Iron battering rams clad in dragon-hide groaned as three thousand ducal soldiers surged up the western slope.
The gray light of dawn broke over the crags, revealing rows of heavy siege ladders bristling with steel hooks.
Behind the advancing infantry rolled three armored rams mounted on iron wheels, their massive bronze heads shaped like roaring drakes.
High upon the western observation ridge, Siege General Vorn looked down through the rising mist, his spiked gauntlets clenched behind his back.
“General,” his sub-commander asked, adjusting his shield. “If Master Ash’s boy is still resting from the eastern gorge, shouldn’t we deploy our full army?”
“No,” Vorn replied coldly, his voice laced with the cruel patience of an imperial strategist. “Grand Regent Malakor’s plan is far more subtle than a crude slaughter.”
Vorn tapped the pommel of his broadsword against his thigh.
“Thorne-Crow calls this the Cooldown-Bait doctrine,” Vorn explained, pointing toward the silent grotto two miles up the mountain. “An accumulator’s greatest vulnerability is impatience. If Vance draws on an unsealed streak, he triggers Fallow Disturbance.”
