Night fell heavy upon the hall. The torches in the courtyard burned low, their flames shuddering against the wind that rolled down from the ridges. Inside the steward’s chamber, the air was close, heavy with the smell of ink and parchment. A single lamp burned on the desk, its weak light throwing long shadows that crawled up the walls.
The steward sat hunched forward, quill in hand. His fingers were ink-stained and trembling. Each stroke of the quill across parchment seemed louder than it should, scratching, dragging, marking his betrayal in black. Sweat ran down his temples, though the chamber was cold.
He paused, staring at the words he had written, then glanced over his shoulder toward the door as though fearing eyes pressed against it. The silence pressed in on him, broken only by the uneven sound of his breath.
If I give him the names, he thought, then the slavers will know it was me. If I hide them, Kael will know. There is no escape. No safe path left.
Still, he dipped the quill once more, and the names flowed.
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The Lords of the Ridges (Sworn to House Veynar)
1. Lord Aric Thorne
Title: Warden of Frostspire
Domain: Frostspire Ridge — a jagged ridge where snow never melts, guarding the northern passes.
House Sigil: A white dire raven on grey stone.
Noted for: Harsh winters, hardy mountain clans, and frost-iron mines.
The steward’s hand faltered as he wrote the name. Aric Thorne, cold as the mountain he ruled, had long dealt in flesh and iron both. It was said he fed slaves into the mines until their bones froze, only to buy more the next season.
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2. Lady Serenya Kaelith
Title: Mistress of Dawnreach
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Domain: Dawnreach Ridge — eastern ridge that catches the first light of dawn.
House Sigil: A golden sunburst above pale peaks.
Noted for: Orchards, mountain monasteries, and beacon towers to warn of invaders.
Her name glistened on the parchment like poison. Serenya Kaelith smiled in every hall, a golden mask, but her coin always found its way into chains. It was whispered she bought children for her monasteries, calling them “wards” while they served her house until their bones bent with labor.
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3. Lord Deymar Rauth
Title: Shield of Blackcrag
Domain: Blackcrag Ridge — a volcanic blackstone ridge rich in quarries.
House Sigil: A black hammer crossing a red ridge.
Noted for: Blackstone fortresses and master masons who built Ridgehall itself.
The steward’s quill dug too deep here, tearing the parchment slightly. Deymar Rauth, the builder, the mason-lord, whose walls rose high because slaves carried each stone. He cloaked his trade in honor, claiming his fortresses defended the realm. But the bones of the nameless lay beneath every foundation.
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4. Lord Veyric Calder
Title: Keeper of Stormhollow
Domain: Stormhollow Ridge — a high valley where storms often rage.
House Sigil: A silver bolt striking a dark ridge.
Noted for: Storm-forged steel and warriors famed for ferocity in battle.
The steward’s hand shook worse now. Veyric Calder’s name was one none spoke lightly. He was said to forge steel in the heart of storms, and his warriors were as merciless as the thunder. Slaves fed his forges, and those who faltered in the heat were thrown to the storms. His loyalty to House Veynar was ironclad—and deadly.
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5. Lady Thalwyn Morr
Title: Guardian of Highveil
Domain: Highveil Ridge — a mist-shrouded ridge said to hide ancient ruins.
House Sigil: A silver veil across a mountain peak.
Noted for: Skilled spies, healers, and keepers of hidden lore.
The steward nearly set the quill down before daring to write her name. Thalwyn Morr—the most dangerous of them all. Her spies moved like ghosts, her healers kept slaves alive only to serve longer, and her secrets stretched back further than most houses could remember. To speak her name aloud was to invite ears in the dark.
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When it was finished, the steward let the quill drop from his hand. His breath came ragged. He looked at the parchment, at the names that bound his fate. His hand lingered on it, as though he might crumple it, cast it into the lamp flame, and rid himself of its curse.
But the echo of Kael’s voice rang in his mind: “If you lie, I will know.”
At last, he gathered the parchment and rose. His legs felt weak beneath him as he made his way through the quiet halls. Each torch he passed seemed to burn hotter, each shadow seemed to reach for him. By the time he reached Kael’s office, he was nearly gasping.
He knocked once, soft, as if praying Kael would not hear.
The voice from within was sharp, commanding. “Enter.”
The steward pushed the door open. Kael sat behind the desk, the same ledger before him, closed now but heavy as judgment. The fire in the hearth lit his face in sharp lines, his eyes dark and steady.
“You have it?” Kael asked.
The steward swallowed hard, stepped forward, and placed the parchment on the desk. “Yes, my lord. Every name. Every ridge.”
Kael did not move at once. He let the silence stretch, his gaze on the steward, weighing him. Then, slowly, he pulled the parchment closer and began to read.
The chamber was quiet save for the crackle of the fire and the faint rustle of paper. With each name, Kael’s jaw tightened further. By the time he reached the last, the weight of it pressed like iron against the air.
He set the parchment down and looked up, his eyes hard as steel.
“So it is as I feared,” he said softly, but the words carried power. “This rot reaches higher than I thought. Lords, ladies, sworn to House Veynar itself.”
The steward bowed his head, his voice shaking. “I have done as you asked. Now… now you will keep your word?”
Kael leaned forward, his hand resting on the names. His gaze never left the steward. “Your fate is not yet decided. But theirs…” He tapped the parchment with one finger. “…theirs is sealed.”
The steward trembled where he stood, caught between relief and terror, while Kael sat in silence, already turning in his mind how to strike at lords who thought themselves untouchable.
