A crack sounded from the mountaintop. For a heartbeat after that there was nothing, then a slow rumbling rose in its wake. The rumbling built, quickly, swallowing the song, eclipsing the screams from the tower.
Phfas, like Adrogans, had bound to himself yrun, though his closest ally was air. As his fists closed, air hardened on the mountaintop. It drove down solidly at various points cracking the crusted snow and pressing it into the softer, looser powder below. The snow began to slip and slide, passing quickly over a deeper, icier level. The rumble grew as it picked up speed, then the snow flew from the mountain in a white cataract.
Snow, so light that it would drift down easily from the clouds, hardly seemed a threat, but it poured off the mountain swiftly and heavily. Tons of it flew in a fluid sheet, mixing huge chunks of ice with a few trees and the occasional rock, pounding down onto the roadway between Varalorsk and Darovin with the fury of storm-driven waves.
The Aurolani reinforcements—all three legions—vanished in the avalanche. Snow landed twenty feet deep on the roadway, rising higher than the walls of Darovin itself. The swath of snow flowed onto the river and the ice cracked. The snow poured down into the dark hole and disappeared.
The ram continued forward and the Darovin ballistae shot more hurriedly. More men died, but soon enough the shots from the tower played back against the middle and tail of the ram. Archers lined the top of the gate wall and shot down, trying to drive their shafts through the roof, but to no avail.
Adrogans watched the aft end of the ram swing back, then forward. The first impact sounded like a giant hand knocking politely on the gate. Then another knock, heavier and harder, echoed through the valley. A third came, then a fourth, each insistent, solid and undeniable. With enough time, the gate would shatter.
Suddenly chaos erupted on the walls. Gibberers pitched forward, spinning from above the gate to bounce from the ram’s roof. The gates opened, slowly at first, then more quickly, and the Gurolean song transformed itself into a cacophony of war cries.
Adrogans spurred his horse forward, with the signalman and Phfas trotting in his wake. He glanced back at the shaman. Phfas’ skin had taken on a blue tone and the older man shivered, but his eyes still burned bright. He smiled even more brightly.
“You see, uncle. It worked.”
Phfas nodded. “The Zhusk could have done this.”
“The Zhusk did. They just had help.”
Adrogans dismounted at the ram and, drawing his sword, ran in through the gate. The Stonehearts had already reached the far gate and opened it. A few of them ran out toward the mountain of snow cutting the road. A couple of gibberers lay broken on the roadway, or struggling to drag themselves from beneath tons of snow. The Stonehearts ended their misery.
The Alcidese general, Caro, begrimed but smiling broadly, met Adrogans in Darovin’s courtyard. “It worked perfectly, my lord. Yes, more blood flowed than water, but that’s because so little water flowed.”
The difficulty in taking the Three Brothers really fell into two areas. The first was a need to lure troops out from behind walls so they could be slaughtered. The roadway offered an obvious killing ground, and the Blackfeathers could have slain many of the reinforcements, but they could only have done so from the river and there they would have been in the open and terribly vulnerable.
The second problem was a manifestation of the first: how to approach the fortresses unseen. At first he had considered having the Nalisk Mountain Rangers descend on ropes from the mountain, but that would still have left them outside the fortresses, and as vulnerable as any troops on the road. With the river frozen, nothing could be floated down to deliver troops, and they would have still remained outside the walls.
Ultimately Duke Mikhail had provided the solution. So exact were his models that he even showed the stone tunnels where the fortresses’ offal flowed into the river to be carried away. Those tunnels provided a way in, but one that was guarded by twenty feet of frigid water.
More blood flowed than water because, fifteen miles upriver, Zhusk shamans whose yrun were water summoned all their power and diverted the river into an old flood channel. While the river pooled into a lake, Caro’s Alcidese King’s Horse Guards, the Helurian Imperial Steel Legion and the Okrannel Kingsmen had traveled beneath the ice, in the frozen riverbed, to the effluent tunnels. They slowly snuck into the fortresses and then, when the avalanche thundered down, Caro’s and Mikhail’s men attacked Darovin and Varalorsk respectively.
A man on the top of Darovin called down. “Varalorsk just raised a green legion flag. Elves say reinforcements are heading to Varalorsk.”
“Understood.” Adrogans raised a hand and summoned the leader of the troops who had appropriated the Kingsmen’s livery forward. “Captain Dmitri, have your people get that ram in here, then close the gates and man them.”
The man from Svoin nodded, then turned and began to issue orders to his troops.
Adrogans looked at Caro. “Shall we make our way to Varalorsk?”
“After you, my lord.”
With Phfas trailing them, the two generals hiked up over the hill of snow and back down to Varalorsk. The small sally port in the southern gate opened and filthy Kingsmen waved them forward hurriedly. Their urgency did not surprise Adrogans, as the green flag requesting reinforcements had been raised by the Kingsmen to lure Aurolani forces into the open. On Varalorsk’s north wall archers who would slaughter the reinforcements would be hidden, and this was something to which all of the attackers had looked forward.
The expression worn by the Kingsmen was not one of glee. “Hurry, General, it is the Duke.”
Adrogans slipped through the port and followed quickly. His guide led him through Varalorsk. In his mind Adrogans could see his route winding through Mikhail’s models. Deep inside they went, then up and up to the top level. His guide indicated the door to what should have been the commanding officer’s quarters, then stood aside.
Adrogans stepped over the body of a dead kryalniri and reached a wooden cot upon which an ashen-faced Mikhail lay. The dark brown clothes he wore hid much of the blood, but the fingers he clutched to his middle could not hide his wound. A hideous slash had opened his belly.
The Jeranese general turned to Phfas. “Get me an elven healer now”
“No, General.” Mikhail’s words came hissed and barely above a whisper. “There is no time.”
Adrogans looked back at him and saw a thin trickle of blood trail from the corner of his mouth. One of the other men standing there dabbed at it with a red cloth. “We’ve taken the towers, you know. Your plan worked.”
The dying Okrans noble nodded. “I know. It was as I dreamed.”
Adrogans narrowed his eyes. “Did you dream…”
“This? No.” He snorted weakly. “I am neither so brave nor foolish to walk into this. In my dream we won. We did. Then my dream ended. Now my life ends.”
Outside the roar of the archers rose as they revealed themselves and slew the arriving reinforcements. Their cries would signal the other Kingsmen waiting to emerge, and Krakoin would fall.
Mikhail smiled. “General, you will take Svarskya. I know it.”
“You’ll be there with me.”
“No, no I will not. I shall watch, though.” Mikhail’s eyes flared wide and white, then a spasm of pain shook him. More blood dripped from his mouth and stained his teeth. “A favor.”
Adrogans leaned closer as the man’s voice faded. “Anything.”
“Tell Alexia dreams can come true. Tell her to trust her dreams.”
“I will, my friend, I will.”
Mikhail’s body shook once more, then went limp.
Adrogans reached down and closed the man’s eyes. He mouthed a silent prayer even as Pain raked her talons across his belly. He winced, then looked up at the other Kingsmen standing around the cot. They looked stricken and he could tell each one of them would have gladly given his life in exchange for that of the duke. They even think his death is their fault.