"He's right, Kaedron," Lira said, stepping up to the cot with a wet rag that she pressed firmly against his burning forehead. "You aren't forging a sword; you're killing yourself one breath at a time. Leave the trench to us."Kaedron blinked through a haze of sweat, his chest heaving with every shallow intake of air as the metallic taste of his own lungs coated his tongue. "Kald won't wait for me to heal," he rasped, trying to push himself up on one elbow before a fresh wave of dizziness slammed him back down into the thin straw mattress. "The imperial line... they’re massing at the ridge right now.""Let them mass," Rhovan muttered, leaning heavily on his makeshift cane near the door. "They can freeze in the snow for all I care. But if you die of iron-lung in this damp cellar, we won't have anyone left who knows how to break their acoustic shields."Miles away, inside the imperial command tent pitched against the howling winter wind, General Mavren Kald slammed a heavy iron gauntlet

"Flawed?" Tharven Koss spat, his voice hissing like water dropped onto red-hot slag as he stepped closer to the general. "Every blade we forge carries the sacred pulse of the deep earth. They are living steel, General Kald, meant to conquer this lawless frontier, not cower behind a soldier's tactical textbook."Kald didn't blink, his weathered face set in lines of granite as he stared down the fanatic. "Living steel didn't stop that acoustic shockwave from turning three hundred imperial shortswords into useless shrapnel last week, did it? And it certainly didn't keep your face from getting scorched when Kaedron threw your own altar fire back into your teeth. My men are starving, the winter gale is icing our supply wagons to their axles, and you are standing here preaching theology while my infantry freezes in the trenches.""If we press the assault now with full force," Koss growled, his gloved hands gripping the edge of the map table so hard the wood splintered, "King Veydrik’s holy

"If the crown is three hundred leagues north, General, then I suggest you remember who holds the commission to execute its will," Tharven Koss hissed, his hand dropping slowly toward the ceremonial dagger at his belt.Mavren Kald didn't blink, his fingers resting casually on the hilt of his unadorned saber as the tent flap whipped violently in the freezing gale. "My commission is to hold this sector, Koss, not to feed your fanatics into Kaedron’s acoustic meat-grinder while our supply wagons sit frozen to their axles in the snow. If you draw that blade inside my command tent, I will save the smith the trouble and remove your head myself."Before Koss could retort, the heavy canvas at the entrance burst inward, showering the map table with stinging sleet. A scout, his face caked in ice and soot, stumbled forward and slammed his palms onto the edge of the timber."General! Outpost Four—the western supply depot—it’s hit!"Kald’s head snapped up, his exhaustion instantly replaced by the s

"No blood?" Tharven Koss echoed, his voice rising in an ugly, incredulous screech that rattled the brass lanterns hanging from the tent poles. He lunged forward, grabbing the scout by the damp wool of his collar and hauling him upward until the man's boots dangled inches off the frozen floorboards. "Are you telling me that a detachment of imperial guards surrendered without striking a single blow? Were they drugged? Bribed by the heretic?""My men are not cowards, Koss," Mavren Kald growled, his hand clamping around the inquisitor’s wrist with enough force to make bone grind against bone. The general’s grip was absolute, cold, and heavy as a warhammer. "Drop him before I break your arm and leave you out in the snow to test your holy metal’s resilience."Koss hissed through his teeth, the jagged, weeping burns along his jaw tightening hideously as he glared down at the general. Slowly, deliberately, the priest relaxed his fingers, letting the scout crash back onto the wooden planks wit

"Read it, Captain," General Mavren Kald ordered, his voice dropping into a register so dangerously quiet that the snapping of the canvas in the winter gale seemed to pause for breath.The aide broke the crimson seal with shaking fingers, his eyes darting across the hurried script. "It... it says the crown's patience has expired. King Veydrik commands an immediate, total assault on Red Ridge. No more sieges, no more starvation tactics. We are to level the town completely using the full, unbridled force of the tainted artillery batteries."Tharven Koss let out a triumphant bark of laughter, his burned jaw pulling back in a hideous grin. "At last! The king sees wisdom. The heretic Kaedron and his rat-hole of a town will finally be ground into glowing red dust."Kald slammed his fist onto the map table, the iron weights jumping against the parchment. "Level it? With what? The frost has made the iron spheres brittle as glass, and half the smiths are coughing up black slag! If we unleash th