Chapter 25

  "Impossible," said Castor, and the deep, resonant drone of his voice made the crystal glasses on the table tremble. He took a heavy, threatening step forward. The polished gold of his armor caught the fading firelight and threw it back as a hard, cold glare. "I know little of the occult mechanisms of the portal, but I know the architecture of our power. If we divert the energy as radically as you suggest, Paladin, we will rip the heart out of Caleon’s entire defense network."

  He raised a steady, armored hand and gestured vaguely toward the North. "It’s not just about Drymon. Wolfsgrund, Eisenfaust, the fortresses of the Gray Lords—they all hang from the energetic veins originating from this palace. If we throttle the current or manipulate the frequency here, they will become vulnerable without warning. Their shields will flicker; their golems will react more slowly. You aren't asking us for a ruse; you are asking us to leave our brothers at the front defenseless while the storm breaks over them."

  The air in the room seemed to grow thicker, charged with the suspicion of a guard trained to view any outside influence as potential sabotage. Castor’s visor was fixed directly on me, an impenetrable wall of metal behind which I could feel only the suppressed rage of a soldier who saw his realm threatened.

  "Then we need another energy source," Idas suddenly cut in. He stood with his arms crossed over his massive breastplate, his towering halberd resting securely in the crook of his arm. While his tone was also marked by deep mistrust, it held a nuance of pragmatic helpfulness that stood in stark contrast to his brother's outright rejection.

  Castor whirled toward his partner, the rapid movement of his armor causing a sharp, metallic crunch. I could practically feel the telepathic rebuke he hurled at his brother, even though I couldn't read their private thoughts. The atmosphere between the two guards was suddenly as taut as an overdrawn bow.

  "Another source?" Castor snapped at him. "And what exactly is that source supposed to be, Idas? Do you want to pluck the sun from the sky? Or do you want to tap the raw Atherium in the chambers directly? You know as well as I do that refining Atherium takes weeks to make it stable enough for grid feed. If we burn it directly now, we’ll blow up half the mountain before Reyn even casts his first spell!"

  Idas stood his ground, unshaken like a rock in the surf. "I’m only saying the Paladin is right about the signal. If we glow like a torch in the night, it doesn't matter how strong the shields in Wolfsgrund are—Reyn will find a way to flow around them and strike off our heads here. We must improvise."

  "Improvisation is the harbinger of failure!" Castor countered. He turned back to me, his posture even more aggressive than before. "You come here with your dark shadow in your soul and demand that we sacrifice the foundation of our survival for an experiment with 'mirrors and shadows.' Who guarantees us that isn't exactly what you want? That you aren't weakening Caleon from within to give your master in the North an easier task?"

  I was about to offer an answer, to explain that the portal’s resonance was already corrupting the integrity of the shields, but a short, dry sound cut through the guards’ dispute.

  Thivan Sothar had placed his goblet on the table. The soundless setting of the silver onto the wood acted like a thunderclap in the loud dispute.

  "Enough," said the King.

  His voice was not loud, but it possessed that unbearable weight held only by men accustomed to deciding the life and death of thousands. Both Arcane Guards froze instantly in perfect discipline. The aggressive glow in Castor’s armor dimmed, and Idas lowered his head slightly.

  "I have a solution," Thivan interrupted his angry bodyguard.

  He stepped forward, away from the shadows of the hearth, and placed his right hand flat on the table, whereupon a tactical map made of mana manifested. He looked at me—a brief, searching glance that seemed to dig deeper than Castor’s threats. Then he looked at his guards.

  "Castor, your anger honors your loyalty, but it clouds your strategic mind," Thivan began calmly. "You are right: the portal is the primary source. If we simply shut it down, Caleon collapses. But the Paladin is also right: we are too bright. We are a target so large that Reyn can hit it blind."

  He tapped three specific points on the map, far from Drymon but arranged in a perfect strategic triangle.

  "The solution does not lie in a new source," Thivan explained, a grim smile bordering on brilliance playing around his lips. "The solution lies in buffering. Distributed throughout the realm, we have the reservoirs of the Great Golems. Huge batteries of refined Atherium intended only for the event of a total siege. They are fully charged and designed to supply the border fortresses autonomously for months if the center fails."

  He looked Castor directly in the visor. "We will not divert the energy and hope the other houses don't notice. We will switch the entire network to Autarky Mode. We will send the command to Wolfsgrund, Eisenfaust, and the Gray Lords to unseal their local storages. They will barely notice the failure of the central power because their own reserves will take over the load seamlessly. For their shields, it will only be a brief flicker, a millisecond of instability, before the local cores kick in."

  Idas nodded slowly, his halberd vibrating quietly in agreement. "That would mean we can cut the grid without the front collapsing."

  "Exactly," Thivan continued. "And while they run on their own supplies, we take the surplus energy of the portal here in Drymon and do exactly what the Paladin suggested. We don't just bleed it into the earth—we press it into the old ventilation shafts of the southern mines. Those shafts are saturated with Atherium dust from centuries of labor. If we pump energy in there, the mines will become an energetic beacon radiating ten times brighter than this palace. On Reyn’s magical map, Drymon will suddenly become a black hole, while thirty kilometers further south, a new 'portal' will seem to emerge."

