Will – Prepare the Siege
Will
Prepare the Siege
Sleep had been a thin, ragged thing for Will after two days of being stuck in this Army camp.
He woke before the sun even thought about cresting the horizon, his exhaustion clinging to his bones.
Sitting up, he rubbed the stinging grit from his eyes.
He kept his movements slow and cautious to preserve the silence.
The cold in the tent was absolute, settling into his marrow the moment he shifted the fur blankets. His misting breath served as a stark reminder of the frozen world waiting outside the canvas.
He turned to his side to look at Malin. The beautiful contrast of her flushed skin against the silver-gray fur caught in his throat.
Thanks to her magic, she was a living furnace.
Heat radiated off her in a steady wave; shifting just a few inches away felt like stepping away from a roaring hearth into a blizzard.
She was the only thing in this godforsaken camp that was truly, deeply warm.
He stayed in the freezing dark, listening to the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, desperately wishing he could drag her back to a world where the sky was not laced with violet lightning.
But the camp’s duties demanded his attention.
Knowing how dangerously her magic could draw if he dropped his nullification while she was deeply unconscious, he leaned down and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead.
Her breathing shifted, pulling her out of the deepest layers of sleep, though she remained quiet.
Pulling away from her side felt exactly like stepping out of a roaring hearth into a blizzard. He slipped out of the bed, shivering as he surrendered to the biting chill.
He dressed in the pre-dawn light, his movements stiff and mechanical as he kept a watchful eye on her.
The leather of his jerkin was cold and unforgiving, and the wool of his cloak felt like lead.
Reaching for his weapons out of habit, his fingers found the familiar hilts in the gloom.
He paused, his grip tightening on the cold steel.
Commanding himself to think positively, he strapped the steel to his thigh.
If they were lucky, today would not just be planning.
They would finalize their strategy and head out, and he might actually use these blades to carve a path to his mother-in-law’s salvation.
He strapped the steel to his thigh with practiced, rhythmic snaps.
The weight was a grounding comfort, a lethal heat he knew exactly how to wield.
A heavy knot of worry tightened his chest. She was far too close to the obsidian spires and the impending violence. Yet, beneath that protective terror, a quiet, selfish gratitude anchored him. She was here, and he could look at her and know she was safe.
He waited near the exit until her eyes finally fluttered open. Assured that she was awake and her magic was stable, he committed her peaceful expression to memory. With a sharp, silent exhale that frosted in the freezing air, Will ducked out of the tent.
He stepped out into the biting wind and headed for the War Tent.
He pulled his battered cloak tight, the wool scratching against his neck as he hunched against a wind that carried the bite of ancient ice.
Dawn was just beginning to bleed over the Mellyrn war camp, staining the snow-dusted canvas tents a bruised purple.
Even this far away from it, the air on the doorstep of the Fellspire Hold was thin and sharp, tasting of ozone and frozen stone, from the magical wards coming off the massive extinct volcano.
It left a metallic tang coating the back of his throat that warned his magic of trouble.
The sentries nodded as he passed, but he barely registered them. His mind was already running through the schematics of the vault he had memorized years ago.
He narrowed his eyes against the growing glare, focused on the sparring ring.
The platform was nothing but a slab of ice-crusted pine planks lashed over jagged granite with rope gone stiff and brittle.
Every footfall from the twins produced a hollow, resonant thunk that echoed across the silent valley like a heartbeat.
Nar’s ember-forged daggers bled orange light into the blue morning air, cutting afterimages with every frantic swing. Opposite him, Khelek was a statue of frost. His broadsword was rimed with new ice at every parry, sending spatters of melting slush and steam into the freezing air.
Clang.
The rhythm was punishing: Thrust. Slide. Check. Reverse. Parry.
For ten minutes, the only sound was the snarl of evaporating ice and the ring of steel.
Finally, Khelek broke the deadlock. He feigned low.
The move was so elegant that it looked choreographed, sweeping Nar’s legs.
Nar went down hard, his breath blasting out in a white cloud as the pine planks groaned.
Before he could roll, Khelek’s blade was at his throat with lazy, lethal precision.
