Chapter 10 - THE GATES OF IRONCLIFF
The train’s air brakes hissed with a deafening shriek as the convoy slid to a halt inside the reinforced rail tunnel beneath Ironcliff Fortress.
Heavy iron portcullises slammed down behind the caboose, sealing the mountain tunnel from the eastern blizzard.
Steam hissed from the brake shoes, mingling with the bitter smell of sulfur, horse leather, and damp limestone.
The heavy steel door of Boxcar Fourteen was wrenched open from the outside with a violent clang.
Standing on the raised stone platform were twenty heavy northern infantrymen in dark steel plate armor.
Their halberds were leveled at the interior.
At the head of the detachment stood Duke Brandon Hayes.
Sixty years old.
A scarred, one-eyed mountain veteran with a beard as white as winter frost and shoulders as wide as a blacksmith's anvil.
In his right hand, he held a massive two-handed broadsword, the tip resting on the granite flags.
"Whoever is in that car, step out with your hands visible!" Brandon bellowed, his voice echoing through the vaulted stone cavern.
"By order of the Regent Council, this train is under quarantine!"
Gideon stepped through the door into the torchlight.
He stood bare-chested, covered in dried blood and soot, his dark trousers shredded at the knees.
The royal wolf crest tattooed across his left shoulder blade caught the flickering orange flames.
"Uncle," Gideon said quietly.
"You've let your guards get slow."
Duke Brandon froze.
His single good eye widened until the white showed all around the pupil.
The massive broadsword slipped from his calloused leather gauntlets.
It struck the granite floor with a ringing chime that silenced the entire tunnel.
"Gideon...?" the old warrior whispered, his voice cracking like dry timber.
"The herald arrived from the capital four hours ago."
"Desmond signed the declaration of death."
"He swore you took a poisoned blade to the heart at the winter banquet."
"I did," Gideon said, stepping down onto the stone platform.
"And then someone pulled me back from the grave."
Gideon turned and reached his hand back into the boxcar.
Hazel stepped to the edge of the opening.
The oversized canvas flight suit swallowed her small frame, but her chin was held high, her auburn hair catching the torchlight like burnished copper.
Her green eyes were clear, steady, fearless.
She placed her small, bandaged hand into Gideon’s palm and stepped down beside him.
Duke Brandon stared at Hazel.
He leaned forward, his nostrils flaring as he caught the faint, unmistakable scent of heather and starlight drifting from her skin.
The old Duke’s knees gave way.
The legendary warlord of the northern borders dropped hard onto both armored knees before the laundry maid.
Behind him, all twenty heavy infantrymen dropped their halberds and fell to the floor in synchronized thunder.
CLANG.
"The blood of Aurelia," Brandon breathed, his head bowed low against the stone.
"The white wolf has returned to the north."
Hazel took half a step back, startled by the display of absolute reverence.
"My Lord, please," she stammered, her cheeks burning.
"I am just a laundress from the lower quarters."
"You are the salvation of this house, my child," Brandon said, looking up with tears glistening in his scarred eye.
"For fifty years, our warriors have bled out in the border trenches because we had no healers left to mend the deep wounds."
"My own son died in my arms twenty years ago for lack of three drops of Aurelian blood."
Brandon looked at Gideon, his face hardening into granite.
"The southern packs have moved six legions to the river line, Sire."
"Desmond has opened the gates of the capital to Lord Kaelen’s vanguard."
"They plan to crown Desmond at the winter solstice."
"Three days from now."
Gideon looked around the vast subterranean cavern.
Hundreds of northern warriors were gathering on the overhead catwalks, their eyes fixed on their living King.
The news was spreading through the fortress like a wildfire through dry pine.
The King lives.
The white wolf has returned.
"Send out the raven couriers, Uncle," Gideon commanded, his voice ringing through the mountain vault like a battle horn.
"Summon the seven northern clan chiefs."
"Tell them to muster every warrior between sixteen and sixty."
"We march on the capital at midnight."
"Sire!" Brandon roared, slamming his fist against his breastplate.
The twenty guards echoed the shout with a deafening war cry that shook the stone ceiling:
"HAIL GIDEON! HAIL THE AURELIAN QUEEN!"
Hazel’s breath caught in her throat.
Queen.
She turned her head to look at Gideon.
Gideon looked down at her.
He didn't correct his uncle.
He didn't silence the soldiers.
He took Hazel’s wrapped hand in both of his, lifting her bruised knuckles to his lips in front of the entire northern garrison.
"Get her warm food," Gideon ordered Brandon softly.
"Get her clean silk and a room guarded by your twelve most trusted men."
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"If a single hair on her head is harmed, Uncle,"
"I will pull this fortress down with my bare hands."
