Chapter 13: The Glacial Gate

POV: Prince Aditya

The narrow stone pass leading to the fortress was nothing but a shelf of frozen grey shale, slick with patches of river ice that shattered like glass beneath our horses' hooves. For the final league of the climb, the mountain wind had sheared through the stone gaps with a steady, deafening roar, forcing the entire column into a silent, single-file crawl. We had spent the last three weeks watching the horses grow thin and the men grow quiet, our pace entirely dictated by the groaning timber frames of the thirty transport wagons behind us.

On the high stone approach ramp, the line ground to a halt one last time. The lead oxen teams lost their footing on the icy incline, their heavy cloven hooves slipping backward as the drivers shouted and swung their braided hemp crops to keep the massive grain carriages from rolling back into the gorge. My own palace guard officers dropped from their saddles, throwing their shoulders against the frozen tailgates alongside the infantrymen, their boots digging into the loose stone until the massive timber wheels cleared the ridge. Out here, the royal shields and polished armor didn't mean anything to the mountain; everyone shared the exact same mud and the exact same frost.

At the top of the ridge, the massive oak gates of the Northern Gate Garrison finally loomed against the slate-grey sky. The iron cross-bars were thrown back from the inside, the heavy timber hinges screaming against the caked ice as the doors slowly parted to let us through.

Our vanguard rode into the courtyard in an exhausted, quiet file. There were no welcoming banners or ceremonial trumpets to greet the Yuvraj. The horses walked with dropped heads, their flanks lathered in a thick, frozen white sweat that plumed like steam in the freezing mountain air. Behind me, the iron-banded wheels of the wagons chewed heavily into the frozen cobblestones of the entry pavilion, their wet canvas covers stiff with rime frost. The entire line was caked in the same thick layer of grey road dirt—from the senior cavalry officers to the lowliest baggage drivers who had spent nights hauling ropes over the rocky tracks.

The lower courtyard was an instant, chaotic mess of moving animals and shouting men. The fortress wasn't built for comfort; the air was a suffocating mix of burning pinewood, wet yakswool, raw horse manure, and the deep, metallic chill of the high glaciers pressing down over the sandstone walls. Transport masters barked orders over the din, directing the heavy oxen teams toward the long feeding troughs near the northern wall before the sleet could lock the harness straps. Iron chains clattered against the stone flags as the drivers began unyoking the beasts, their voices echoing off the stone as they backed the massive grain wagons into neat, double-row formations under the central pavilion overhang.

Along the timber battlements above us, the border infantrymen stood in silent, unmoving lines, wrapped in heavy cloaks caked with ice. They didn't lower their spears or offer a formal royal salute. They were veteran border soldiers who had spent winters facing the frontier, and their hard, weathered faces held no palace pleasantries. They simply watched our column enter, passing small earthenware jars of hot charcoal hand-warmers back and forth to keep their fingers from freezing to their weapon hilts. Their eyes didn't stay on our arrival for long; they kept cutting toward the white ridge lines directly above the fort where the thin smoke trails of the hill tribe's scouts had been visible since dawn.

At the head of the courtyard, the fortress commander, General Yashvir, was waiting on the stone terrace steps alongside Captain Varun and a small group of advisors. Yashvir stepped down into the half-frozen mud, stopping a few paces from my horse to offer a straightforward military bow. Behind him, two junior garrison scribes stood quietly with their arms crossed over their chests, holding the fort's internal registry boards and inventory sticks to catalog the relief cargo.

"The garrison receives the Yuvraj," Yashvir said, his deep, gravelly voice carrying easily across the quiet yard over the stomping of the tired horses. "The fort is ready for your orders, Prince Aditya."

"Thank you, General," I said, sliding out of the stirrups. My boots hit the frozen ground with a heavy, dull thud, and my knees stiffened immediately from the days spent in the saddle, a common misery shared by every rider in the vanguard as they dismounted around us. "Have your men finished checking the storage logs for the distribution? We need to know exactly how much space remains in the dry cellars."

"Everything is logged and verified, sir," Yashvir replied, signaling one of his scribes to hand the official iron-bound ledger to my armor-bearer, Ravi. Yashvir's sharp eyes scanned the trail grime caked across my leather chest-piece and the matching grease stains on my sleeves where I had helped lift the third wagon's axle two nights ago. "But the mountain clans aren't giving us any time to settle in. Chief Tenzin's delegation crossed the lower ford an hour ago. They are already sitting in the keep's council hall, and they didn't leave their steel at the gate."

Ravi stepped forward from the line of palace servants who had begun unbuckling our travel packs, holding a brass basin of lukewarm water and a dry cloth to quickly clean the grime off my armor before I went up to the keep. I waved his hand away, my fingers too numb to even undo the brass buckle of my cloak.

"Let them wait until the loaders finish unburdening the oxen, General," I told him quietly, looking toward the heavy ironwood doors of the main keep. "If we walk in there looking clean and polished like palace boys, we lose our leverage before the negotiation even begins. Let the chiefs see the mud on our clothes. It shows the whole column crossed the same frost they live in. They will respect the grain more if they see what it took to bring it here."

Yashvir's strict features relaxed slightly, a rare nod of approval passing over his weathered face. "As you command, Your Highness. My advisors will clear the corridor."

Down by the courtyard hearth, the garrison cooks were already handing out wooden bowls of hot lentils to the shivering drivers and guards who were crowding around the flames. Two of our personal royal guards escorted Karna toward the fire, their heavy bronze shields positioned to block the biting wind coming through the open gate. The fort's quartermaster had already hurried over to throw a heavy, oversized sheepskin coat over the boy's shoulders, while a kitchen servant knelt in the dirt, rubbing the child's frozen riding boots to get the circulation back into his feet.

"Stay by the fire, Karna," I called out across the yard, watching the boy huddle closer to the heat.

Karna didn't look up from the rising sparks, his jaw shivering rhythmically as he held his hands out over the flames. "The scouts on the walls haven't moved an inch since we got here, Bhaiya."

"They are just keeping watch," I said, turning back toward the terrace steps.

General Yashvir gestured toward the council keep, and his advisors stepped aside to clear the way. I adjusted my heavy mantle against the wind, ignored Ravi's attempt to straighten my travel-stained gear, and walked up the stone steps to deal with the chiefs.