Chapter 9 - The Gorge of Drowning Steel
The first grey light of dawn cracked across the craggy peaks of the Northern Ridge.
A thick, freezing mist clung to the bottom of the narrow gorge known as the Devil's Throat.
For centuries, this winding stone canyon had served as the sole passage through the jagged granite mountains for heavy armies.
High above the canyon, perched among the damp pine trees on the western ridge, Elena sat atop a black warhorse.
She wore a suit of darkened steel plate over her leather tunic, the dragon crest inlaid in gold across her breastplate.
Beside her stood Rowan, along with forty royal engineers equipped with heavy iron pry bars and explosive powder kegs.
Down below, in the belly of the gorge, the ground began to tremble.
It was a low, rhythmic vibration that sent small pebbles bouncing off the rock walls.
Then came the sound: the thunderous clatter of five thousand iron-shod hooves against wet limestone.
Duke Malakar’s northern army was entering the pass.
At the head of the column rode Malakar himself, encased in gilded black armor, his great horned helm catching the pale sunrise.
Beside him rode Lord George Langley, who had escaped the city and joined the northern host during the night.
George looked up nervously at the towering stone cliffs on either side.
"Malakar, the pass is too quiet," George warned, pulling back slightly on his reins.
"There should be scouts from House Dennis signaling us from the upper rim," he argued.
Malakar laughed, a harsh, grating sound beneath his iron visor.
"Dennis sent word through the pigeon, Langley," Malakar replied arrogantly.
"The scullery girl has concentrated all her royal guards at the southern river gate," he claimed.
"The palace is practically undefended," Malakar sneered.
"By noon, I will sit upon the Dragon Throne, and you will have your ducal lands returned," he promised.
Behind them, three thousand heavy cavalrymen trotted in a tight, dense formation, their long lances pointed toward the sky.
Following the cavalry were supply wagons and mercenary foot soldiers, packing the narrow canyon from wall to wall.
High on the ridge, Elena lowered her hand to her side.
"Captain Rowan," Elena spoke softly.
"Are the sluice gates cleared?" she asked.
An engineer sprinted up from the wooden platform overlooking the mountain reservoir.
"The timber retaining pins have been knocked out, Your Majesty," the engineer reported breathlessly.
"Only the iron chains hold back the mountain lake," he added.
Elena looked down at George Langley riding below.
She remembered the night her parents’ manor had burned.
She remembered the screams of her mother trapped behind the ironwood doors while Langley’s men held the torches.
Justice had waited twenty years for this exact second.
Elena drew her broadsword and pointed the gleaming steel toward the sky.
"Drop the chains," Elena commanded.
The engineers struck the iron release pins with massive sledges.
A sound like a shattering mountain split the morning air.
Heavy iron links snapped with deafening cracks, whipping through the trees like severed serpents.
Two miles up the valley, the massive wooden floodgates of the reservoir gave way under the immense pressure of millions of gallons of water.
A wall of freezing, churned river water forty feet high roared out of the lake basin.
It picked up massive boulders, snapped pine trees like matchsticks, and funneled directly into the narrow mouth of the gorge.
The roar of the incoming flood was louder than a hundred claps of thunder.
Down below, Duke Malakar stopped his horse, his face turning pale beneath his horned helm.
"What is that sound?" Malakar asked, terror creeping into his voice.
Lord George looked up toward the canyon bend and saw the frothing white wall of water rushing toward them at terrifying speed.
"RIVER FLOOD!" George screamed, turning his horse frantically.
"RETREAT! TURN BACK!" he shrieked.
It was impossible.
Five thousand mounted men and heavy wagons were crammed into a ravine barely thirty paces wide.
Horses collided with horses in blind panic.
Lances snapped, men were trampled underfoot, and chaos engulfed the northern host within seconds.
The deluge struck the vanguard with concussive, apocalyptic fury.
The wall of water slammed into the heavy cavalry, lifting armored warhorses into the air like driftwood.
Men clad in fifty pounds of steel plate were swept beneath the churning brown torrent, having no hope of swimming to safety.
The flood raged through the canyon, sweeping wagons, weapons, and men away toward the lower river falls.
Duke Malakar was ripped from his saddle as a floating pine trunk struck his chest.
His gilded armor dragged him straight down into the roaring depths.
Lord George managed to grab onto a jagged rock jutting from the canyon wall.
He hauled himself out of the swirling current, his clothes soaked, his boots gone, coughing up muddy water.
He clung to the wet limestone like a drowning rat, trembling uncontrollably as he watched his entire army vanish beneath the waves.
The flood surged past for ten terrifying minutes before the torrent began to subside into a shallow, rushing creek.
The bottom of the gorge was left covered in deep mud, broken wood, and the scattered armor of five thousand defeated men.
Rowan looked down from the cliff, shaking his head in absolute disbelief.
"By the gods of Eldoria..." Rowan breathed.
"You destroyed an entire army without losing a single soldier," he whispered.
Elena slid her sword back into its leather scabbard with a crisp metallic click.
"An army built on greed cannot stand against the land it pillages," Elena replied calmly.
She turned her horse toward the rocky trail leading down into the canyon floor.
"Bring ropes and twenty men, Rowan," Elena ordered.
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"Duke George Langley is waiting for us below," she added.
"And this time, there are no locked doors left for him to hide behind," Elena stated.
