The eastern pass was narrower than the map had suggested.
By the ninth day of the march, the columns of Volgrin soldiers were thinning out, stretched between ravines and frozen rivers like brittle thread. Snow fell steadily now. White frost layered their armor, and even the most eager recruits had begun to curse the mountain winds.
Auren Varik rode at the front with Captain Rhoen and Lieutenant Drea Vael, his arm mostly healed but still wrapped for stiffness. They hadn't seen a Dareth patrol in days, but that only made them more tense.
"Too quiet," Rhoen muttered. "We're not used to quiet from those bastards."
Drea, who rarely wasted words, simply said, "They're preparing Elthemar."
Auren kept his eyes on the hills. "Or waiting for us to freeze before we even arrive."
Behind them, hundreds of boots stamped through the snow, horses groaned, and steel jingled like bones in a bucket. No one sang anymore.
At dusk, they made camp near a ruined chapel carved into the side of a crumbling ridge. The stained glass was long gone, but the archways still bore ancient Dareth prayers etched in faded runes. Most soldiers ignored them.
Auren didn't.
He sat beside the archway, staring at the stone words. He didn't know the language, but there was a rhythm to it — soft and ancient, like a lullaby in a dialect no one remembered.
Tessan sat down beside him, teeth chattering. "You think this was a shrine to one of their gods?"
"Probably," Auren said.
"You believe in any of that?"
Auren thought about it.
"I used to believe in work. In honest craft. That shaping steel into something useful was enough. Now I believe in silence."
Tessan frowned. "Silence?"
"Because every time I listen too closely, I hear someone I've killed asking if I remember their name."
Tessan went quiet.
After a moment, he said, "I think I'm starting to hate this."
Auren looked at him.
"I wanted glory," Tessan said. "My father died at Silverpine. My uncle at Riverwatch. I thought if I wore the same armor and swung the same sword, I'd be honoring them."
"And now?"
"I think I'm just becoming one of the names that someone else will forget."
That night, the order arrived by messenger hawk.
A sealed scroll bearing General Vellan's signature was read aloud by Drea before a small assembly of senior officers. Auren stood among them.
By decree of Command, the city of Elthemar is to be encircled and given opportunity for surrender. Three days' time will be allowed. If no envoy arrives, the siege begins.
No exceptions. No supply lines permitted in or out.
Burn anything they might use. Including the orchards.
"Gods," one officer muttered. "That's their winter stock."
"They'll starve," another said.
"They'll surrender," Rhoen replied. "Or they'll die slower."
Drea nodded. "There's no room for softness now. The siege of Elthemar will break Dareth's morale. That's the goal."
Auren said nothing. But his hands were clenched behind his back.
The next day, while scouting routes for siege platforms, Auren and his unit came across an abandoned mill by the river. Inside, they found an unexpected surprise:
A Dareth courier, cloaked and half-frozen, huddled behind a sack of barley.
He raised his hands instantly. "Don't kill me."
Auren leveled his axe. "Who are you?"
"My name is Veren," the man stammered. "I was carrying a message to the Elthemar garrison. I got separated from the others."
"Message?" Auren asked.
"For the city governor. Instructions. Reinforcements. If I don't deliver it…"
Tessan stepped forward. "Let's kill him and take the letter."
But Auren held up a hand.
He looked at Veren. Young. Maybe twenty. Pale hands. A scholar's fingers.
"You're not a soldier," Auren said.
"No," Veren admitted. "Just a scribe. I don't even carry a blade."
Auren stared at him.
Then reached out and took the letter.
Veren didn't resist.
"What will you do with me?" he asked quietly.
Auren turned to Tessan. "Bind his hands. Gag him. But don't hurt him."
Tessan frowned. "He's the enemy."
"He's a boy," Auren said. "And he might know things we can use."
They took Veren back to camp.
In the officer's tent, Auren unsealed the letter.
Inside was a coded directive from the Dareth High Command.
It detailed a secret supply route running underground — a tunnel system beneath Elthemar, hidden since the old war, capable of moving food and arms into the city even during a siege.
Auren handed it to Drea. Her eyes flicked over the contents, then locked on Auren.
"Where did you get this?"
"From a courier. He's in custody."
Drea's voice lowered. "If this is true, we could be besieging a city that isn't starving at all."
"Exactly."
Rhoen entered behind them, reading over her shoulder. "Then we dig. We smoke them out."
Auren hesitated. "Or we send word to Vellan and see if the siege plan needs to change."
"No," Drea said coldly. "We stick to the plan."
"What if there's a diplomatic path?" Auren asked. "If the city governor is independent-minded, we might—"
"You want to risk everything on the mercy of Dareth nobility?" Drea snapped. "You're starting to think like them, Varik."
"I'm starting to think like a man who's tired of watching children starve."
The tent fell silent.
Rhoen finally broke it.
"I'll send the information to Vellan," he said. "But we prepare as if we've heard nothing. Dig out the tunnels. If the city doesn't surrender in three days, we torch the valley."
Drea didn't like it, but she nodded.
That night, Auren sat outside Veren's tent.
The young scribe had been fed. His bindings loosened.
"You read it, didn't you?" Veren said softly.
"I did."
"Then you know Elthemar isn't going to fall easily."
"I know you were willing to freeze to death to deliver a lie," Auren said.
Veren smiled weakly. "Isn't that what this war is? Lies we die for?"
Auren said nothing.
Veren leaned back. "You don't want to be here. I can tell."
"I'm here because of what they did to my daughter."
"I'm here because they burned my brother's books and called it justice."
Two sides. Two losses.
Neither willing to break.