Chapter 4 - The March through the Shadow Pass
The Iron Pass was a narrow, treacherous gorge cut through the heart of the Frost-Ridge Mountains—a place where the wind howled like a captive ghost and the cliff walls rose five hundred feet into the gray sky. It was the only overland route capable of moving a large army from the southern plains into the northern baronies.
For seven days, Adeline’s army marched through the biting cold. They were four thousand strong—less than half the force Cedric commanded—but they were native to the snow. They moved quietly, efficiently, their supply sleds pulled by sturdy mountain oxen while Cedric’s heavy iron-plated supply wagons lagged miles behind in the mud and slush.
High above the marching column, Varyn circled in the gray clouds, a silent phantom shielding them from imperial scouts.
On the eighth morning, Adeline stood atop a rocky outcrop overlooking the southern mouth of the pass. Beside her stood Mathias and Lord Vane, wrapped in heavy wolf furs.
Down in the valley below, the imperial host was visible. It was an impressive, terrifying sight: ten thousand men marching in tight, disciplined squares. Banners of gold and midnight blue fluttered in the freezing wind. Heavy cavalry rode at the flanks, their armor polished to a mirror shine, while long lines of supply wagons stretched back into the distance.
In the center of the force, riding a magnificent white warhorse armored in silver, was Cedric.
“Look at them,” Mathias snorted, spitting into the snow. “They bring heavy plate and gilded parade armor into the mountain slush. Half their horses are already lame from the ice.”
“Cedric wishes to make a statement,” Adeline observed, watching the glint of sunlight off the prince’s silver helmet. “He wants a grand, glorious victory to prove to the realm that he is worthy of the throne. He is not fighting for survival; he is fighting for his pride.”
“Pride makes men stupid,” Lord Vane said grimly. “What are your orders, Your Highness?”
Adeline turned to her commanders. Her plan was already forged in her mind, sharp and lethal as cold steel.
“We do not meet them in the open plain,” she said. “We draw them deep into the narrowest neck of the pass. There, their numbers will mean nothing. Their heavy cavalry will be useless on the frozen stone.”
“And the dragon?” Mathias asked.
Adeline looked up into the clouds, where the massive shadow of Varyn drifted silently.
“Varyn is our reserve,” she said. “Cedric expects me to rely entirely on the beast. He likely brought ballistas and dragon-harpoons from the citadel. We will let him waste his strength fighting our steel before we bring down the fire.”
That afternoon, the trap was set.
As the forward vanguard of the imperial army pushed into the shadowy depths of the Iron Pass, they found their path blocked by a wall of spiked timbers and rough stone, defended by two hundred northern shield-bearers.
Cedric, eager for a swift victory, gave the order to attack immediately.
“Break them!” Cedric’s voice echoed down the narrow canyon as he waved his sword from the rear lines. “Trample them beneath our boots!”
The imperial vanguard charged, their iron-shod boots slipping on the treacherous black ice covering the road. When they struck the northern line, the narrow canyon buckled the imperial formation. The southern soldiers, crowded together five deep, could barely swing their broadswords in the tight space.
From the high stone ledges above the gorge, Adeline’s archers appeared.
“Draw!” Lord Vane’s voice barked from the heights. “Release!”
A rain of black-feathered arrows fell from the cliffs, striking the tightly packed imperial ranks from above. Screams of agony reverberated off the canyon walls as armor was pierced and men fell into the snow.
“Retreat! Fall back to the wider ground!” an imperial captain screamed, but the rear ranks were still pushing forward, completely unaware of the slaughter at the front. The gorge became a claustrophobic nightmare of iron, blood, and screaming horses.
From his position on the southern ridge, Cedric saw his glorious charge turning into a bloodbath. His face burned with rage.
“Bring up the ballistas!” Cedric ordered, his voice raw. “Uncover the iron bolts! Where is the beast?! Where is the dragon?!”
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As if answering his call, a shadow fell over the entire pass.
The temperature in the canyon rose instantly by twenty degrees as the massive wings of Varyn swept low through the gorge, blocking out the sun.
