Chapter 22: Bloodied, but Standing

"Listen to me, people of Caelrhime."

The voices died away, the elders turning toward her — some in disbelief, others with wary curiosity. She stood tall, her cloak falling aside to reveal the faint scar on her shoulder — a quiet reminder of the battle she had barely survived.

"I understand your pride," she said, her voice steady. "I was raised on the same beliefs, taught the same strength — that we do not bend, that we do not break. But I have seen what comes for us. I’ve fought it. And I can tell you now — pride alone will not stop it."

She looked around the room, meeting each gaze with unwavering calm.

"You speak of weakness? It is not weakness to ask for help. It is wisdom. We do not stand alone in this war — the darkness will consume us all if we do."

A breath. She softened her tone, just slightly.

"You fear how the world will see us. Let them. Let them see Caelrhime bloodied, but unbroken. Let them see our spirit — not in isolation, but in unity."

The room was silent. Even Eiran’s jaw had tensed shut.

She stepped closer to the table, placing her hand beside her mother’s on the map. Her voice dropped — low, firm, absolute.

"We are Caelrhime. And we will survive this. But only if we stand together — not just with each other, but with those who’ve chosen to stand beside us."

She looked to Seralyne, who gave the smallest nod — proud, quiet approval in her eyes.

Aurette then said calmly, “The message has been sent. Aeldenmarch will know where we stand. And when the time comes… they will stand with us.”

The air was cold and tense by the second evening since the enemy began preparations beyond the ridgeline. Snow had stopped falling, but the clouds still loomed, hanging like a warning.

Inside the Hollow, preparations were frantic but quiet. Those who still had strength readied weapons, counted arrows, stacked frozen stones, or simply clutched blades with unsteady hands. The wounded who could stand offered to carry messages. The young were stationed in shadowed corridors — last line, never meant to fight, but there if it came to it.

And then, as night edged across the ridgeline, horns blared — but not the disciplined, thunderous notes of Vaerond’s army.

These were wild. Savage. Echoing.

“The Redfangs,” Aelric said under his breath, standing beside Aurette on the eastern parapet. “And the Barrenhowls. Cowards with blades, hoping to scavenge honor before the real battle begins.”

Seralyne emerged from the northern stairs, her cloak trailing frost. “They’ve always hated us. Now they think we’re weak enough to tear apart.” Her voice was steel, but her brow was tight. “We’ll show them how wrong they are.”

From the thinning treeline, two small raiding bands emerged — no more than two dozen Redfangs from the east, and a Barrenhowl wedge of fifteen from the north. They didn’t march. They charged — shrieking, pounding their shields, hoping to overwhelm.

“They’re not an army,” Aurette muttered. She fastened her gauntlet and looked to the east. “They’re desperate. Which makes them dangerous.”

“They’re testing our resolve,” Aurette said, tightening the gauntlet on her right hand. “But we’ll show them Caelrhime isn’t dead yet.”

The Redfangs came at twilight.

Over forty warriors screaming curses in the old tongue, banging their jagged axes against bone shields. They poured from the trees like wolves, led by a massive war-chief with crimson-dyed braids and teeth sharpened to points. Ladders slammed against the eastern walls, and hooks bit into stone.

But Caelrhime was ready.

At Seralyne’s command, defenders let loose volleys of ice-tipped arrows and burning pitch. Ladders shattered mid-climb. Fire swallowed the first wave. But still they came — snarling, leaping over the dead, trying to swarm the battlements.

Aurette led a strike team through the under-wall tunnel system, emerging behind the eastern parapet. As the Redfangs breached a section of the wall, Aurette met them head-on — her glaive singing through the air in practiced arcs.

A Redfang champion roared and lunged at her. She sidestepped cleanly and slammed the pommel of her weapon into his throat, spinning to cleave the legs of another.

The wind howled. Blood splashed the snow.

By the time the sun fully vanished, the eastern wall was slick with blood and melting snow. The Redfangs had been broken — scattered by relentless defense and Aurette’s harrying strikes.

But they’d taken a toll. Over ten Caelrhime fighters fell, and one tower at the northeast corner began to crumble from sustained assault.

While the east wall trembled, thunderous booms echoed from the north.

The Barrenhowl Clan approached differently — methodically. With siege mauls and reinforced tower shields, they advanced under a cover of thick fur-lined cloaks, marching in a tight formation that deflected most arrows. Their war drums pulsed like the beat of a titan’s heart.

They didn't try to climb — they meant to break the gate down.

Seralyne herself took command at the north wall. She coordinated oil traps to be poured and frozen in place, causing the heavy warriors to slip or stall in their advance. From atop the walls, defenders pushed burning braziers and tipped logs onto the invaders. The damage was minimal, but it slowed them.

And they needed time.

Aelric, leading the third guard, took a dozen men to flank through the Hollow’s east breach — an ancient snow tunnel designed for evacuation, now used for surprise.

Aurette joined the defenders at the front. Standing atop the north gate, she shouted:

“Let them hear our voice in the storm. Let them know that Caelrhime still breathes!”

As the battering ram hit the gate a fourth time, she and Ilan dropped down from above, blades gleaming. Chaos erupted.

Aurette’s boots landed on a Barrenhowl shield-bearer. She twisted mid-air, impaling his shoulder and slashing outward. Ilan followed, cutting through the legs of another warrior before rolling back into formation.

The Barrenhowl momentum faltered.

Suddenly, a loud crack — a controlled avalanche triggered by hidden Caelrhime scouts — crushed part of the back ranks. The shock split their formation, and the gate held.

Roars turned to disarray. The Barrenhowls began to fall back.

The battle lasted until night swallowed the mountain range.

By the time the horn of retreat sounded in the north, the snow was red, and the dead littered the slope. Caelrhime held its walls — barely. Makeshift barricades had become the last defense in some areas.

Over thirty wounded. Fourteen dead. Two supply storerooms collapsed under fire. A few scouts didn’t return.

As Aurette walked the walls with her glaive dragging through the snow, she paused and looked to the tree line where Vaerond’s camp still lay dormant.

“They watched,” she whispered.

Seralyne stepped beside her. “They’ll move soon. They waited to see how weak we were.”

“And now they know,” Aurette said. “We’re bloodied, but standing.”