Chapter 209 – Chains in the Shadows
Far from the warmth of the Hollow's hearths and laughter, another kind of fire burned. A camp sprawled along the edge of a southern coastline, where massive black ships rested in the harbor like hungry beasts waiting to be unleashed. The men who guarded them were not soldiers of honor, nor hunters of the wilds, but slavers—the kind of men whose very names turned children's blood cold.
They called themselves the Iron Brand, and the mark they left on flesh was both name and warning.
The winter kept them in place for now, but in their council tent, firelight revealed the shapes of the ones who ruled this pitiless horde.
The Leader – Malreth the Iron Hand
At the head of the table sat Malreth, a man with shoulders broad as an ox, his skin scored with scars like claw-marks. His right hand was sheathed in a gauntlet of black steel that never came off; stories whispered it was grafted to his flesh after he'd lost his hand crushing another man's skull. His eyes burned yellow in the firelight, and when he spoke, his voice was the grinding of stone.
"This Hollow," Malreth rumbled, looking over maps spread before him. "It grows bold. Bold enough to think itself a people. Bold enough to think itself a kingdom."
He slammed his iron hand on the table, leaving a dent in the wood. "I will remind them what they are. Prey. Nothing more."
The Lieutenants
Around him sat his three lieutenants, each as cruel and dangerous as their master.
Darak the Flayer – Tall and whip-thin, his face was hidden behind a mask stitched from human skin. He carried a dozen whips on his belt, each tipped with hooks or barbs, and his talent was making people scream until their wills snapped. It was said he could peel secrets from flesh without spilling a drop of blood.
Sarya the Viper – The only woman among them, her beauty was sharp as a blade and just as deadly. She fought with twin curved daggers coated in venom of her own design. She had a way of slipping into the shadows and emerging behind her victims, her voice a whisper in their ear before the poison struck. Rumor said she'd once been a noble, cast out for murder, who found a new throne among the Iron Brand.
Korr the Beast – A mountain of a man, nearly seven feet tall, with tattoos carved into his skin by knives heated in fire. He wielded a spiked maul so heavy most men couldn't lift it with both hands. Korr could, with one. He was slow, but when he struck, bones and stone alike shattered. His soul, it was said, had been traded long ago to dark spirits for his monstrous strength.
Their Council
Malreth looked at each of them, his grin a jagged scar.
"Winter keeps us here. But when the snows melt, we march north. The Hollow will not see us coming, not until their gates burn."
Darak leaned forward, his voice rasping through his stitched mask. "The Hollow is swollen with weaklings. Families, half-breeds, runaways. They will break easily. We'll take the strong for chains, and cull the rest."
Sarya smirked, twirling a dagger between her fingers. "A nest full of children and dreamers. It will be sweet to watch their hope rot when they see their protectors cut down."
Korr let out a low growl, smashing a fist into his chest. "Their walls will fall. Their bones will crack. I will hear them scream."
Malreth nodded, satisfied by their bloodlust. But his eyes stayed sharp, his iron hand flexing on the table.
"Do not underestimate them," he said at last. "This Kael…he has carved a place from nothing. That means he is clever. Dangerous. We will strike swift, before he can spread further. And when he falls, the Hollow will bow. The survivors will fill our ships. Their children will carry our mark. Their women will fetch high coin. Their men will row until their backs break."
He leaned closer, his voice dropping into a growl.
"And Kael? I will drag him in chains myself. He will not die until he sees every last soul he swore to protect broken beneath us."
The Plan
The lieutenants began their grim planning.
Darak would lead a strike force, meant to break the will of any resistance and capture leaders alive.
Sarya would slip ahead with scouts, poisoning wells and sabotaging supplies to weaken the Hollow before the first blade was drawn.
Korr would lead the hammer blow, his maul smashing their gates when the army finally surged north.
Malreth himself would command from the front, his iron hand clutching Kael's throat before the end.
They would march when the thaw came. A month, two at most. And when they came, they would come with fire, chains, and cruelty unmatched.
A Dark Oath
The council rose, one by one, placing their hands in the fire pit at the center of the tent. Their skin blistered and burned, but none flinched. This was their oath, the brand of fire that bound their promises.
Malreth raised his burning hand high, his voice echoing like a hammer on steel.
"When the snows melt, the Hollow dies!"
The cry was taken up by every slaver in the camp. Outside, the black ships groaned in the ice, waiting like wolves at the edge of the forest.
The Hollow laughed and thrived in its winter hearths, but far away, chains were already being forged.