The Shattered Crowns

A soft thrum surged through the Estil army. It rippled like a pulse, low and steady, growing in intensity with every moment. Daenys wasn't sure she liked it. After hours of marching, they had finally reached their destination: the Pickette.

The towering fortress mocked them in all its splendor. Its alabaster walls gleamed under the morning sun, impossibly smooth and spiraling upward into the heavens. It jutted out from the landbridge like a monument to Astad's defiance, an achievement no ordinary group of men could have crafted. Beneath the tower, a sprawling city clung to the side of a steep hill, its tightly packed buildings stretching up toward the Pickette like supplicants reaching for salvation.

Daenys sat atop her horse, staring at the expanse of the Estil army stretched before her. Around her, the Gahkar and their warbands moved into position, preparing for the siege to come. She stole a glance at Nirme, standing at the army's vanguard, his silver wolf-etched armor catching the light. He cut an imposing figure, commanding the Deathless at the front while she rode near the back, waiting for her time to act.

Her grip tightened around the bow in her hands. She was here for Nalla. Every step she had taken since leaving Morgoi, every decision she had made, had been for her sister's future. And yet, the magnitude of the task before her made her stomach churn.

The warriors of Estil were ready to die to claim the gilded tower before them.

At her side, Reman, her steadfast protector, sat tall on his horse. His spear rested loosely in his hand, his face unreadable beneath the sun's glare. "Stay back when the battle begins," he grunted. "Your bow won't be of much use up close. Keep your distance."

Daenys snorted softly. "And when they charge me, swords swinging, and my horse can barely move through the press of bodies?"

"Shoot them." His tone was dull, matter-of-fact, as if that settled the matter.

Ahead, the Estil warbands marched forward, trampling the jade and brown grasses beneath their boots. Somewhere near the front, the Deadites had begun their chants, their war cries to Drema echoing across the fields. The sound was a mix of fervor and madness, a ritual meant to steel their courage and unnerve their enemies.

"Rev's plan hinges on far too many chances," Daenys muttered, steering her horse to keep pace with Reman. The defenders on the walls of the city would fire soon, and she needed to stay alert.

Reman glanced at her. "Most plans do. A sword pointed at you tends to make things fall apart."

She scoffed, her unease bubbling to the surface. "He's sending more than half his warband to sneak around to the other gates. If the defenders figure out what we're doing, our forces will split, and we'll be crushed between them."

Reman's gaze shifted to the polished marble walls. "It's a risk that needs to be taken. We don't have the time for a long siege. The city must fall before the Lunar Storms come tonight, and most of the defenders need to die. Rev's plan may be reckless, but it's the best shot we've got."

His blunt pragmatism left little room for argument. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. She hated it, but he was right. The Pickette was built to withstand prolonged attacks, and Estil didn't have the luxury of time. The loss of life would be staggering, but hesitation would cost them even more.

"I suppose so," she said reluctantly. "But Jaehnys the Thinker would have approached this differently. He always believed in weakening walled settlements before attacking."

Reman chuckled. "At least you've been paying attention during Nirme's lessons. Jaehnys may have been a great tactician, but he fought with steel-plated warriors and Exalted at his side. We have no such luxuries. Our soldiers are human, fallible."

Daenys persisted, "The principles are the same. We could have dug under the walls and rammed the gates, forcing them to defend multiple weak points. It might have taken a few extra days, but we'd save countless lives."

Reman smirked. "Try telling that to a Deadite. They'd throw themselves at the walls regardless of your orders. Patience isn't their virtue."

"And yet, you're not a Deadite," she countered, raising an eyebrow.

"That, I am not." He smiled faintly, his tone light for the first time.

He turned to her, his expression more serious now. "It's a good thought, Daenys, but we don't have days. Rev's strategy may be brutal, but it gives us the best chance to succeed. Besides, Astad relies on poorly trained spearmen. Our warriors won't fall like theirs. It's been too long since Astad felt the weight of a full Estil raid."

Daenys clicked her tongue in frustration. "We'll see if his plan works."

Reman nodded. "Let's hope it does."

The air grew heavier as the army marched forward. The clang of metal and the snorting of horses filled the morning, a cacophony that matched the tension in her chest. The sun shone bright overhead, the coolness of the morning doing little to combat the heat radiating off the armor and leather. Daenys wiped sweat from her brow, her fingers trembling as she straightened her shoulders.

This was the last moment of peace they would know for weeks.

Ahead, the defenders of Astad moved into position. The city's walls bristled with activity as soldiers in chainmail and hardened leather helms lined the ramparts. They bore the insignia of a single gray eye etched onto their armor, swirling patterns framing it like some ancient ward. Behind them, archers readied their bows, and spearmen formed up near the gates, their weapons gleaming.

The siege began.

The Sengus loosed the first volley of arrows, their projectiles arching high into the sky before raining down on the walls. At the same time, Estil warbands charged forward, their cries shaking the air. Deadites led the assault, their frenzied war calls to Drema growing louder as they surged across the field. Ladders slammed against the walls, and Estil warriors began to climb, their progress slow and perilous under a hail of arrows.

"Hold, Daenys," Reman instructed, his voice calm but firm. "Wait for the main gate."

Her horse danced nervously beneath her, but she steadied it, her gaze fixed on the chaos ahead. She nocked an arrow, the tension in the bowstring familiar and grounding. Her eyes searched the walls for a target—someone important, someone giving orders. A commander stepped out from cover, shouting instructions to the Astad soldiers. Daenys drew the string back to her cheek, her breath steady.

Patience, she told herself. A hunter waits for the perfect moment.

The defenders on the walls struggled to hold their ground as Estil warriors climbed higher, their ladders scraping against the stone. Deadites were the first to breach the defenses, their weapons swinging wildly as they tore into the spearmen. Their cries filled the air: "For Drema! For the God of Heart!"

The Astad soldiers, overwhelmed but disciplined, held the line as best they could. Their commander barked orders, directing the defense with sharp precision. He stepped into the open once more, and Daenys loosed her arrow.

It cut through the air in a graceful arc, dipping slightly before striking true. The commander crumpled to the ground, and a crack appeared in the defenders' resolve. Estil warriors seized the opening, breaking through the weakened line and gaining precious ground. Daenys quickly nocked another arrow, her fingers steady as she searched for her next target.

The walls began to run red as blood seeped into the alabaster stone. Despite the small victory, the battle raged on. The defenders fought tooth and nail to hold the remaining sections of the wall, their spears flashing as they pushed back against the Estil onslaught. For every foothold gained, more lives were lost.

Daenys loosed another arrow, another soldier falling. She could see it now: the futility of it all. The walls that had once gleamed pristine were stained with death. Men on both sides bled for a stretch of stone, for a city carved into a hill, for a tower that rose like a monument to hubris.

All this death, simply to claim the Pickette.

And the bloodshed had only just begun.