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The South Gate of Archonholm groaned as it swung inwards. Elodi tugged at her cloak as the morning mist billowed through the archway set in the thick walls of the citadel. Despite the chill of the early hour, she was grateful the day to visit the Archon’s new tower had finally arrived. For a week Elodi had had little to do other than consult with Bardon and Wendel on matters concerning their northern realms. She had briefly met the old lords of Kernlow and Galabrant but had been reluctant to spend time in their company. They appreciated little of the pressing matters of the day, preferring instead to tell tales of the daring deeds of their youth, avoiding any conflict that would disrupt their comfortable lives. Elodi had yearned to take out her sword and test her skills against the best of Archonholm, but Wendel advised her it would be frowned upon. Apparently, in this part of the world, women did not challenge the sword masters of the citadel to a duel.

Elodi stood tall with Bardon at the head of two lines, proud to wear the burgundy cloak of Harlyn bearing Dorlan’s legendary silver shield. She glanced at Bardon. Despite his stoop and graying hair, he looked a fine sight in his cloak of black, adorned with the white spearhead of Gildorul. He noticed her attention and straightened, managing a slight grin. Behind, the lords of Galabrant and Kernlow, the Steward of Farrand, generals of the army, and heads of the many councils of the city, waited for the Archon’s arrival. Lord Kernlow coughed, already out of breath from the short stroll to the courtyard; Elodi wondered how the old lord would manage the long walk down the Caerwal Pass. But that he must. The Archon required all to witness the grand opening of his tower; to be absent would be viewed as a sign of disloyalty.

Elodi turned at the clattering of horses’ hooves on the cobbles. At the far end of the courtyard, the fine riders of the First Horse assembled. She wished for her own horse, Sea Mist, but knew this day was all about the show of power by the Archon. While he rode in the comfort of his carriage, the representatives would follow on foot.

Bardon nodded to the rear. The Castellan approached, also on foot. He marched through the lines and stopped at the gate. The plume on his ceremonial helmet drooped under the weight of morning dew. But the dampness could not reduce the impact of his polished armor and bright red cloak of the Palace Guard draped over his slight frame. He turned and raised his arms with his palms together. The Castellan waited until all eyes rested on him. Then, with a flourish, leaving no doubt of the importance of his role in the occasion, he parted his hands until both arms were level with his shoulders. Elodi glanced to Bardon on her right. He turned to face her and took three steps back and motioned she should do the same. She followed Bardon’s lead. Murmurs passed along the line as the sound of horses echoed through the courtyard.

‘Silence!’ The Castellan bellowed. ‘The Archon approaches.’

Elodi risked a quick glance along the path. A dozen white horses, with heads nodding, trotted towards them through their lines. The detachment of the First Horse was a grand and re-assuring sight. Sitting ramrod straight with their deep blue cloaks resting on their proud horses’ hindquarters, they passed majestically through the lines to the gate, fully aware of the admiring glances drawn their way. Behind, two proud, black horses brought the Archon’s carriage into view.

Elodi held her breath. The same design of golden boughs and leaves from the door to the Great Hall covered the sides. She edged back as the carriage passed. Elodi peered inside, keen to see the Archon, but could see nothing but a silhouette. The horses halted under the arch. The Castellan stepped up to the door, spoke in a low voice, before returning to his position at the head of the gathered representatives. Again, with a wave of his hands worthy of a palace entertainer, he motioned for the two lines to reform behind the carriage.

A lone trumpet blew from high on the citadel wall and the procession moved forward. Elodi glanced up at the stones above the gate, admiring their pristine condition. Compared to her city, the citadel was new, dating back a mere three hundred years when the Archon moved to strengthen Archonholm’s defenses. Whereas, Calerdorn had endured a thousand years of relentless storms, angered by the walled-city’s resistance. Yet still it stood strong, testament to the builders’ skill at the height of the Seven Realms’ power. Elodi’s gaze dropped to the back of the Archon’s carriage and wondered what the people of that glorious age would make of today’s procession.

