The snow fell so thick it obscured the footprints of the soldiers marching before the Fortress of Isfellan. Harold de Croul stood motionless in front of twelve iron stakes driven into the earth. Each stake pierced a sheet of parchment soaked by the snow, containing a mandate of rejection from the Northern Lords.
"They're calling you the 'Western Dog' now, Harold," Anne stepped forward, her boots crunching on the hardening snow. She examined one of the stakes with an analytical gaze. "Effective, cheap, and highly provocative. Lord Karsten of the Bear Clan was the first to sign this, wasn't he?"
Harold did not answer. He ripped one of the stakes from the ground with a single hand—a demonstration of pure physical strength—and hurled it toward Julian.
"Burn these mandates," Harold commanded. "And summon the envoys. Tell them that the Northern General has returned, and anyone who is not present in the meeting hall before sunset will be deemed a rebel."
Inside the fortress, the atmosphere was no less cold than outside. Rainnes Juoi walked through damp stone corridors. Here, there were no golden resonance lanterns. There were only acrid-smelling oil torches and thick, imposing walls.
However, Rainnes' vision could not be deceived. Through eyes now sensitive to occult frequencies, she saw that the walls of Isfellan were not merely made of stone and mortar. There were veins of black energy creeping through the cracks in the rock—like the residual breath of something ancient and hungry.
"You can feel it, can't you?"
Rainnes flinched. From behind the iron bars of the basement level visible through a balcony gap, she saw the glinting eyes of William de Croul. William was kept in a specialized cell lined with lead and silver plates—materials that, according to Anne, could dampen sonic manipulation.
"You should be silent, William," Rainnes said, her voice still slightly raspy.
"The iron of Isfellan is weeping, Rainnes," William whispered, his voice traveling through the steam pipes, sounding as if he were standing right beside her ear. "Bael is approaching. The King of the East will not be pleased to see his crown shattered in the Capital. He is coming to claim what is his... and Harold has no idea how to fight something that cannot be cut with a sword."
Rainnes immediately ran away, her heart hammering. She had to find Anne.
In her new study, Anne was busy organizing grain logistics. Isfellan had very few food reserves to face this long winter. Without supplies from the West, half of the Northern population would starve before spring.
"Anne!" Rainnes burst in without knocking. "Something... something is here. Beneath the ground. William says its name is Bael."
Anne set her pen down. She did not look surprised. Instead, she opened a secret drawer and pulled out an ancient schematic of Isfellan's layout.
"I already know, Rainnes. That is the reason I agreed to marry Harold and come here," Anne pointed to a spot at the center of Isfellan's deepest mine. "Isfellan was built upon the ruins of an ancient temple. The iron produced here is conductive to spiritual frequencies. That is why Isfellan steel is the best in the world—it contains the residual energy of the 'Lesser Key'."
Anne stared at Rainnes intently. "William wants to awaken Bael using your voice. But me? I want to use Bael's energy to power our industrial machines without depending on the Cathedral. We are going to harvest that demon, Rainnes."
The door swung open. Harold entered with a dark face, snow still clinging to his shoulders.
"Karsten's envoy just arrived," Harold said. "He brought the head of the messenger I sent this afternoon. They challenge me to a Trial of Blood upon the frozen lake."
Anne adjusted her spectacles, a cold, thin smile appearing on her lips. "Good. We need a demonstration of power. Harold, prepare to fight. Rainnes, prepare to see what truly lies beneath that ice."