Chapter 33: Council of Ash and Blood
The war council in Blackbarrow stretched deep into the night, lanterns casting eerie shadows that danced across the war maps scattered on the large wooden table. The air inside the tent was thick with the smell of sweat and iron, the heavy silence between the warlords as sharp as the steel they carried. Despite their shared concerns about Kael, distrust and rivalry still simmered beneath the surface. The towns of the Scarlet Ring had only come together under duress, and old grudges festered as they discussed their next move.
Lord Varnic the Chainbreaker, the brutish leader of Blackbarrow, leaned forward, his massive hands wrapped around a mug of bitter ale. His voice broke the tense silence, rough as gravel. "We'll form a united front at Stoneveil Pass. If Kael moves south, he'll have to come through there. We station garrisons at each choke point. His army won't be able to outflank us."
Thorek Ironjaw, the warlord of Fendrel's Rock, a towering figure clad in battle-worn armor that seemed to hum with power, shook his head, his thick beard shifting with the motion. "Passes won't stop him. This isn't just a war of blades—it's a war of minds and hearts. He's not like the usual enemies we've faced. His soldiers fight for something more than gold or fear. They fight for him, for his vision."
A murmur of agreement rippled around the table. Kael's rise had been like wildfire, unpredictable and rapid. His victories had not just been of the sword, but in the hearts of those who followed him. The idea of a man rising from slavery to conquer entire territories was a threat that made even the most hardened warlords uneasy.
Lady Nethira of Mireholt, the pale woman with eyes as sharp as daggers, leaned forward, her lips curling into a venomous smile. "Assassins? Spies, perhaps, to disrupt his movements."
Thorek snorted, his gaze hardening. "Assassins won't win us this war. We need to spread chaos in his ranks, poison the minds of his people. Create doubt, confusion. If we can't break him on the battlefield, then we break his image."
Nethira's eyes gleamed with cold ambition. "Saboteurs. Infiltrators. We create dissent among his people. Spread rumors that Kael is no more than a puppet, a slave turned tyrant. Frame him for atrocities he didn't commit. Destroy his credibility. Make his own soldiers question their loyalty."
Velsor the Pale, the enigmatic sorcerer from Ashkorr's End, finally spoke, his voice dry as dust. The hooded figure had remained silent for most of the meeting, his dark eyes fixed on the flickering lanterns. He leaned forward and placed a finger on the map. "I can summon illusions. False visions, planted dreams, whispers in the dark. I can reach into the minds of his warriors, cloud their judgment, make them see things that aren't there. If he's not careful, his soldiers will begin to doubt their own eyes."
Nethira's smile grew wider, but there was a touch of something darker in her expression. "Illusions and dreams… it could work, but it won't be enough. We need to strike at the heart of his power, whatever that may be. Kael's strength comes from something more than just his army. He's a symbol. He leads with the promise of freedom, something that resonates with the downtrodden. If we can unravel that promise, we can shatter his support."
Varnic frowned, clearly unconvinced. "So we attack his image, his followers—while I fight the man himself."
"Exactly," Nethira responded, her voice sharp. "We need to break his heart before we break his body. Without his people, he is nothing."
Velsor's voice rasped through the air again. "The people will follow him as long as they believe in him. The illusion of freedom, of power… it's a powerful thing. But if we can take that away, if we can make them believe Kael is no more than a false king, a pretender—"
"He won't stand a chance," Thorek interrupted, his fists clenching.
A heavy silence settled over the room. Outside, the wind howled through the cracks in the tent, carrying with it the sound of crows cawing in the distance. The eerie noise sent a chill down the spines of the warlords, and for a brief moment, each one felt the weight of their own mortality. No one could deny that Kael's rise had shaken the foundations of the entire region. But was it fear that had driven them together, or something more?
"Then it's decided," Varnic said, breaking the silence. "We'll make our stand at Stoneveil Pass. I'll rally the largest force we can. The others will stay in reserve, ready to strike when needed."
Thorek snorted. "A large force is one thing. But we'll need more than just strength. We need spies, infiltrators to move through Kael's lands, find out what we're really dealing with. Only then can we hit him where it hurts."
Nethira's voice was cold. "I'll send my agents to spread misinformation. The people need to doubt him. They need to believe that he's not the savior they think he is."
Velsor, who had been silent for most of the meeting, spoke last. "I will weave illusions in his dreams. But be warned, it won't be easy. Kael's will is strong. Stronger than any mortal I've encountered. He is not like the others."
They all turned to Velsor, whose tone had grown grave. There was a shadow in his eyes, an unease that none of them had expected. He did not elaborate, but the meaning was clear. Even their darkest arts might not be enough to stop Kael if his will was as unyielding as the sorcerer feared.
Despite their preparations, none of them knew just how deep Kael's power ran, or what drove him. They only knew one thing: if they did not stop him now, he would sweep through them like a storm, leaving nothing but ruin in his wake.
A blood pact was made beneath the crescent moon that night. Though their hatred for each other would never fade, they would stand together in this one endeavor. The enemy was clear, and in the end, it was Kael who would either break them or forge them into something greater.
But none of them realized that Kael had already become more than just a man. He had become a symbol of defiance, a king rising from the ashes of his broken past, and soon, they would all learn that the true battle was not only for the land—but for the souls of those who followed him.
Outside the war tent, the crows continued to circle above Blackbarrow, their shadows casting an omen on the earth below.