Will finally cracked a smile. “You can do better than that, Nar,” Will called out, his voice low but carrying easily over the rime. “Maybe being Queen Consort is making you soft. It doesn’t seem to be slowing Khelek down.”
Nar bared his teeth, grunting as he hauled himself up. “We are in a frozen tundra. This fucking ice. It’s his element. I saw the frost on the deck a second too late.”
“You kiss the Queen with that mouth?” Will asked, his tone playful, but his eyes remaining sharp.
Khelek wiped sweat from his brow, the moisture crystallizing into tiny diamonds the moment it hit the air.
He looked at Will with a smile. “If he cannot handle a little ice, he has no place on the mission. You would think after all these years, he would have figured out how to adjust. I could have finished him in the first three exchanges, but I went easy.”
“Let’s see how you do next time we are in the Lava Flats?” Nar snapped, scowling as he brushed hoarfrost from his tunic. “You nearly tripped over your own shadow twice.”
Will’s grin widened, nudging the guard next to him with an elbow. “Nar has a point. You’ve had centuries of practice, Khelek. I’d have thought an Ice Elf in his natural habitat would have ended a fire-breather a lot faster than that.”
Khelek stiffened, his face flushing as the insult landed. He opened his mouth to snap a sharp retort, but Will stepped in, sensing the dangerous shift from sparring to a genuine argument.
“Save it,” Will said with a dry, easy grin. “If you two kill each other now, I have to be the one to explain to Anariel why she’s down a mate. I’m far too pretty to deal with her wrath.”
Before Nar could huff a response, a pair of arms wrapped around Will from behind, and the scent of lavender and mint, the scent of Malin, cut through the icy air. “He’s too smart to get her upset with him,” she added, playfully against the wool of his cloak.
Nar let out a final breath of steam and stepped back, but the tension lingered, as sharp as the frost underfoot.
Letting his hand rest over hers, his gaze drifted past the twins to the horizon.
There, the shadowed mass of Fellspire Hold loomed out of the thinning night.
The center tower of what was left of the dead volcano was a massive, suffocating monolith, with clusters of smaller spikes rising around it like black daggers.
Their obsidian faces cut into sharp geometries that refused the dawn, laced with a faint, pulsing web of violet.
Those flashes were the heartbeat of the wards, the shields that keep this nightmare standing and impregnable.
Occasionally, a ripple of purple lightning arced between the towers, illuminating the underbelly of the storm clouds like a bruise.
Focusing on the map in front of him, Will considered the options.
“I’ve been thinking about the entry. Let’s head to the Command tent and get this assault started.
We would need a heavy distraction at the Western Gates.
I think while their attention is there, we take the small team through the eastern approach.
From yesterday’s message from Anariel, it seems they are open to a parlay. ”
As the others nodded and began walking to the tent in the distance, Malin pulled back slightly, her voice low so only he could hear.
“Will. The dream. I think I should follow it. I checked the maps. The village of Four Winds isn’t far from here.
You said we’d talk about it this morning.
I want to go. Mom wouldn’t have sent me that message if I wasn’t supposed to. ”
Will’s jaw tightened. “I’m needed here at the front, Sparks. Anything could happen out there. I can’t have you that far away from me, even if you take a full squad with you.”
“I have a way,” she insisted, stepping around to face him. “Jacien can portal. He’s Nar and Khelek’s cousin. You saw him in the ring yesterday. He bested two of our best. He would be good protection. I’ll be safe.”
His protective instincts screamed, but he paused before saying something rash.
He’d watched Jacien fight; the Elf was arrogant, yes, but he moved like a gale of wind and fought with a cold, terrifying efficiency.
Still, Four Winds was behind the blurred lines of the front. Even a “quiet” town was a gamble.
“I’m assuming you’ve already run this by Aldrik,” Will said, his voice flat. “What did he say?”
“He didn’t have an issue with it. He thinks it’s worth investigating.” She gave him a pointed look. “It’s just you being over-protective. I’ll go on my own, but I really wanted us to be on the same page on this.”
Will looked at her. The fire in her eyes was undeniable. He didn’t want to lose her, but he couldn’t bear the thought of her being here when the fighting started. He was being the bad guy. He was the heavy anchor dragging down a lead only she could follow.
“Fine. I can see how important it is to you,” he said, the word tasting like ash.