The slaughter upon the Bridge-of-Ashes lasted less than ten minutes.
Without the iron chain-boom to protect their flank and the timber gates swinging wide to the north, the White Lancers were trapped in an iron vise. Malakor’s vanguard crashed through their center like a winter avalanche, driving horses and armored knights over the shattered railings into the black churning rapids three hundred feet below.
Aurelia descended the winch-house ladder into the north courtyard, her daggers sheathed at her hips, her dark boots stepping over the bodies of the fallen defenders without a pause.
In the center of the courtyard, surrounded by forty dismounted sell swords with leveling pikes, knelt the Baron of Mor-Venn.
His polished enameled breastplate was splattered with soot and horse blood, his golden spur snapped off in the panic. He was a plump, soft-featured noble whose hands trembled uncontrollably as he clutched a gold-plated pommel against his ribs.
Malakor rode into the courtyard on the lathered roan, the great beast snorting clouds of steam into the cold river air.
He swung down from the saddle with fluid, terrifying weight, the iron plates of his greaves striking the wet timber boards with a dull, final thud. His great sword was still drawn, the dark steel steaming in the freezing squall, coated in thick crimson from hilt to tip.
He didn't look at the baron immediately.
His amber eyes swept across the courtyard until they found Aurelia standing by the stone lintel. The sovereign fire burning in his gaze dimmed by a fraction, replaced by an intense, dark focus that raked over her frame from crown to boot, confirming she was whole and unbroken.
He closed the distance between them in three heavy strides, completely ignoring the kneeling lord and the circle of spearmen.
Before she could speak, Malakor reached out, his blood-stained gauntlet cupping the back of her head, pulling her firmly against his chest. His mouth came down over hers with a bruising, ravenous intensity that tasted of iron, river smoke, and sovereign victory.
Aurelia gasped against his lips, her hands rising to press flat against the cold steel of his breastplate, feeling the wild, thunderous hammer of his heart vibrating through the metal. The blood-tether between them sang like a plucked harp string, flooding her veins with a wave of dizzying, intoxicating heat that made her knees turn to water.
He released her mouth slowly, his thumb dragging across the flushed curve of her cheek, leaving a faint smear of charcoal dust in its wake.
"Four breaths early," Malakor murmured near her ear, his deep voice rough with lingering battle fury.
A slow, wicked smile touched Aurelia’s lips as she caught her breath, her eyes flashing with pale silver light. "I told you I would not make you wait, my Lord."
Malakor let out a low rumble of dark satisfaction, turning slowly toward the kneeling baron.
The heat vanished from his face, replaced by the merciless calculation of a conqueror looking at carrion. He stepped over to Mor-Venn, the tip of his great sword coming to rest against the center of the baron's gilded breastplate.
"Lord Malakor!" Mor-Venn squealed, his hands rising in trembling supplication. "Mercy! In the name of the Solar Concord, I have wealth! My family holds three estates in the lowlands—"
"Your estates belong to the men who crossed your bridge," Malakor said, his voice flat, devoid of passion or pity. "Where are the courier birds?"
"Dead!" Mor-Venn stammered. "The loft caught fire from your catapult stones! No message was sent to the capital! I swear it by the holy light!"
Aurelia stepped up beside Malakor, her gaze cool as she looked down at the trembling nobleman. "The birds are dead, Malakor. But he has something far more valuable."
She pointed with the tip of her curved blade toward the silver seal ring hanging from a chain around the baron's neck—the sigil of the Royal River Passage. "With that seal, our vanguard can ride the southern turnpike all the way to the Sunken Spire without raising an alarm at the toll gates."
Malakor reached down, caught the gold chain in his fist, and ripped it from Mor-Venn's neck with a sharp snap of wire.
He handed the seal to Aurelia, his fingers brushing hers in a lingering, possessive touch that was not lost on the surrounding soldiers.
"Kaelen!" Malakor barked without taking his eyes off the river road.
The gray-bearded general rode through the broken gates, his armor clinking as he dismounted. "My Lord?"
"Strip the garrison of every horse, bow, and barrel of oil," Malakor commanded, stepping back to let his vanguard claim the spoils. "Put the bridge redoubt to the torch and hang the baron from the center span as a marker for the southern lords."
He looked back at Aurelia, his amber eyes burning with an unholy promise of ruin and glory.
"The Red River is crossed," Malakor whispered, catching her by the hand and leading her toward the waiting mounts. "The capital has no walls left to hide behind."