Chapter 3: The Duke's Gambit
Smoke still coiled from the broken towers of Coldmere as Kael stood atop the city's ruined spire, surveying his conquest. The frostbitten capital, once proud and defiant, now knelt beneath his feet. Blood stained the streets. Bodies lined the walls. The scent of war lingered like a bitter perfume.
He breathed it in like victory.
But peace was never part of the Abyss's gift.
Seris stood beside him, her blindfold fluttering in the cold wind. "The ravens came at dawn," she said softly. "Malrick has moved."
Kael didn't look at her. "Where?"
"Northwest. He's mobilized three legions from Vharand Keep. Close to ten thousand men."
Vaen stepped forward, his expression grim. "They'll march through Frostvale Pass. It's narrow terrain, steep, surrounded by cliffs. If they move fast, they'll be at our gates in a week."
"Then we won't wait for them to come to the gates," Kael said, his voice sharp as steel. "We'll break them in the mountains."
Seris tilted her head. "And what of the city?"
"Leave a garrison," Kael replied. "Burn the rest."
Vaen blinked. "You mean to destroy Coldmere?"
"I mean to remind every lord and leech who watches from their frozen keeps what it means to resist me. They will see smoke. They will smell ash. And they will kneel before the fire touches them."
He turned away from the spire and began descending the blackened stairs. "Prepare the army. We ride in two days."
---
Frostvale Pass was a scar across the earth—a narrow, winding path between jagged cliffs and ancient stone. Snowstorms cloaked the terrain like a shroud, and the only sounds were the wind's wails and the distant caws of carrion birds waiting for battle.
Kael stood at the edge of a frozen cliff, cloaked in darkness, overlooking the narrow mouth of the pass. His soldiers moved quietly through the surrounding ridges, setting traps, positioning archers, and preparing the terrain.
His Abyssborne scattered among the peaks like wraiths.
Seris crouched beside a jagged stone, her fingers brushing runes carved deep into the earth. "The enchantments are in place. The moment Malrick's vanguard enters, the ground will shatter beneath them."
"Good," Kael said. "And the shadows?"
"They wait."
Kael nodded and turned to Vaen, who stood at his side with arms folded. "How many days?"
"Two, at most," Vaen replied. "Scouts report Malrick's army marches in perfect formation. Iron discipline. Their knights are among the best in the north."
Kael's eyes narrowed. "Then we'll tear their discipline apart."
He turned to Seris. "I want his men panicked before they draw their blades."
A thin smile curved her lips. "Then let's begin."
---
It started that night.
Malrick's vanguard—nearly three hundred scouts and light infantry—entered the pass under moonlight. The snow was heavy, the wind howled, and the narrow road offered little visibility.
They never saw the first Abyssborne.
One scout vanished into the shadows. Then another. Then five.
By morning, dozens were gone. No bodies. No blood. Just silence.
Panic bloomed. Soldiers grew restless. Commanders whispered of curses and ghosts. Morale fractured with every hour.
Then the visions began.
Men saw dark figures staring from the cliffs. Heard whispers in languages they didn't understand. Horses refused to move. Swords rusted overnight.
By the time Malrick himself arrived with his main host, his men were already shaken.
But Duke Malrick was no fool.
He was a towering man, clad in sapphire-trimmed black steel, his beard braided with the rings of fallen enemies. His voice was a storm, and his presence silenced all fear.
He stood in the heart of his camp, surrounded by banners and firelight.
"Let the boy play his games," he growled to his commanders. "We march at dawn. Tell the men this: steel cuts shadow. Flame banishes darkness. And we are not afraid."
---
They marched at sunrise.
Kael watched from above as Malrick's legions poured into the pass, rank after rank of gleaming steel, banners fluttering like wings of war.
Then Kael raised his hand.
A low hum echoed through the cliffs. The runes Seris had carved began to glow with amethyst fire.
The earth shook.
The first explosion tore the vanguard apart. The ground crumbled beneath them—massive chunks of ice and stone falling into a hidden gorge. Screams pierced the air as men tumbled into darkness.
Then the archers loosed their arrows.
Black-fletched death rained down from the cliffs, piercing through armor, flesh, and spirit. Malrick's formation collapsed into chaos. Men ran. Horses bucked. Commands were lost in the cacophony.
And then the Abyssborne descended.
They fell from the cliffs like demons, their blades glowing with void energy. They struck with silence, with grace, with terrifying precision. Kael led them, cutting through men like wheat beneath a scythe.
Malrick roared like a beast and charged into the fray, his greatsword cleaving a path through Kael's soldiers. He fought like a war god—unstoppable, merciless, relentless.
Until he met Kael.
Their blades clashed with a sound that split the sky.
Malrick grinned through blood. "You think to unmake a kingdom with fear alone?"
Kael's blade shimmered with dark runes. "I don't unmake kingdoms, Malrick. I devour them."
The duel was monstrous.
Steel rang against shadow. Power against precision. Malrick was strength incarnate—Kael was death wrapped in elegance. Their battle echoed across the pass, a dance of gods and monsters.
But Kael was no longer just a man.
The Abyss had changed him.
When Malrick's blade finally slipped, when his breath grew ragged, Kael whispered a word that stilled the wind—and drove his sword through the duke's chest.
Malrick's eyes widened.
Then faded.
Kael pulled the blade free and stepped back as the great duke collapsed onto the snow, blood blooming beneath him like dark petals.
The pass fell silent.
The remaining soldiers, seeing their leader slain, dropped their weapons and fled—or fell to their knees.
Kael stood in the center of the battlefield, the wind howling around him, his army gathering behind.
Seris approached quietly. "Another throne falls."
Kael didn't answer. He looked up at the sky—gray, endless, cold.
"Two claimants dead," Vaen said, arriving with a bloody spear. "Only one remains."
Kael's voice was distant, but firm. "And when she falls, the crown is mine."
Seris stared at him with eyes that could not see, yet saw everything. "And what will you do with the crown… when there is no one left to kneel?"
Kael turned toward the remnants of the battlefield.
And smiled.
"I'll teach them what it means to worship in terror."