They passed out from under the protection of the walls and onto the narrow and southernmost stretch of land in the realms. Elodi’s stomach churned as she approached the ravine separating them from the giant wall of the Caerwal Mountains. Ahead, the slender bridge stretched out from the sharp edge of the ravine and disappeared into the mist as if leading to an unknown land. Then, as if commanded by the Archon, the mist rose to reveal the lower reaches of the mountains. Elodi’s eyes widened. From her viewpoint at ground level, the dark cliffs appeared to loom twice as high as when she had viewed them from the terrace. She tried to find the top of their peaks amongst the cloud, yet feared she would fall over if she tipped her head back again. But she had no time to take in the view. The front riders of the First Horse reached the bridge. Their powerful beasts trotted confidently in single file up the gentle incline of the narrow pathway. The carriage and the Castellan followed, but Elodi hesitated.

She chanced a glance over the edge to her left. Bardon grasped her sleeve as she wobbled. He whispered. ‘Here. Take my arm.’

Elodi stepped onto the bridge. ‘I’m fine.’ She ran her hand along the rail. ‘I appreciate it’s a defensive structure, but you’d think they could have made this a little higher. My father didn’t stand a chance against the gale that night.’ She kept her eyes on the Archon’s carriage, determined not to let the thought of her father’s untimely death bring more tears; she had to stay strong.

The mist continued to clear as the bridge dipped gently down to meet the opposite side of the ravine. Ahead, the Lower Gate sealed the head of the pass. It stood over fifty feet tall but appeared an insignificant afterthought, as if hastily rammed into the gap between the sheer cliffs.

Elodi gawped at the sides of the ominous mountains. ‘It must have taken centuries to form the pass.’

Bardon sighed. ‘The skills of our ancestors easily surpassed those we possess today.’

She watched as the carriage came to a halt at the portcullis. The Castellan took up a position in front of the horses. He widened his stance, drew his sword, and held it aloft. ‘Hark! The Archon approaches.’

A stern face emerged from a small window beside the gate. He turned and yelled. ‘The Archon demands entry to the pass. Raise the gate!’ Immediately, machinery cranked heavy chains, opening the wooden grill. Elodi peered through the gap, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Caerwal Gate, but a stubborn mist still clung to the floor of the pass.

The Archon’s carriage moved forward as soon as the portcullis had risen above its roof. The First Horse, the Castellan, and the two lines of representatives duly followed. Elodi shivered as she walked into the shadow of the short tunnel.

On the other side, it remained cold as the mist refused to release its grip on the night air trapped in the narrow pass. She walked on her toes. ‘How far to the gate? I can’t see a thing.’

‘Just short of half a league, won’t take long at this pace. Although’ — he checked ahead — ‘I’m in no hurry to see what the Archon’s been up to. I’d be happier if we kept ourselves to ourselves and didn’t poke the enemy.’

Elodi stared harder but could see no more than thirty paces ahead. Yet despite the mists, she sensed the overbearing weight of the mountains towering overhead. They walked in silence, only the echo of the hooves and clatter of wheels filled the pass. Farther down they passed long, shallow ramps rising from the ground on both sides leading to platforms many feet above them. Dark shapes she presumed to be the Archon’s new weapons made their presence known in the mist. Beneath, Elodi marveled at the barracks of hundreds of rooms carved out of the rock to house the soldiers, engineers and builders who constantly crewed the gate.

Elodi stopped. A short distance ahead, a shadow hung over them: the Caerwal Gate. They must be close. The carriage slowed, drew to one side and came to a halt. The Castellan repeated the signal, raising his arms to usher them into a line. Elodi noticed a low murmur and the odd chink of metal upon metal. She checked the Castellan’s attention lay elsewhere and turned to see row upon straight row of heavily armored knights. So it was true. She knew the number from the tales told to calm frightened children. One thousand elite soldiers stood stiffly guarding the gate as they had done for as long as anyone could remember, always on full alert should the unthinkable happen.

But it was not the sight of their perfectly lined ranks catching Elodi’s eye. To the right of the formation, the wide base of a round tower slowly revealed itself as the mist relinquished its hold on the stone. Its windowless, smooth walls tapered as it rose from the ground as if sprouting from the rock. Aware the Archon would step out from his carriage any moment, she risked a glance at the gate, willing the air to clear. But as yet only the ancient runners on which the gate would roll, if ever opened, were visible.

