Chapter 242 The March To The Citadel: Klaus's POV
Chapter 242 The March To The Citadel: Klaus's POV
The southern hills were sharp, dry, and cut through with deep gravel gullies.
By mid-afternoon, our column had covered six miles of enemy land. Forty-five warriors marched behind me in two disciplined files, their leather vests grey with trail dust, their iron shields slung across their shoulders.
Behind us rolled three heavy supply carts pulled by sturdy draft horses, loaded with black powder kegs, iron arrows, and dried meat.
The air was warmer down here on the open plains, but the terrain was dangerous. The low rocky ridges on either side of the road offered perfect cover for Kaelen’s light skirmishers.
A sharp twang echoed from a high limestone ledge three hundred yards to our left.
An iron crossbow bolt slammed into the wooden sideboard of the lead supply cart, missing Samuel’s shoulder by two inches.
"Hold the line!" Valerius bellowed instantly, his broad shield snapping up to cover Samuel’s chest. "Lock shields to the left!"
The column did not break rank. The recruits brought their wooden shields together with a heavy, practiced clack, creating an iron-rimmed wall along the edge of the road. They didn't run. They didn't panic. Two weeks of winter drills under the ice had turned raw village boys into hard soldiers.
I drew my father's broadsword, my eyes narrowing as I scanned the high rocks.
Three figures in grey wool cloaks were moving quickly along the upper ridge, aiming heavy steel crossbows down at our open right flank.
Before I could call out an order, a dark shadow burst out from the brush near the base of the ridge.
Zoey led five of our lightest mountain scouts straight up the steep gravel slope. She moved fast, her boots barely touching the loose rock, her short bow already notched with a black-fletched arrow.
"Cover the ridge!" Zoey shouted to her scouts.
She didn't take cover behind the rocks. She ran parallel to the enemy snipers, drawing her string to her ear while on the move. Then a loud thwack.
Her first arrow caught a Kaelen sniper clean through the throat just as he raised his crossbow. He tumbled off the limestone ledge, bouncing down the steep gravel bank until his body landed limp in the roadside ditch.
Her scouts moved in right behind her, using their short hunting blades to clear the remaining two skirmishers before they could re-load their bolts.
Within three minutes, the ridge was silent.
Zoey stepped to the edge of the high ledge, looking down at the column. She held up her short bow, signaling that the trail ahead was clear.
"Good hunting!" Bram shouted up from his horse, letting out a rough laugh of approval.
A low cheer ran through the ranks of our men.
"Look at her move," Samuel whispered to Garos, his eyes full of total respect as he watched Zoey pick her way down the gravel bank. "That is not just a scout. That is the Alpha's female."
"She fights like a demon," Garos agreed quietly, tightening his grip on his spear shaft. "When the Alpha leads the front and she holds the flank, Kaelen does not have a chance."
I heard every word they said. The men were no longer just following a military officer. They were looking at Zoey and me together, seeing the pair that held this pack on their shoulders.
Zoey slid down the last five feet of the gravel bank, landing lightly on her boots right beside my heavy horse. She unstrung her bow, her dark hair windblown, her face flushed red from the sprint up the hill.
"Three snipers," she reported, her breathing steady, her dark eyes looking up into mine. "Sent by Kaelen's advance post to slow down the carts. The road ahead is open for another three miles."
"Good work," I said, my voice dropping low so only she could hear.
My broad hand reached down from the saddle, brushing lightly against her bare cheek to wipe away a smear of grey trail dust. Her skin was warm, and her pulse fluttered fast under my fingers. She leaned into my touch for a split second, her dark eyes flashing with that intense, silent fire before she stepped into stride beside my stirrup.
\---
By dusk, we reached the lower pine valley, two miles from the base of the Iron Citadel.
A small farming settlement sat along the dry creek bed. The villagers had hidden behind their low stone fences when our column approached, expecting the usual raid of burning homes and stolen grain that Kaelen’s men brought every harvest.
Instead, I ordered the column to halt near the village square.
I had Samuel and Jace roll out two barrels of salt pork and three heavy sacks of flour from our supply carts.
Elder Marcus, a thin man with a white beard and hollow cheeks, stepped out from the main timber house, his hands trembling as he looked at my iron breastplate and the forty-five armored warriors standing in a silent line behind me.
"We have no silver to give you, Alpha," Marcus said, his voice quivering with fear. "Kaelen’s collectors took our last sheep three days ago."
"I am not here for your silver, Marcus," I said, stepping down from my heavy horse. "I am Klaus, son of the North Pack. We bring our own food."
I gestured to the flour sacks. Samuel stepped forward and set them down at the old man's feet.
"This grain belongs to your families," I told the crowd of frightened villagers watching from their windows. "Miller and Kaelen are finished in this valley. Any man who wants to hold a spear and defend his own soil can step into our line tonight."
The villagers looked at the food, then at the disciplined men of our column. There was no pillaging. No broken doors. No stolen livestock.
By nightfall, twenty strong young men from the creek settlement had stepped forward, taking the oath of the pack on my broadsword hilt. Valerius immediately issued them dry wool cloaks, wooden shields, and iron daggers from our supply wagons.
Our army had grown to sixty-five men.
\---
Later that night, the campfires burned low in the pine clearing.
Our sixty-five soldiers sat in small circles around the roaring fires, roasting salted pork and sharpening their broadsword edges. Valerius and Bram were seated near the main supply cart, showing the new recruits how to lock their shields into a tight circle against cavalry charges.
I sat on a fallen log near the edge of the camp, checking the iron latch on my broadsword scabbard.
Zoey walked over from the horse line, carrying two wooden mugs of hot spiced tea. She wore her dark wool cloak wrapped tight against the evening chill, her short bow slung over her back.
She sat down right beside me on the log, her thigh pressing firmly against mine in the quiet dark. She handed me one of the mugs, her warm fingers lingering against my palm as I took the wood.
Across the campfire, Samuel and two of the new recruits looked over at us. They bowed their heads slightly toward Klaus and Zoey, a quiet gesture of deep, unforced reverence before turning back to their meal.
"They look at you like you have already won," Zoey said softly, watching the flames reflect in her tea mug.
"We have not won yet," I said, taking a sip of the hot liquid. "Kaelen has forty-foot stone walls and a hundred guards at the Citadel."
Zoey turned her head, looking up into my face. In the flickering amber glow of the campfire, her dark eyes were sharp, fierce, and entirely fearless.
"He can have a hundred walls, Klaus," she whispered, her hand reaching out beneath her cloak to cover mine on the log, her fingers squeezing tight against my broad knuckles. "He does not have this pack. And he does not have you."
I turned my palm over, intertwining my fingers with hers, holding her hand close against my thigh.
"Tomorrow, we break his gates," I told her, my voice dark, low, and heavy with a promise that set the night air on fire.
Zoey rested her head lightly against my shoulder, her breathing slow and steady as we watched the campfire burn down to red embers.