The horses did not slow. Cold wind tore across the open plains as the army of Snowland rode hard toward Kalkigan. Hooves hammered the frozen earth in a rhythm that seemed to shake the morning itself.
Newton rode at the front.
Sandra rode beside him, her cloak snapping violently behind her shoulders. The thousand soldiers followed close behind, banners rising and falling with the motion of the charge.
No one spoke. Only the thunder of hooves filled the air.
The land rolled gently ahead of them, pale grass bending beneath the cold wind. The sky hung low and grey, the kind of sky that made steel look darker.
Newton kept his eyes forward. Kalkigan waited somewhere beyond the next rise.
He could already feel it. The pull of it. The weight of what waited ahead.
Behind him, the army stretched like a moving wall of iron. A thousand men. A thousand swords.
And yet, the boy at their head felt strangely alone.
The fortress appeared suddenly. Stone towers rose above the ridge as Newton's horse crested the hill. The walls of Kalkigan came into view, jagged where the earlier assault had shattered part of the gate.
Smoke drifted upward from scattered fires. The gates stood half-repaired. Men moved along the walls, hauling timber and rope.
They had not expected the army of Snowland so soon.
Newton slowed his horse. The army behind him slowed as well, the sound of hooves fading into a tense silence.
They had arrived.
Within an hour and twenty minutes of leaving Snowland, Newton now stood before the fortress of Kalkigan.
Sandra's eyes scanned the walls.
Workers were still hammering wooden beams against the broken gate. A few soldiers stood watch above them, but their movements lacked urgency.
Then one of the guards looked beyond the walls. His head snapped up. He stared.
A heartbeat later he turned and ran down the walkway.
Inside the fortress, panic spread quickly. The guard burst into the yard, breathless.
"The Woodlands army is approaching!"
The hammering stopped. Men dropped tools. Others rushed for weapons.
Lord Sigmoid Bennett stepped out from the inner keep, already pulling on pieces of his armor. Steel plates clicked into place across his chest as a servant hurried behind him fastening the final straps.
His sword rested comfortably at his hip. Sigmoid climbed the broken stairway leading to the wall and looked out across the open field.
And froze.
The army stretched across the plain like a dark tide. Horsemen lined the horizon. Banners of Snowland, and of House Woodland rose above them, their sigil unmistakable.
Sigmoid's eyes narrowed. There were too many. Far too many. He looked behind him.
His own soldiers filled the courtyard below, but the number felt painfully small now. A few hundred at best. Many were still carrying tools instead of weapons.
They had barely begun repairing the damage from the earlier assault.
The walls were weak. The gates were fragile. If the Woodlands army attacked now, the fortress would crumble within minutes.
Sigmoid felt the truth settle into his chest. Fighting them would be suicide.
His gaze drifted back across the field.
At the front of the army, two riders sat side by side. One of them he recognized immediately.
Sandra. His niece.
Sigmoid's lips curled slowly. "So she ran to Snowland."
Coward.
The second rider was younger. Much younger. Sigmoid leaned forward slightly, studying the boy more carefully.
Then he smiled. He knew exactly who that must be.
Interesting.
Sigmoid descended the wall and walked toward the open field outside the broken gate. His soldiers followed cautiously behind him, forming a loose line before the fortress.
Across the field, the army of Snowland waited. Newton urged his horse forward several paces.
Sandra followed.
The distance between the two sides closed slowly until both forces stood clearly within sight of one another.
Sigmoid stepped forward.
His armor gleamed faintly in the pale light. A dark beard framed his face, streaked with lines of grey that spoke of years spent in battle.
His eyes moved from Sandra to Newton. Then he laughed. The sound carried easily across the silent field.
"I knew you to be a prostitute," Sigmoid called out, his voice dripping with mockery, "but I never knew you were so desperate enough to run into the hands of a younger bastard."
Sandra's fingers tightened around the reins of her horse. Her jaw clenched. Newton did not look at her. He kept his eyes on Sigmoid.
"Surrender yourself," Newton said calmly, "or I will have your head."
Sigmoid turned fully toward him now. He looked the boy up and down slowly. Then his gaze drifted beyond Newton to the army waiting behind him.
"So this is what the North has become." His voice rose again.
"Since when has the North become so depraved that Snowland's army rides behind a bastard?"
The words spread through the ranks like a ripple.
Several soldiers shifted in their saddles. A few glanced at one another. Newton raised his hand slowly.
The movement caught Sigmoid's attention immediately. His eyes fell upon the ring. For a moment Sigmoid said nothing.
Then he nodded slowly. "I see."
His smile returned. "They do not see the bastard." His gaze lifted back to Newton's face.
"They see Edmond Woodland."
Sigmoid shook his head slowly. "Edmond, like always, did not respect culture."
His voice hardened. "He placed the Ring of Ice on a bastard's finger. No Warden or king of the North has committed such a disgraceful act."
Sigmoid's eyes burned with quiet contempt.."He dishonored the ring." Newton's face did not change.
"You have one minute to surrender yourself," he said. The wind passed between them again. Newton's voice remained steady.
"Or I will kill you all."
Sigmoid stared at him. Then he laughed again. Longer this time. "You think wearing the ring makes you your father."
He stepped forward slightly. The steel of his armor groaned softly. "Well then,"
Sigmoid spread his arms slightly. "Come down to me."
His eyes locked with Newton's. "Face me in a single combat."
The words hung in the air.
Then Sigmoid raised his voice toward the sky.
"In the name of Odin, God of the Norsemen, whom you and I serve."
He placed his hand over the hilt of his sword.
"I challenge you to single combat."
Silence followed.
The soldiers on both sides watched carefully. Sandra suddenly burst into laughter. The sound broke the tension like a snapped bowstring.
"You are so desperate," she said loudly, "that you challenge a fifteen-year-old boy to single combat?"
Sigmoid did not look at her. His eyes remained fixed on Newton.
The silence stretched longer now.
Martins leaned his horse closer to Newton. "You need not accept it," he said quietly. His voice carried only to the boy.
"Both of you are years apart in combat." Martins glanced toward Sigmoid. "And we already have him where we need him."
Newton listened. He remained still for several seconds. Then he shook his head.
"No."
Martins frowned. Newton turned toward Sigmoid. "I accept your challenge."
Martins exhaled sharply. Frustration flashed across his face. "You must not accept everything," he said under his breath. "You must not be proud."
He leaned closer. "There is no glory in dying young." But Newton was already moving. He swung one leg over his horse and jumped down.
The moment his boots touched the ground, he drew his sword. Steel slid free with a sharp whisper.
Sandra watched him in disbelief. She shook her head slowly. "The boy will die."
Across the field, Sigmoid's smile widened. "I knew you would be as proud as your father."
He stepped forward and drew his own sword. The blade caught the pale light as it came free.
Both armies began to move.
Soldiers from Snowland and Kalkigan stepped outward, forming a wide circle across the field. Horses were pulled back. Spears lowered. Helmets turned toward the center.
A ring of steel and silence formed around the two figures. Newton stood calmly inside it.
Sigmoid rolled his shoulders once, loosening the weight of his armor.
The wind tugged gently at Newton's cloak..The boy's sword rested steady in his hand. Sigmoid studied him carefully.
Young.
Too young and inexperienced. Yet the boy did not tremble.
The two of them stood facing each other. Steel against steel. Experience against determination.
The circle tightened slightly as the watching soldiers leaned closer.
No one spoke.
Even the wind seemed to pause. And there, in the center of that silent ring of warriors, Newton and Sigmoid waited.
Face to face.