"Three Archive scouts. All slain."
Verrian Dain stepped from the trees. Two days of hard riding had brought his advance force within striking range. General Alrik Mordane wiped blood from his blade in the stream.
"Never saw us coming." Mordane rose, water dripping from his hands.
Verrian reached for his sword hilt. "Fifteen years of planning have brought us to this moment. Are your warriors prepared?"
Mordane gestured towards the men moving between the trees. Scars marked their faces. Three years ago, these men had dragged bodies from burning homes—wives, children, parents slaughtered by Council soldiers.
"They buried their families in mass graves. They fight for vengeance, not coin."
Verrian studied them. Grief had sharpened them into blades.
He turned towards the sun-stone's glow. Its wardlight pulsed faster than he had ever witnessed.
"That light burns differently tonight."
Mordane cleaned his blade on his cloak. "It must be enough."
"Any word from our contact inside the walls?"
"Silent since midday."
"Dead, then?"
"Or taken." Mordane sheathed his blade. "Either way, we proceed."
Verrian nodded.
. . .
"Erathil's outer patrols have been eliminated. Six guard posts lie silent."
Captain Darius Blackwood dismounted before his horse stopped, armour dusty from the road. No ceremony. No bowing.
"Swift kills?"
"As commanded." Blackwood pulled off his gloves, fingers dark with blood. "No survivors to carry warning."
Verrian examined Blackwood's hands. No hesitation marks. No defensive wounds on the captain's forearms. His warriors had struck without mercy.
Another rider burst through the treeline, his horse foaming. The scout gestured east.
"Movement on the eastern road, my lord!"
Blackwood turned. "Cavalry. Five thousand riders strong, bearing Kaelthorne banners. Before nightfall, my lord."
"Thorne Halden," Verrian spoke the name like a curse. "The High Senior Scribe's son returns at last. I wondered when the old man would summon him home."
"You know him?"
"I knew his father before the Council turned him against House Dain. The son—by reputation only. He broke the siege at Torn Ridge with three hundred men."
Blackwood glanced towards the eastern road. "Never lost a battle."
"Every commander meets defeat eventually."
Mordane sharpened his sword against a whetstone. He tested the edge with his thumb. "Even legends bleed."
Verrian studied Erathil's wards. "What is our current position?"
"Twenty catapults positioned upon the ridge. Fifteen battering rams ready."
Blackwood gestured towards the siege lines.
"The alchemical fire from the southern kingdoms. Ward-breakers from Vaelthorne. All arrived this morning."
The sun-stone flickered before them, its wardlight weakening.
"Dawn was our intended strike." Verrian pointed towards the ward-glow. "But plans change when opportunity presents itself."
"That wardlight—the Archive pours everything into their defences. The outer ring falls first. Once those walls breach, the inner ring stands exposed."
His voice rose to address the assembled warriors at the treeline.
"New orders! They expect a siege at dawn. We strike at midnight instead!"
The Warriors rose throughout the camp.
Weapons scraped from sheaths.
Master Engineer Gareth approached, wiping grease from his hands onto his leather apron.
"The siege towers stand ready, my lord. Twenty feet in height, armoured against arrows and flame. They shall reach those walls swiftly once you give the command."
"What of the warriors' spirits?"
"High, my lord. They have waited years for this."
A young lieutenant pushed through the crowd.
"My lord, the warriors have questions regarding prisoners. Council members—shall we take them for questioning? Archive guards who surrender—shall they be spared?"
"Council members face justice. Guards who lay down their weapons may be spared."
Verrian's gaze swept the camp.
"Anyone else has chosen their allegiance by remaining within those walls."
The lieutenant pressed forward. "What of the civilians, my lord?"
"Civilians who hide within their homes shall be left in peace. Those who take up swords against us face a combatant's fate."
"And Kaelen Virelle?"
Verrian's fingers tightened around his sword hilt.
"The Virelle girl is mine to handle. You heard my words, Lieutenant. Do not make me repeat them."
The lieutenant stepped back.
. . .
"The wards are failing!"
A wounded scout burst through the trees and stumbled forward. Blood covered half his face. Aldric gasped, clutching his side.
He spat blood. "Gaps have appeared in their defences."
Mordane caught the scout before he collapsed. "Speak plainly—what did you witness?"
"The Archive mobilises." Aldric wiped his mouth, leaving a red smear across his knuckles. "The inner ring has been called to arms. They have tripled guard rotations. Those weak points we identified—they are fortifying them now."
He gestured weakly towards Erathil.
"There is more. They have opened the Vault of Echoes."
Verrian's head snapped up. "The forbidden vault? They would not dare—"
"They dared." Aldric met Verrian's gaze. "Not opened in three centuries. Weapons came up from the depths—flame lances that burn hotter than a dragon's breath. Ward-breaker bolts forged by the first mages. Blades that sever enchantments."
Blood dripped from Aldric's chin.
"Weapons made to end bloodlines."
Silence fell.
Verrian turned to his commanders. "Why would they risk unleashing such weapons?"
