a futile hymn against the inevitable.
Since the first major tremor, it had been a relentless vigil.Thor had been part of it, helping where he could, but the rituals taking place were beyond his knowledge, and there was no time to teach him or even to explain them.His senses were becoming more and more attuned to the land's agony, feeling every quiver and groan as if they were his own.It was impossible now to look upon the mountains that towered around him, or at the frozen ground beneath his feet, and not think of what lay beneath, what was imprisoned within.
The Titans, if the Iceborn lore, myths, and legends were correct, lay almost within touching distance.And they were rising again.These were no mere gods or monsters; they were the architects of creation and destruction; entities whose slumber had allowed civilizations to rise and fall.He tried to picture what they would be like, weaving together the vivid but differing descriptions that had been told to him, voices hushed, wary, with the images from those cave walls.
He had also been warned that to awaken one was to unravel the threads of reality itself.Another quake shook the earth, and Thor understood that they were standing on the precipice of all of the warnings coming true.He wouldn’t have to wonder what the Titans looked like.He wouldn’t have to imagine what reality being ripped asunder would be like.He was about to witness it.He now knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt.
"We cannot hold much longer," Lirna had confided earlier that dawn, her voice strained as she bound fresh herbs to the Heartspire's base.Her hands, callused from years of shamanic rites, trembled slightly—a rare crack in her composed facade."The bindings fray like old rope in a gale.Your power, warm-lander...it bolsters us, but the Titans' dreams bleed through.They sense weakness in the world beyond—the breaches in your Shield, the wars of men.It calls to them."
