Chapter 33 - Hero of this battle

Days before the battle at Frosthold Castle, the Inquisition publicly revealed Ingrid in the Capital. In response, people eagerly lined up to join the fight against her tribe. After their march left the Capital, the Inquisitor whispered instructions to Morgan, telling her to travel to one of their Pentalium hideouts northeast of the Kingdom. There, he said, she would find a gift.

Morgan, Abigail's alias among the Inquisition, obeyed. A day later, she arrived at a Pentalium hideout. It was an abandoned fortress, decaying and slowly reclaimed by nature. Outside, two hundred Blade riders waited for her arrival. She was elated at the sight of an army before her, but her joy quickly faded when she noticed a familiar man waving at her.

The Pentalium's leader stood at the fortress entrance. He turned and gestured for her to follow him inside.

Morgan entered. Once they were alone, she removed her mask and revealed her face.

"Abigail Silverhand, welcome back," the man said. But to Abigail, it sounded more like a threat than a greeting. He reminded her that his resources allowed the Inquisitor's men to save her life. Then he asked if she knew why she had been called to this place.

Still indebted to him, Abigail dropped her defiance. "No. I do not."

The leader laid out a map of the northern realm. He pointed to Frosthold Castle, nestled deep within a valley, surrounded by mountains and thick forests. The harsh elements made it nearly impregnable and almost impossible to scale. But in five days, the Inquisition would arrive and set up camp east of the castle, by the nearest mountain, hoping to draw Frosthold into battle.

"If the tribe takes the bait to rescue their kin, the castle gates will open, and their forces will march toward the Inquisitor. When they do, you will lead the riders to their gates and strike Frosthold from within. You will be the hero of this battle." He then presented her with the Inquisition's war horn, last used by the Inquisitor forty years ago during the war against the Sand People. The leader instructed her to use it to command her soldiers silently, without words.

Abigail was stunned by the sudden generosity, especially with their rivalry. "Why are you giving me this task?" she asked. "Why let me take the glory?"

The man answered with a single word: "Vengeance."

Abigail's breathing grew heavier. With a gleam in her eyes, she gripped the horn with both hands and declared that once Frosthold was taken, their next target should be Tarwood. The leader nodded. He already knew about William and John from the Inquisitor's report. Like her, he was surprised to learn there was another Zonian. But it no longer mattered. If William stood against them, he had to be eliminated.

"Travel light, and do not linger," the leader continued. "The road beyond this fortress will take you to the northern realm. By the third day, head east and travel through the forest encircling the valley. By dusk on the fifth day, you must be positioned at the valley's northern end. You'll see the castle directly to the south."

"They'll never know what hit them," Abigail said, fastening her mask.

"Go. I'll remain here and ensure the knights don't interfere. Give them hell!" the leader said.

Abigail would never forget the fire in his eyes. She and he had always competed, but there was no rivalry at that moment. He was focused, coordinating precise strikes against their enemies with ruthless efficiency.

She felt guided, respected, and powerful.

Five days later, as the sun dipped and the storm thickened, Abigail and her riders arrived just as the Frosthold gate flung open to start the attack.

"Lead us to victory!" one of the Blades shouted.

"Your vengeance is ours too! Onward to our destiny!" another called.

Though weary from the long and arduous journey, their hunger for battle remained fierce. Abigail was determined to satisfy it.

Abigail adjusted her mask and charged into the howling cold, two hundred riders thundering behind her.

The tribe and Frosthold soldiers, distracted by the avalanche that had struck the Inquisition's camp, had rushed from the gates to seize victory. Caught in the chaos, they failed to notice the northern cavalry until it was too late.

Shrouded by fog, Abigail's stampede struck with brutal force. Hunters and Frosthold soldiers fell in waves beneath the fury of her riders.

Blowing her horn, Abigail deftly maneuvered her forces across the battlefield, pressing toward Frosthold's gates. The sight of Morgan and her cavalry sent panic rippling through the defenders.

George shouted for the gates to be shut, but Abigail's riders surged through, forcing them back open. George and his best warriors clashed with them at the entrance, pushing back with all their might.

"Give it your all!" George raised his shield, fending off a sea of swords and spears.

Ingrid's grandmother rallied the archers atop the walls. Though expert hunters, the unrelenting blizzard threw their arrows off course. Each arrow that pierced a gap in a Blade's armor saved a life.

The Frosthold and tribal forces on the battlefield, shaken but recovering, prepared to charge back to the castle and repel Abigail. But then came a second horn blast from the Inquisitor.

The bulk of the Inquisitor's Blades emerged from the blizzard, their weapons gleaming. They locked into battle with tribal warriors and the Frostholds, meeting their ferocity blow for blow.

The castle stood against Abigail. The Frosthold main forces and the tribe had begun their clash on the battlefield. The Inquisitor turned his attention to hunters from the forest.

The Inquisitor led his final hundred men against the hunters. Victory might have been his were it not for his volunteers and agents crippled by the poisoned stew prepared by John.

He commanded with an infectious iron will. A hundred Blades against a handful of hunters, he smiled, believing victory was already his.

As chaos engulfed the ruined camp, John, Berg, and William escorted the wounded Ingrid to safety. They reached a clearing where two hunters waited with three majestic Kingdom horses.

