"Winter?" Alpheo muttered, the laughter still bubbling beneath his breath. For a fleeting second, he worried he was overplaying his hand, but he had already committed his toe to the ledge; it was only proper to follow with the rest of his foot.

All or nothign , stack the deck and throw the dice.

"I think you put far too much stock in the frost. Aye, the Kakunians may drift away like the leaves when the first snow falls, but the grain will still flow. Whether I have Merelao’s spears or not, you cannot hope to dislodge us with your meager, shivering numbers. Your forces would likely shatter at the first taste of open air without the safety of your stone skirts to hide behind."

The tightness in Alpheo’s chest loosened a fraction as he watched the color drain from Sorza’s face. It’s working, he told himself, just a bit more.

"It will be a slaughter," Sorza stammered, his voice cracking like thin ice. "Your army—"

"My army will swallow any casualty given to them! Have you learned nothing from that damn field?How many ford will you need before you learn?" Alpheo roared, his voice echoing off the silent gates. "Outnumbered and gutted as they were, they held the line. Twice your knights charged with the fury of the sun, and twice they broke against Yarzat iron. On the third, they didn’t just hold, they charged back through the blood. They thought me dead for half that battle, yet not a single man turned his back. Do you truly believe they will mutiny for a bit of blood as your host did at the Bastion? Do you think them so pansy?Do you truly?"

He saw the answer written in Sorza’s wide, egg-like eyes. He didn’t believe it.

"Are you willing to bet your life on that gamble?" Alpheo whispered, the silence that followed more terrifying than his shout.

"My walls are tall," Sorza said, though it sounded more like a prayer than a boast. "We can withstand your assault. This won’t be like the Bastion. You won’t have the stomach for the butchery required to take Oizen. You—"

"I will withstand it, and I will ask for seconds if that is what’s required to bring your walls down," Alpheo snapped, his anger suddenly tugging at him again like a hound on a short leash. He wanted this over. He was long overdue to return to his own hearth, but he could not leave until the bill was made to pay

"Must you make me say it? Very well."

His anger seemed to blow away with the next gust of wind, replaced by a deep, weary sigh. He didn’t need the rage anymore; the point would be sharper if delivered in the cold calm of a winter morning. He felt his heart still, the adrenaline cooling into a hard resolve. He looked around, feeling the expectant stares of his companions and the sharp gaze of Merelao, who looked as if he were simply waiting for the next act.

"The forests press close to your gates," Alpheo began, his voice dropping as if vibrating through the very wind. He gestured a gauntleted hand toward the dark treeline. "That is good. You have looked upon our numbers already, but soon you shall see the shape of the nightmare we bring with us. Rams forged of iron-capped oak. Ladders by the hundreds. Siege towers that will loom over your battlements like the gods of wrath themselves. You had not even the foresight to dig a moat around this pile of stone; I shall not waste a single week before I am at your throat."

He paused, a cruel glint in his eye as he leaned closer. "And who do you think will lead the van? The Oizenian turncoats shall carry the first banners. I will begin this bloody day by making you watch the friends and kin of those who died for you at the Ford, at Apurvio, and at Aracina die once more upon your own spikes. They swore loyalty to me, and I shall see what worth they have against a master who abandoned them to the mud.Once your men are bloodied, the true siege will begin."

The wind howled, whipping Alpheo’s cloak around his blackened and scarred plate, but his gaze remained fixed. "I see you have few bowmen. I have no such lack. I shall make the sky go dark and the sun vanish beneath a hail of Yarzat goose-fletch. My towers will be filled with them, and they will wait for the moment you dare show your face above the stone,to whisper false hopes to your men. I will have those arrows dipped in shit so that even a scratch becomes a death sentence.You will die with your skin turning black, your throat raw with screams, and salt tears blurring your vision as your city falls."

Alpheo steered his horse forward forcing Sorza to look into eyes that held no mercy. "I will crush you. I would say my sword will find your neck or your guts, but we both know you are rarely where the steel is thickest. You had your chance to end this at the Ford, yet you left me alone on that field of red with nothing but victory to sate my bloodlust. Killing you with a blade would prove nothing but my physical superiority, a fact the world already knows."

"So, I will take everything else instead," Alpheo continued, his voice as inexorable as the tide. "I will topple your towers and crash down your walls. Every man defending them and every soul cowering behind them shall perish. Three days and three nights of sack shall follow, and I will rule over whatever is not ash by the fourth . But if, by some cruel mercy of the gods, you survive the arrows and the steel, your true hell will begin when you behold me next at your second lowest."

He raised his head, looking toward the sun struggling against the gray, fractured clouds. "I shall find a high point to the east and have you nailed there. High enough so you can see every inch of your seat of power. I will have food and water brought to you daily, so you do not have the grace of a quick end. When the fourth day arrives, you will know the work is done when the sky is filled with nothing but gray ribbons of smoke, the last remains of your people rising to meet the Five. You will watch everything you ever loved, everything your ancestors protect blow away as soot.

But you shall do so with only one eye, for the first I’ll take by my own hand."

For a moment he recalled Egil, and wondered if he would be proud of him at this moment.What use was holding a leash on himself?At that point he didn’t even believe , he himself was lying , but to whom?

"When you have nothing left but the breath in your lungs and the rumble of your misplaced ambition, when you feel the crushing weight of a dynasty that lasted centuries finding its pathetic end in you, only then, when you look at me and know you were bested in every way a man can be, shall I allow you the final peace.

Below you, the result of your hubris; ahead of you your failures.

And I promise you, Sorza, you will weep joy made of red tears when you behold me last. Your nightmare will end only when you take your final eye, and then, at last, the darkness may claim you by my consent.

But you will be lonely up there, I think. So I shall send your brother and your child to you in boxes, one for each day you hang.That I promise you."

Silence followed his speech. He could not see behind him, though he wondered what his friends and ally would make of that.They were all hard men, and they knew the bloody business of war.

He would have to keep them silent from one however, that was all that he needed from them.

In boxes, he thought, and the words felt like lead in his stomach. What would Basil think if he had heard? His son still believed there was a sliver of gold left in his father’s heart, some inherent goodness that the crown hadn’t yet crushed.

It was for best he was not here.

Alpheo had been right to leave the boy behind; he could not have endured that gaze now. He could not bear to see Basil’s face twisted in disgust, or worse,by fear. But the sharpest blade would be the disappointment, he knew that, a quiet, hollow look that Alpheo had seen once before and prayed never to meet again.

The realization humbled and left him hollow. Out of all the variables of this day, the sieges, the treaties, the death that would allow, it was the judgment of a child that terrified him most.

Still, It did nothing but reveal the truth he had known to exist since its apex: humanity, in all its sprawling facets and hidden depths, was nothing more than a screaming mob of selfishness.

And he, the victor of the Ford , was now but the loudest voice in the crowd.

He wanted his damn bloody price.