Aiden stood on the outer wall of Dunhar fortress as the last wagons rolled in. The mountain air bit cold against his skin, but the fractures spreading through the northern ridges glowed with unstable red light.
This was the line. If Dunhar fell, the crusade would pour straight into their heartlands.
"Reinforce the south gate with three Thorn Cores," he ordered. Engineers scrambled to obey, slamming the pulsating cores into the stone. Thick black vines burst out and wove into the walls, hardening them like living armor.
Vassal artillery crews dragged heavy bolt-throwers into position along the battlements while mountain clan warriors hauled crates of explosive charges up the stairs.
Small Church raiding parties tested them twice before sunset. The first group of thirty riders died under a hail of reinforced ballista fire.