  I was impressed. Thivan’s plan was simple, highly efficient, and used the existing infrastructure in a way that I, as an outsider, could not have known. He wasn't just saving his own skin; he was preserving the military striking power of his houses by allowing them to let go of the palace's umbilical cord.

  "It is... feasible," Castor finally admitted, though his voice still dripped with reluctance. "But it is an immense risk. Once Autarky Mode is activated, we cannot easily restore the connection. If the local supplies are exhausted before the signal in the south has distracted Reyn, our men will be standing in the dark."

  "Then we must make sure Reyn is distracted," Thivan said hard. He turned to me. "Paladin, you wanted darkness? I will give it to you. I will turn this palace into a tomb invisible to any mage. But consider this: when we sit in the dark, no one sees us coming either. We are then alone with whatever lurks beneath us."

  He looked toward Vin, Arik, and Maira, who had listened in silence. "Prepare yourselves. We will not save the realm with a shining crown, but with cunning and betrayal of the laws of magic."

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Thivan took his hand off the table. The blue lightning at his fingers seemed to settle for a moment, as if preparing for the massive feat of strength ahead.

  "We will seal the orders to the houses and send them via the emergency courier crystals," he said to Castor. "Idas, you prepare the physical decoupling of the palace core. But nothing will be put into effect yet. We wait until the storm in the North reaches its first peak. When Reyn believes he has us in his pincer, then we will vanish from the world for him."

  I felt a strange mixture of relief and new, deeper concern. Thivan was ready to play the game. He had the resources and the will. Yet, while he spoke of buffers and diversions, I felt that faint, rhythmic pulsing through the floor again.

  It was no longer a resonance. It was almost like a heartbeat. And I wondered if the portal beneath us had been waiting for exactly this: for us to sever the protective connection to the rest of the world and leave ourselves alone with it.

  "Paladin," Thivan said, his gaze fixing me once more. "You set the stone in motion. Ensure we are not crushed beneath it."

  I only gave a short nod. The plan was set. The houses would keep their shields, Reyn would find a false target, and Drymon would sink into the shadows. It sounded like the perfect move.

  But in a war against someone like Reyn, there were no perfect moves—only those you regretted less than others.

  -

  The cold night air above Fortress Wolfsgrund was thick with the scent of burning pine, sharp ozone, and the metallic aftertaste of magic strained to the breaking point. For miles, the sea of lights from Reyn’s besieging army stretched before the walls—a sinister procession of torches, glowing runes, and unnatural violet lightning that furrowed the sky like lashing whips.

  Sk?ll Wolfsgrund stood in the pulpit of the Night-Howler, his body at one with the mechanics of the massive golem. The haptic sensors of his control unit transmitted every vibration of the ground directly to his nerve paths. He felt the rumbling of the earth as the enemy’s heavy siege engines—monstrous constructions of bone, iron, and dark ether—were moved into position.

  Suddenly, the tactical display on his internal screen flickered. A message with the highest priority level, sealed with the royal seal of House Sothar.

  Sk?ll scanned the lines while outside, the first impact of a magical projectile crashed against the Arcane Dome. A bright flare, a thunder that made teeth rattle, and the dome vibrated like a struck bell.

  "General," Sk?ll called out over the internal radio network, his voice retaining that certain youthful lightness so typical of him despite the tension. "New orders from above. Thivan is playing a big game."

  The General, whose golem—a more massive, ponderous unit named Iron-Bite—stood only a few meters beside him, patched in. The wolf-head of the Iron-Bite turned slowly toward Sk?ll’s machine. "An order at the hour of coronation? What does the young Sothar want? More troops? A parade?"

  "I wish," Sk?ll replied, rubbing his neck as he re-read the complex instructions. "He’s ordering the unsealing of the emergency reserves. Immediately. They want to draw all primary energy from us, the Houses, and even Drymon, and funnel it south. Something about a magical beacon to distract the enemy. It mentions a portal... I have no idea, General. It sounds like the script of a bad play, but the seal is genuine."

  The General’s metallic wolf-head shook slowly, a reflection of its pilot’s bewilderment. "The emergency reserves? That’s the family silver of our defense. If we crack the cores now, there’s no turning back. Thivan was always a visionary with crazy ideas, sometimes an arrogant fool, but he’s no suicide. If he’s taking a risk like this with our energy, then there’s a plan behind it that we probably won’t understand until the war is over—or we’re all dead."

  Sk?ll took a deep breath. He looked through the reinforced viewports at the front. "He’s King now, General. And a King doesn’t just order; he determines reality. We carry it out."

  "Understood, My Lord. Activating emergency reserves. Decoupling from the central grid in three... two... one..."

