Beyond the effective range of the terrifying, whistling boulders of Axiomra's trebuchets, the coalition army set up their camp.
Inside the largest command tent, King Olaf Haraldsson of Norway and King Anund Jacob of Sweden stared at a crude map of the valley. They were not fools. They were seasoned, brilliant warlords who had spent their lives conquering the North.
Olaf rubbed his bearded jaw, listening to the distant, rhythmic THWACK of the Giant's siege engines.
"He thinks like a Roman Emperor," King Anund muttered, his face grim. "He burned his own wooden forts. He poisoned the outer wells. He left us nothing to eat but mud and ash. If we assault that stone wall, we will lose a thousand men just to scratch the gate."
Olaf's eyes burned with a dark, fanatical intelligence. He hated the Demon Giant, but he respected his mind.
"The Giant's strength is his logic," Olaf said, leaning over the table. "He builds machines. He calculates food. But a man of logic has a fatal weakness. He loves his children."
Anund looked up. "You want to breach the walls?"
"No. The walls are death," Olaf replied coldly. "But a city of a thousand people has rats. Before the gates closed, we had spies posing as refugees. They failed to burn the city, but they are still inside. We do not need to break the stone, Anund. We just need to take his heart. We take one of the Giant's daughters. We drag her out here, and we force him to watch. He will open the gates himself to save her."