Chapter 4 - The Blood in the Snow
The wind howled through the narrow, jagged cliffs of the Silver Pass, driving sheets of blinding white snow against the armored ranks of the northern army. High above on the rocky ledges, scouts crouched in the freezing gloom, their breath forming icy crystals on their fur-lined hoods.
Caden sat astride his massive warhorse, the iron-plated armor of the Alpha King gleaming dully beneath the overcast sky. Beside him, mounted on a sleek black mare that had been recovered from the royal stables, rode Chantal. She wore a fitted leather cuirass engraved with the dying sun crest of her house, a heavy silver broadsword resting easily across her saddlebow.
"They are approaching from the lower gorge," a scout reported, sliding down the icy slope to land agilely before them. "Three thousand infantry from the southern coalition, led by General Marrok of the Red Sands Pack. They brought siege engines."
"Marrok," Caden muttered, his lips curling into a lethal snarl. "A mercenary dog who would sell his own pack for a sack of southern gold."
"Let him come," Chantal said softly. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, inhaling the bitter winter air. When she opened them, a faint, golden luminescence flickered deep within her dark iris. "The earth remembers whose blood sanctified these mountains."
Minutes later, the southern vanguard spilled out of the gorge, a chaotic sea of spiked leather, raised banners, and glittering steel. At their front rode General Marrok, a hulking brute of a werewolf whose face was marred by old battle scars. He reined in his mount just a hundred yards from the northern line, sneering up at the royal ridge.
"Caden!" Marrok’s voice boomed across the snowy basin, magically amplified by pack-shouting. "You have broken the sacred alliance of the packs for a runaway slave! Hand over the girl, and the southern council might spare your throne!"
Caden drew his broadsword, the cold steel ringing clear against the wind. He opened his mouth to issue a royal decree of execution, but Chantal raised a gloved hand, gently stopping him.
"This is not your fight alone, Caden," she whispered.
Chantal urged her black mare forward, stepping out from the protective ranks of the northern cavalry until she stood entirely alone in the center of the snowy valley, facing the entire southern army. General Marrok roared with laughter, urging his warhorse forward.
"What is this? The little maid wants to beg for her life?" Marrok jeered.
Chantal did not answer with words. She simply drew her sword. As the blade cleared the scabbard, it ignited. Not with common fire, but with blinding, molten gold light that cast long, dancing shadows across the white snow for miles around.
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The laughter died instantly in Marrok’s throat. The southern horses reared, sensing the ancient, overwhelming terror of true royal dominance. Chantal pointed her glowing blade directly at the southern general.
"I am Chantal of House Valois-Montfort," her voice rolled across the valley like rolling thunder, shaking loose avalanches from the surrounding peaks. "And you are trespassing on crown soil."