The hunters vowed to care for Ingrid and vanished into the forest. John, Berg, and William wanted nothing more than to stay, but they had to see the battle through. They mounted their horses and vowed to stop the Inquisitor at all costs.

The tribe's superior hunting skills gave them an edge against ordinary soldiers, but not against Blades clad in steel. With the Inquisitor leading against them, their strength faltered with every command the Blades accomplished.

"This is child's play," the Inquisitor muttered behind his mask, as he watched the hunter tribe struggle beneath his might.

But the battle was far from over.

To the Inquisitor’s flank, a man on his horse and a pack of hunters broke their defenses.

John rallied the tribes, cutting a path with his Zonian sword, his steed cleaving through enemy ranks.

Screams of searing pain filled the field. The Inquisitor turned to see a lone rider tossing alchemical grenades while he outran the Blades’ attacks.

Berg ascended the hillside, hurling vials from his bag. Tar splashed onto enemy armor; some Blades shrieked as the acid burned through steel and flesh. Others were drenched in oil. When cornered, Berg tossed firebombs that burst into flames, engulfing his foes.

The Inquisitor ordered his men to reform their ranks but was immediately crushed by hunters led by a  Zonian who defied their order.

William led the hunters' spearmen, shouting for tight formation. "Aim for the gaps! Behind the knees, under the arms, at the necks!"

With precision, the hunters brought down many Blades despite being outnumbered.

The Inquisitor tried to regroup, but Berg's relentless assault and John and William's coordination overwhelmed them. Surrounded by enemies, the Inquisitor's defiance never wavered.

Suddenly, a fireball erupted at the Frosthold gate. Abigail and her cavalry had taken the gate and the lives within those walls.

"George," Berg muttered, eyes full of worry. John, William, and the hunters watched in horror as the fire began to grow in size.

The flames revived the Blades' morale and reignited the Inquisitor's resolve. He and his men surged forward, breaking through hunter ranks and fleeing toward the castle.

The Inquisitor had underestimated John, Berg, and William's tactics and strategy in battle. Their leadership is commendable and should not be scoffed at.

Little did the Inquisitor know that William, John, and Berg won not by strategy alone but because the tribe respected them and the bonds they had created years ago. The tribe trusted these lads as much as the boys trusted them when they took them in.

The tenacity of the hunters, Frosthold's stubbornness, and John and William's unorthodox strategies had turned the tide. The Inquisitor knew he would lose if he stayed.

Swallowing his pride, he knelt beside a fallen Blade, still warm. In silence, he stripped the mask and swapped it with his own. Then he raised the horn and blew a long, desperate note that signals his retreat.

The sound pierced the battlefield and reached Abigail's ears.

Frustrated, she knew it was time to fall back. Her cavalry had burned Frosthold's armory. She disengaged from George and blew her horn, signaling twenty of her best to ride with her. The rest stayed to bring glory or death to the Inquisition.

No sooner had she left than more cavalry poured from the gate. George, along with his best men, held their ground as best they could. The situation was desperate, but hope never left them.

Atop the castle walls, Ingrid's grandmother commanded her elite warriors not to guard her but to aid George. The warriors first hesitated for their sole reason was to protect their tribal chief. But she argued that if George dies, the rest of the Frosthold would go down with him and that she would fall shortly after. Realizing they need to work together with the Frosthold to survive, her people finally let go of their selfishness and agreed to help the Frostholds. Her best warriors leaped from the castle walls and pierced the enemy riders with spears. With their attack, George saluted his saviors as they fought to finish off their enemies.

Returning to the battlefield, Abigail wondered: How had the Inquisitor lost so quickly? Did the avalanche injure him? Had someone betrayed him?

She shelved those questions. Saving the Inquisitor was all that mattered now.

Nearing the Inquisitor's camp, she spotted Blades in retreat, harried by hunters on horseback. Leading the charge were John, Berg, and William.

She twitched. Her enemies, the ones who humiliated her, stood before her again. She wanted to kill them then and there. But the leader's voice echoed in her head: You will be the hero of this battle.

She would be if she saved the Inquisitor.

Abigail used her Sense to scan the incoming Blades. Among them, one stood apart, the war horn on his waist.

She blew her horn and commanded her cavalry to cover her approach. As she rode in, her men rained arrows down to distract the hunters. Abigail reached the disguised Inquisitor, hoisted him onto her horse, and wheeled around. Her riders did the same, grabbing their comrades.

Abigail blew the retreat call.

The Blades heard and understood. The Inquisitor must survive. They would die for that.

John, William, and Berg knew the Inquisitor was among the fleeing Blades, but which one? They were too caught up in the chaos to notice the horn he kept using.

Meanwhile, the remaining Blades turned rabid. Their fanaticism, once restrained, now erupted. They fought without reason as if possessed. This was a familiar sight for John and William, for this is the same scenario when they defeated the Chief long ago.

Abigail and her men scattered into the forest, splitting into smaller groups. William made to follow but paused.

"Ignore the riders and stragglers. Secure the battlefield and the castle!" he roared.

"Thank you, William," Berg exhaled. Relief and resolve returned to his eyes.

"We'll face the Inquisitor again," John said. "But not at the cost of your home."

Together, the three led their men back to the battlefield.

Above the trees, the night deepened.

Far ahead, the Inquisitor clung to Abigail's horse with his heart full of anger.

"I will see you soon, William," he whispered into the dark.

And the wind carried his curse into the stars.