The sun rose weak and pale over the snowbound valley, but in Veer's camp the air was warmer than it had been in weeks. Men moved with purpose, their voices louder, their eyes brighter. The smoke from Virath's burned depot still drifted faintly in the eastern sky, a black banner of victory.
Veer stood in the command tent, surrounded by the alliance's war council. The map before them was a mess of inked lines and small carved markers — siege towers, patrol routes, food stores, and hidden goat paths.
"The depot raid worked," Rudra said, tapping the eastern ridge with the tip of his dagger. "Virath has pulled nearly five hundred men from the west and north to guard what's left of his supplies. His siege lines are stretched thin."
Arivan leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "If we hit him now, we can punch a hole straight through the western blockade. Once we break one side, we can flood our supply trains in and choke him with his own tactics."
Bhairav grinned. "And it'll feel good to finally be the ones doing the chasing."
Veer traced a path across the western slope with his finger. "The key is the Hollow Pass. It's the only route wide enough for supply wagons. If we take it, we control what comes in or out on this side of the mountains."
Rudra frowned. "It's also one of his strongest points. He's got palisades and at least two lines of trenches there. A frontal assault will be costly."
"Which is why we won't give him a frontal assault," Veer replied. "We'll give him two — but only one will be real."
The council went silent, waiting for him to explain.
"First," Veer began, "we launch a visible attack from the north — archers, skirmishers, enough noise to make him believe that's where our weight is. While he's pulling men to reinforce the north, Bhairav will lead a hidden strike team through the old riverbed under the Hollow Pass. It's dry this season and too narrow for cavalry, so he won't expect it. Once Bhairav breaches the inner trench, we'll send our cavalry through the main gate before he can regroup."
Bhairav's eyes gleamed. "I've wanted to set foot in that pass since the day he closed it."
The plan was set in motion before nightfall. In the northern sector, soldiers built makeshift ladders and siege frames out of whatever timber they could scavenge — the kind of crude equipment an enemy could see from a mile away and know meant trouble. Archers tested their strings, sending arrows into the snowbanks just for the sound.
At the same time, Bhairav's strike team — a hundred of the fastest, toughest men — prepared for the riverbed crawl. They carried short blades, grappling hooks, and bundles of dry reeds wrapped in pitch cloth for quick torches.
The night was windless, a rare gift in the mountains. Veer led the northern feint himself, his banner snapping in the cold air.
"Loose!" he ordered, and a rain of arrows arced toward the western palisades.
The enemy answered in kind, and soon the air was filled with the hiss and thud of missiles. Drums pounded from Virath's side as he rallied his troops to the north. Torches moved along the ridge like streams of fire, the unmistakable sign of soldiers being pulled from elsewhere.
Meanwhile, Bhairav and his hundred slipped into the riverbed. The walls rose high on either side, frost clinging to the stone like white veins. They moved in near silence, boots crunching softly on frozen silt. Above them, the enemy's main camp was a shadowy outline against the stars.
Halfway through the crawl, they reached the first obstacle — a wooden barricade wedged between the walls of the riverbed. It was crude but solid. Bhairav signaled, and four men moved forward with pry bars. In less than two minutes, they had shifted it enough for the strike team to slip through.
Back at the northern front, Veer pressed harder, sending forward small groups to clash briefly with the palisade defenders before falling back. The noise was deafening — the clash of steel, the snap of bowstrings, the shouts of men. All of it designed to keep Virath's attention here and nowhere else.
He caught sight of movement along the ridge — more torches leaving the Hollow Pass. Virath was emptying it faster than Veer had hoped.
Bhairav reached the end of the riverbed just before midnight. Above him loomed the rear of the Hollow Pass defenses — the second trench line, nearly deserted. Only a handful of sentries remained, stamping their feet against the cold.
The strike team climbed the last stretch like wolves, grappling hooks biting into the frozen wood of the palisade. Bhairav was first over, his blade flashing in the moonlight. The sentries fell before they could raise an alarm.
"Signal!" Bhairav ordered.
A single torch flared on the ridge — the prearranged sign to Veer.
From the north, Veer saw the torch and felt his pulse quicken. "Cavalry forward!" he shouted.
The riders surged toward the Hollow Pass, their hooves throwing up plumes of snow. By the time they reached the outer trench, Bhairav's men had thrown open the gates.
The enemy inside the pass, caught between the cavalry charge from the front and the strike team from behind, broke almost instantly. Some tried to fight, but most fled into the mountains.
By dawn, the Hollow Pass was in alliance hands. Veer stood on its highest point, looking down the road that wound westward toward friendly lands. For the first time in months, the route was open.
Rudra approached, grinning. "Supply trains will be here within a week. Virath's noose just slipped off our necks."
Veer nodded, but his eyes stayed on the horizon. "He'll strike back harder than ever. But now we choose the ground, not him."
Far to the south, in the ruins of the burned eastern depot, Virath received the news in silence.
"The Hollow Pass is lost," a messenger stammered. "Our men… they say it was like fighting the wind. They came from both sides—"
"Enough," Virath said softly, though his eyes burned.
He turned to his captains. "Pull back the western siege lines. We fortify the center. Veer has room to breathe now — but I'll make sure he chokes on it."
That day marked a turning point in the siege. No longer penned in, Veer began planning raids not just to survive, but to bleed Virath's army dry.
The alliance soldiers, once gaunt and hollow-eyed, moved with renewed strength, their bellies filling and their spirits rising. They sang as they worked, repaired weapons with care, and looked to Veer not just as their king, but as the man who had turned the tide.
The noose was broken — but the war was far from over.