"Because they know something we do not." Mordane's voice was quiet.
"Or because desperation drives them."
Verrian addressed the assembled warriors.
"They expect us to retreat when faced with ancient weapons. Instead, we advance with all haste. They expect a prolonged siege. We strike before they can fortify."
Mordane studied Verrian in the firelight.
"Kaelen Virelle complicates matters. Last of her line. Without her living presence, the sun-stone dies. Its wardlight fails utterly."
"I know her bloodline well enough."
Verrian turned from the fire. His next words came softer, barely audible. "The Virelles survived the Blood Purge. Survived the Council's hunts. That instinct runs deeper than loyalty."
. . .
"Commander approaches!"
The eastern gate opened. A guard called from the watchtower as Commander Thorne Halden rode through Erathil's eastern gate, five thousand veterans following behind.
. . .
Kaelen pressed her forehead against the Archive's highest tower window, staring into the forest depths.
She could run. Take the map and flee into the night. The Hollow Map burned against her ribs, calling her towards the Sundered Peaks.
But the Archive held thousands of innocents—scribes, families, children. If Verrian breached these walls searching for her, they would all die.
The map made me a target. Staying makes me a shield.
Guards had escorted her here after the vault incident. Keep her visible, the Council had ordered. Keep her contained. They thought the tower made her a prisoner.
From here, she could see everything. The ward-stone's light. The treeline. The courtyard below, where families hurried past with children clutched close.
Below, mothers whispered reassurances. Elderly scribes protected texts they had spent lifetimes studying. Three hundred people who trusted the walls would hold.
If I surrender, Verrian kills me and takes the map anyway.
If I flee, he slaughters everyone searching for me.
The pendant grew cold against her throat.
Between the trees, something moved—tall, broader than any man. Where its face should be, a red light pulsed.
She pressed her palm against the glass.
Marcus climbed the stairs behind her.
"The Commander has arrived."
He joined her at the window. "What do you see?"
"Shadows. Moving where there should be empty forest."
The sun-stone's wardlight flickered in the distance.
"There is another force out there. Not warriors. Not steel. Something else."
She traced the glass where the shape stood.
"Do you see the red light?"
The pendant grew colder.
Only my blood can see it. Cold means truth.
Between the trees, the red gaze fixed on her window.
Marcus pressed his face to the glass, squinting. "I see nothing. Miss, there is nothing but forest."
"The shadows hide most of it. But that height... That red glow never moves from the treeline."
Marcus's hand dropped to his sword hilt—not threatening, but ready. "What does it want?"
"Me." She did not turn from the forest. "It waits."
She turned from the window.
"Marcus. Send word to Commander Thorne."
"What message shall I bear?"
"Tell him the attack upon Erathil may not be what anyone expects."
She crossed to the Hollow Map on the table, pressing both hands against its surface. Heat radiated beneath her palms.
"Tell him it could be a harvest."
Marcus stepped back. "A harvest of what?"
She held his gaze.
"Blood. Power. Whatever gift the Virelle line carries in our veins."
Marcus's hand tightened on his sword hilt.
"The attackers are coming for you specifically. The Council made that clear. But why you? What makes the Virelle bloodline worth this siege?"
Kaelen touched the stone wall for support. Cold seeped through the ancient blocks.
"I wish I knew. My family told me nothing. Just broken tales and whispers that made no sense."
"No stories? No warnings?"
"Only nightmares." She touched the pendant again. Cold against her fingertips. "And this pendant burning—or freezing—against my skin."
Marcus leaned closer, his voice dropping.
"What if the nightmares were not dreams? What if they were memories?"
Kaelen's voice dropped to match his.
"Whose memories?"
He held her gaze. "Your ancestors. The mages who built these wards."
Above them, the wardlight flickered.
"We have lost contact with our scouts. Three patrols, gone without a trace."
Kaelen turned back to the window. "Gone how?"
"Vanished. No bodies. No signs of struggle. They went into the forest and never returned."
The red light pulsed between the trees.
"Verrian's warriors took them?"
Marcus joined her at the window. "I think something worse than warriors took the scouts."
Above them, the sun-stone's wardlight flickered again.
Below in the corridor, Archive guards rushed past, carrying spears and swords. Their footsteps echoed through the tower.
War horns sounded across the plain—deep, resonant calls that carried through the darkness.
Her hand pressed flat against the map. The shadows shifted beneath her palm, showing her visions of siege engines and marching warriors.
"They are moving. Verrian's warriors are moving."
. . .
End of Chapter 10
. . .
Next Chapter Preview: The Fall of Nareth Hollow
Thorne returns to find his father planning a sacrifice he cannot accept. As Verrian's shadow warriors breach the outer walls, Kaelen confronts a truth bound by ancient magic—her life tied to Thorne's by spells cast long ago. With Nareth Hollow burning and children taken as captives, the pendant reveals dangerous secrets while the Emergency Council faces an impossible choice: trust their imprisoned enemy or watch everything fall.