  In that moment, it happened. Deep in the bowels of Fortress Wolfsgrund, the centuries-old seals of the Atherium depots were broken. A dull roar shuddered through the foundation of the walls. For a fraction of a second—a span of time so short a human eye could barely register it—the massive Arcane Dome over Wolfsgrund flickered. It turned pale, almost transparent, and a ghastly crackling filled the air.

  Exactly at that moment, one of Reyn’s catapult engines fired a massive block of cursed obsidian. The projectile shrieked through the air toward the seemingly collapsing barrier. But before the obsidian could breach the shield, the energy of the emergency reserves flooded the relays. The dome stabilized with a massive blue flash that bathed the surroundings in glinting light. The projectile shattered harmlessly against the barrier and rained down as innocuous dust.

  Sk?ll let out a muffled whistle. He felt the Night-Howler suddenly vibrate with power. The energy of the local reserves was purer, wilder than the throttled current from distant Drymon. It was as if a beast had been unmuzzled.

  "Shields are at one hundred and ten percent," the General reported, a grim pleasure now resonating in his voice. "The cores are running hot, but they’re holding."

  Sk?ll smiled proudly, the violet fire of the distant army reflected in his eyes. The bitter aftertaste of uncertainty vanished, giving way to the pure, hard clarity of combat. He saw the archers on the ramparts retake their positions, saw the fire mages raise their hands to turn the sky into a flaming inferno.

  "The plan in the south may be invisible," Sk?ll murmured, gripping the control levers of the Night-Howler tightly, "but the plan here in the north is damn clear."

  He watched as the first wave of Reyn’s infantry—a grotesque mixture of dragon-men, mercenaries, and the dreaded half-giants—stormed toward the walls. They shouted no battle cries; they moved with an unnatural, terrifying silence, accompanied only by the rattling of their armor.

  "And now," Sk?ll said, his voice becoming deep and dangerous as he toggled his machine’s mode. The massive claws of the wolf-golem extended with a hydraulic hiss, each one as long as a longsword and coated in a layer of high-energy plasma. "Now, we let the wolves out of the cage!"

  He spurred the Night-Howler. The golem emitted a mechanical howl, amplified by the speakers in its breastplate, shaking marrow and bone. The heavy metal gates of the fortress didn't just swing open—they were practically blown away as the Wolfsgrund golems charged outward in formation.

  Sk?ll was at the head. He didn't run like a machine; he hunted. The Night-Howler's hydraulics were so finely tuned that the golem leaped across the battlefield with animalistic elegance. With a massive bound, he closed the distance to the first row of attackers.

  The plasma claws sliced through the ranks of dragon-men like a hot knife through tallow. Limbs flew through the air, shields melted under the heat of mana beams firing from the golem’s shoulder cannons. Behind him, the pack followed. Ten, twenty, fifty golems in wolf and bear form lunged into the enemy’s flank.

  It was no longer an orderly retreat or a defensive stand. It was a sortie, a rampage of steel and wrath.

  "General, take the left flank!" Sk?ll commanded, spinning the Night-Howler around and stomping a group of half-giants into the ground with the golem's massive tailpiece. "Smashed their siege towers before they touch the walls!"

  "With pleasure, My Lord!" the General replied. The Iron-Bite rammed its massive shoulders into one of the wooden towers, which collapsed like a house of cards under the machine's weight.

  The battle now raged in its full, terrible splendor. Archers on the walls loosed a continuous rain of fire arrows that dyed the dark sky a flickering orange. Mages of the Wolfsgrund Guard channeled the raw energy of the emergency reserves, hurling lightning bolts that turned entire regiments of the Outcasts to ash.

  Yet, amidst the chaos, Sk?ll’s gaze repeatedly snagged on the horizon. There, where Reyn’s command center was suspected to be. He sensed that the true fight had not yet begun. The waves of soldiers were merely the prelude.

  "Thivan, you magnificent bastard," Sk?ll panted, crushing an enemy cavalry unit under his metal paws. "I hope for all our sakes that your beacon in the south burns bright enough. Because if that shadow-man up here notices we’re just stalling him, he’ll tear us apart."

  A massive blow shook the battlefield. A "Bone Giant"—a necromantic abomination made from the remains of fallen warriors—loomed before the Night-Howler. The creature towered two heads above the golem, swinging a mace of solid iron.

  Sk?ll grinned behind his control panel. His eyes glowed in rhythm with his wolf’s energy cores.

  "Come on, you ugly bastard," he whispered. "Show me what your master taught you."

  With a deafening roar, the two titans charged at each other as the world around them went up in flames. The battle for Wolfsgrund had reached its bloodiest phase, and in distant Drymon, the lights went out, ready for the great deception.

  Sk?ll Wolfsgrund might not have been a visionary, and he didn't understand occult portals. But he knew the rhythm of steel and the hunger of the wolf. And tonight, he would ensure that Reyn paid the price for every inch of ground he dared to tread.

  The Night-Howler's claws glowed white-hot as they sank into the flesh of the Bone Giant. The battle had begun.