Chapter 11 - The Serpent in the Northern Snow
The cheering of the capital had barely subsided when the first courier arrived from the frozen northern frontier, his horse collapsing from exhaustion right at the courtyard gates.
While King Caelen—still known to his closest friends as Leo—focused on rebuilding the shattered city and distributing grain to the starving lower districts, dark clouds were gathering over the Frostpeak Mountains. Duke Roger, the northern lord who had pledged his men to aid Leo during the siege, was no longer answering royal summons.
Inside the council chamber, Queen Eleanor’s old adviser, Chancellor Evelyn, laid out a parchment sealed with black wax.
"My King," Evelyn said gravely, "Duke Roger has seized the silver mines of the North. He claims that because his army secured your entry into Solas, the northern provinces no longer owe taxes to the crown. Worse... rumors say he has taken an elite squad of the Iron Sun mercenaries into his service."
Leo stood near the high arched window, looking out over the peaceful streets of Solas. Sunfall hung firmly at his hip, its pommel glowing with a soft, steady pulse.
"Roger didn't join my cause out of loyalty," Leo said quietly. "He joined because he thought a boy raised in the gutters would be easy to control from the shadows. He expected a puppet king."
"We can send Commander Lyra with four regiments," suggested Lord Vane's replacement, a loyal veteran named Captain Kael. "We crush him before the winter snow seals the mountain passes."
"No," Leo replied, turning to his council. "If I send a massive army, the northern peasants will suffer the brunt of a bloody war. I will take fifty of our best scouts and ride North myself. Roger needs to see that the boy who killed the arena beast does not hide behind stone walls."
Lyra stepped forward, her hand resting on the hilt of her longsword. "You aren't riding into the frost alone, Caelen. Where the blade goes, the shield follows."
Two days later, clad in thick furs over heavy silver plate armor, Leo led his small vanguard out through the Northern Gate. The air grew colder with every league they traveled, the lush green hills giving way to jagged, snow-capped peaks.
As night fell near the icy pass of Blackwood Gorge, the temperature dropped drastically. Suddenly, the horses reared in panic. High above on the snow cliffs, horn calls echoed through the freezing wind.
"Ambush!" Lyra shouted, drawing her blade.
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Dozens of heavily armored northern warriors and rogue Iron Sun mercenaries surged down the snowy slopes, their axes gleaming in the moonlight. At the top of the ridge stood Duke Roger himself, wrapped in a massive bear-skin cloak, a cruel grin on his face.
"Welcome to the North, little prince!" Roger boomed, his voice carrying over the whistling wind. "Did you really think a kingdom could be ruled by a beggar with a glowing sword? Your reign ends in the snow!"