‘Pray silence for the Archon.’ Elodi jumped as the Castellan bellowed. She jerked back to face the carriage. Two blue-robed men appeared from behind their line. One bent and unfolded a small step below the door. He stood back and nodded to the other who took hold of the handle and opened it. A sandaled foot with long toes stepped out before being covered by the hem of a sky-blue cloak. The tall, thin figure of the Archon descended the two steps and stood a dozen paces from Elodi. His hands rose and removed the large hood. Elodi stifled a gasp. Faint, wavy red markings covered the Archon’s clean-shaven head, glowing like hot coals. His harsh gray eyes turned towards the line of his subjects. Elodi shuddered under his gaze and felt this man intuitively knew everything about her — her doubts, fears, hopes and suspicions laid bare.

The Archon said nothing; words were unnecessary. All present could sense the contempt he held for the mere lords, ladies and generals of his realms. He gestured to the visibly shaking Castellan to lead him to a dais close to the base of the tower.

Elodi tore her eyes from the back of the Archon to check the gate. Like a lace curtain, the last of the mist drew back to unveil what she had once thought belonged only in fairytales. She cowered in its presence. Towering over four hundred feet tall, the magnificent structure bore down upon them. A lattice of ancient ironwork held great slabs of smooth stone in place, secured by huge bolts Elodi guessed to be three times the thickness of a man’s body. At the base, enormous wheels constructed of wood and iron sat upon rails running in an arc to the edges. But the gate was narrower than the pass. On both sides, smooth walls of rock, the same height as the gate, stretched out to the mountains as if raised by the gods to fill the gap.

As the last wisps of vapor streamed over the rim at the top, it suddenly appeared to topple forward. Elodi stumbled for a second time that morning before steadying her feet. She took a breath and gained strength from the giant structure. Surely, if anything could break through this, one thousand knights would serve only to whet the appetite of the hordes for the slaughter to come. But what lay on the other side? Did ranks of Golesh warriors also form ready to attack?

‘My subjects.’ Elodi’s chest vibrated. She turned to the Archon, now standing upon the dais. His voice seemed both loud, yet soft as his words filled the silent space before the gate. He continued. ‘You are here this morning to witness the completion of the latest stage of my defenses.’ Elodi could not take her eyes from the slender figure of the Archon as even the imposing tower behind appeared to stand in his shadow. ‘I shall shortly ascend the stairs’ — no one dared to breathe — ‘and lift my invocation from the window overlooking the gate.’

A bird cawed. Elodi recognized the call of a mountain eagle. She looked up. The bird circled close to the top of the tower. It dipped and glided over the gate. Elodi blinked, unsure if she had seen a shimmering blue line above the uppermost iron rail — perhaps another of the Archon’s invocations.

The Archon cared not for the bird. He continued his speech. ‘And for the first time since securing the pass, I shall look upon the Lost Realms.’ He held up his hands as a few gasps escaped the lips of the representatives. ‘Fear not. For too long we have hidden from them, cowering behind the gate, afraid of our own shadows.’ He clapped his hands. ‘But no more. Today, I shall reveal my presence and let them know we are no longer afraid. Today, I shall make them fear us!’ The Archon turned to the Castellan and tilted his head. The man jumped as if remembering his duty. He twisted and signaled to the captain at the head of the lines of the soldiers. The captain waved his hand and one thousand spear tips rose, accompanied by a loud cheer. Elodi felt her chest expand at the sound of their praise, but also wondered if it carried to the enemy over the gate.

The Archon allowed them a full minute before speaking. ‘I will ascend this tower to let them know I am watching them. I seek to sow doubt in their foul hearts and set into motion the third phase of my grand plan.’ With a swish of his cloak, he whirled about and walked to the small door at the foot of the tower. He withdrew a key from his robes and placed it in the door. The click of the lock echoed across the narrow pass, he opened the door and vanished inside.

Elodi turned to Bardon. She whispered. ‘Are we to wait?’

He nodded. ‘I expect so. No doubt he’ll return shortly to tell us—’

The Castellan bellowed. ‘Turn to the right!’

Bardon held out a hand. ‘But what of the Archon? Are we not to wait for his report?’

The Castellan’s eyes briefly wandered to the tower. ‘The Archon will be some time. He must prepare before he witnesses the corruption beyond the gate. I am instructed to escort you back to Archonholm.’