Chapter 6 - The Siege of the Northern Bastion
The war didn't end in the throne room; it merely began.
Within forty-eight hours of our strike at Winterborn Keep, the northern territories were plunged into total chaos. General Marcus, Rowena’s father and the head of Winterborn’s military, rallied the remaining loyalist legions at the Northern Bastion—a massive fortress guarding the mountain passes.
They thought they could hold out. They thought winter would starve our Ashfallen forces.
They didn't know who they were dealing with.
Standing atop a snow-dusted ridge overlooking the imposing iron gates of the Northern Bastion, I adjusted the heavy silver pauldrons over my Ashfallen armor. Ghost sat beside me, her breath misting the air, her yellow eyes fixed on the fortress below.
Beside me stood Alpha Gideon, leaning against a siege catapult, examining a map drawn on treated wolf-hide.
“Marcus has barricaded the main gates with reinforced timber and positioned archers along every parapet,” Gideon said, tracing a finger along the parchment. “It’s a fortress designed to withstand a siege for months.”
“We don't have months,” I replied, my voice hard and focused. “If we wait, Tristan’s southern allies will mobilize and attack us from the rear.”
Gideon looked up, a slow, approving smile touching his lips. “Good thing we aren't planning on waiting.”
He whistled sharply. From the treeline behind us, dozens of Ashfallen sappers emerged, rolling forward heavy barrels of black powder—salvaged from Winterborn’s own armory during our raid.
“Marcus is a traditionalist,” I said, pointing toward the southern wall of the bastion where the ancient aqueduct entered the fortress. “He’s so focused on guarding the front gate that he forgot about the old drainage tunnels built during the first unification war. They lead right into the lower armory.”
Gideon’s gold eyes gleamed with fierce admiration. “You mapped their entire stronghold while you were a prisoner there, didn't you?”
“Every stone,” I smiled grimly.
An hour later, under the cover of a raging blizzard that blinded the bastion’s sentries, a small strike team led by Vance and myself slipped through the frozen drainage grate.
The tunnels were narrow, damp, and smelled of centuries of neglect, but they led us straight where we needed to be. Working in absolute silence, Vance and our sappers packed the foundational support beams of the lower armory with black powder, running long fuses toward the exit.
“Get back to the ridge,” I whispered to Vance as I struck the flint, igniting the slow-burning cord. “Tell Gideon we’re clear.”
We scrambled back through the tunnel just as the first rumblings shook the mountain.
BOOM!
The explosion was magnificent. The entire southern wall of the Northern Bastion blew outward in a deafening roar of fire, stone, and smoke. The massive iron gates buckled under the shockwave, crashing inward into the snow.
Before the smoke could even clear, Gideon let out a blood-curdling Alpha roar that shook the very clouds above.
“ASHFALLEN! CHARGE!”
Hundreds of warriors surged down the ridge like an avalanche of shadow and steel.
The battle was fierce, but short. General Marcus tried to rally his men, but his lines were shattered, his command structure blown to pieces. Within two hours, the white snow of the bastion was stained crimson, and the royal banner of Winterborn was pulled down from the ramparts.
As I walked through the smoking courtyard, General Marcus was dragged before me by two Ashfallen guards, his armor dented, blood streaming from a gash on his forehead. He glared up at me with undisguised hatred.
“You destroyed our home,” Marcus spat. “You’re a traitor to your own kind, Adelaide.”
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I looked down at the man who had helped orchestrate my humiliation, the father of the woman who had stolen my mate.
“I didn't destroy Winterborn, Marcus,” I said softly, crouching down to meet his furious gaze. “I just cleaned out the rot.”
