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Chapter 62 - The Siege of Frozen Teeth

The first three days after the vanguard's defeat were silent. No drums, no horns, no sudden charges into the pass. Only the faint shapes of Virath's banners in the distance, fluttering above his sprawling encampment like dark birds waiting for carrion.

Veer knew this was no surrender. It was patience — the kind of patience that could kill more surely than steel.

The Western Pass was a narrow lifeline for the alliance army. The frozen stream running through it provided water, but everything else — food, medicine, fodder — had to be brought in from the eastern valleys. If Virath blocked both ends, Veer's men would starve long before his larger force did.

By the fourth day, the enemy began their work. Scouts reported that Virath's men were felling trees to build barricades across the western entrance. At the same time, another detachment had moved far to the east, beyond the ridge lines, setting up outposts on the supply routes.

"They're sealing the pass from both ends," Arivan said grimly as the council gathered around the campfire that night. "Once that's done, we'll be cut off completely."

Bhairav slammed a fist into his palm. "Then we hit the eastern outposts before they're finished. Smash them while they're still small."

Rudra shook his head. "If we move too many men east, Virath will take the pass from the west. If we move too few, the strike will fail. Either way, we risk everything."

Veer listened in silence, eyes on the flicker of the fire. He could feel the strain in the air — the quiet dread that crept in when the enemy didn't attack right away. Soldiers fought bravely against an enemy they could see, but hunger and uncertainty could hollow them out from the inside.

Finally, he spoke. "We hold our ground here. But we send small teams — fast and silent — to harass the outposts. No pitched battles. Just enough to slow their work."

Bhairav's grin returned. "A war of bites instead of blows."

"Exactly," Veer said. "If Virath wants to starve us, we'll make him bleed for every mouthful he tries to take."

The first raids began before dawn the next day. Veer handpicked the men — mountain scouts from Ravas Peak, hunters who could move across snow without leaving a trail. They struck like ghosts, burning supply carts, cutting down sentries, and vanishing into the cliffs before the enemy could mount a defense.

It bought time, but not much. By the end of the first week, Virath's siege lines on both ends were stronger.

And then came the first psychological strike.

On the eighth morning, the enemy approached the western mouth of the pass carrying something long and dark wrapped in cloth. They placed it just within sight of Veer's forward watch and pulled away the covering.

It was a row of severed heads — the scouts and hunters who had gone missing during the night.

Gasps and curses broke from Veer's men. The heads were mounted on spears, their eyes frozen open, their mouths twisted into expressions of fear and pain.

Bhairav's face darkened with fury. "He wants to break us from the inside."

Veer ordered the bodies to be taken down immediately, but the damage was done. Whispers began in the ranks. If the siege didn't kill them, perhaps Virath's cruelty would.

That night, Veer walked the camp without his crown, blending into the shadows of the watchfires. He listened to the men — some telling grim jokes to mask their fear, others speaking of home in quiet, wistful tones.

When he returned to the command tent, Rudra was waiting. "You can't keep their spirits up forever without food, Majesty. We have less than two weeks' grain left at full rations."

Veer met his gaze. "Then we don't keep full rations."

The order went out the next morning — rations cut by a third. The soldiers accepted it without protest, but Veer saw the way they avoided looking at the food wagons, the way they lingered over their bowls as if hoping more might appear.

On the tenth night, snow began to fall again — heavy, wet flakes that clung to armor and cloaks. Veer stood on the ridge, staring into the dark beyond the pass. Somewhere out there, Virath was also watching, waiting.

Footsteps crunched behind him. It was Arivan, his hood dusted white.

"He's not trying to storm the pass because he doesn't have to," Arivan said quietly. "Every day that passes, his victory becomes more certain."

Veer didn't answer right away. Then, slowly, he said, "A siege works both ways. He's building walls around us, yes — but he's also chaining himself to this place. Every day his army sits here, it eats, it drinks, it grows restless. If we can outlast his patience…"

Arivan's lips curved in a faint smile. "Then he'll have to make a move."

That move came sooner than expected.

On the twelfth day, Virath sent a messenger under a white flag. The man was tall, wrapped in thick furs, and carried a sealed scroll. He bowed before Veer and spoke with practiced courtesy.

"My king offers you an honorable end to this conflict," the messenger said. "Leave the pass, and you may keep your crown. Refuse, and every man here will die — not by the sword, but by hunger and cold."

Veer broke the seal and read the scroll. The words were simple, almost mocking: The mountain will not feed you, the snow will not shelter you, and your courage will not keep you warm.

He handed the scroll back without a word.

"Tell your king," Veer said, "that I have no interest in keeping a crown without keeping my people. If he wants this pass, he will have to take it from me with steel."

The messenger bowed again and left, but Veer knew the exchange had only deepened the enemy's resolve.

That night, the enemy tried something new. Fires flared on the western slopes, and strange music echoed across the snow — low drums and eerie flutes. Shadows moved in the firelight, shapes that seemed too tall, too broad to be human.

Some of Veer's younger soldiers muttered about mountain spirits. Others swore they saw glowing eyes watching from the ridges.

Veer knew it was a trick, meant to unsettle the men. But even knowing that, the music gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, like a whisper in the dark.

By the fifteenth day, food was dangerously low. Veer gathered his captains in the command tent.

"We have ten days of grain left," Rudra reported. "Less if the weather worsens."

Bhairav's hand was on his sword hilt. "Then we break the siege before we starve."

Veer looked at the map spread before them — the pass, the siege lines, the mountain trails. Then he placed a finger on a narrow gap in the eastern ridge.

"We don't have to break the siege," he said slowly. "We just have to break its spine. One strike, at the right place, and the whole thing will collapse."

Far to the west, in his command tent of red silk, Virath studied his own map. His generals argued about when to press the attack, but Virath only smiled.

"Let him dream of escape," he said softly. "It will make the moment I crush him all the sweeter."

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