The manor doors shattered inward beneath the weight of the charge.

  Wood splintered.

  The iron hinges tore free with a scream.

  Rolf was the first through.

  His axe rose and fell in a single brutal motion as one of the guards rushed forward with a spear. The man barely had time to shout before the blade struck his shoulder and buried deep.

  The guard collapsed instantly.

  “Inside!” Rolf roared.

  Men flooded through the doorway.

  Leif followed close behind, sword already drawn.

  Dagny entered last.

  The great hall was chaos.

  Servants screamed.

  A handful of guards scrambled to form a line near the staircase that led to the upper floor.

  They were too slow.

  Rolf slammed into them like a charging bear.

  Steel rang.

  One man died instantly.

  Another stumbled backward as Leif’s blade opened his throat.

  Dagny moved automatically.

  Her sword flashed once.

  A guard fell.

  Another stepped toward her.

  She cut him down before he finished raising his shield.

  Her body fought.

  Her mind lagged behind.

  For a moment she saw the boy again.

  Small.

  Running.

  Terrified.

  The memory slammed into her like a hammer.

  She forced it away.

  Not now.

  Not here.

  Across the hall Rolf drove another man backward and slammed him against the wall.

  “Upstairs!” Leif shouted.

  Dagny looked toward the staircase.

  Footsteps.

  Someone running.

  The lord.

  Rolf saw it too.

  “Move!”

  The three of them surged forward together.

  They took the stairs two at a time.

  A guard waited at the top.

  He swung wildly.

  Dagny stepped inside the strike and drove her blade through his chest.

  He dropped.

  The corridor beyond was narrow.

  Torches flickered along the walls.

  A door slammed at the far end.

  Leif pointed.

  “There.”

  They ran.

  Rolf reached the door first.

  He kicked it open.

  The chamber beyond was large and richly furnished.

  And in the center stood the lord.

  He wore a half-fastened breastplate and held a sword that trembled slightly in his grip.

  Three more guards stood between him and the doorway.

  They looked terrified.

  Rolf grinned.

  “Well then.”

  The fight was short.

  Too short.

  The guards fought hard, but exhaustion and fear had already taken them.

  One fell to Rolf’s axe.

  Another died beneath Leif’s sword.

  Dagny cut down the last.

  Then it was only the lord.

  He backed toward the far wall.

  “You can still leave,” he said quickly.

  His voice shook.

  “I’ll bend the knee to Ardenvale. I’ll send gold. Men. Whatever the king asks.”

  Dagny stepped into the room.

  Slowly.

  Rolf and Leif stayed behind her.

  The lord looked from one face to the next.

  Then his eyes settled on Dagny.

  “You’re the one they talk about,” he said.

  His breathing was fast now.

  “Ironheart.”

  Dagny said nothing.

  He swallowed.

  “They say you kill villages that resist.”

  “No,” Dagny said quietly.

  “We kill those who run.”

  The lord’s eyes flicked toward the window.

  The burning village outside reflected faintly in the glass.

  Then he laughed weakly.

  “You’re a monster.”

  Dagny walked closer.

  “I’m a warning.”

  The lord tightened his grip on the sword.

  “Do you know what your men did tonight?”

  His voice grew louder.

  “You butchered farmers. Women. Children.”

  Dagny’s expression did not change.

  But something cold twisted in her chest.

  She stepped closer.

  “They tried to warn you.”

  The lord’s voice sharpened suddenly.

  “Of course they did.”

  He pointed toward the door.

  “They were loyal.”

  Dagny’s jaw tightened.

  The image of the boy flashed again.

  Running.

  Trying to reach this very house.

  “You killed them for that?” the lord demanded.

  “They were children.”

  For a moment—

  just a moment—

  Dagny hesitated.

  Leif saw it.

  Rolf saw it too.

  The lord saw it as well.

  And he smiled.

  “There it is,” he whispered.

  “Not so heartless after all.”

  Dagny moved before the moment could grow.

  Her sword flashed.

  The lord’s head struck the floor a second later.

  Silence filled the chamber.

  Leif wiped blood from his blade.

  “Well,” he muttered.

  “That solves the rebellion.”

  Rolf snorted.

  Dagny stood still.

  The body lay at her feet.

  She felt nothing.

  That was worse than feeling something.

  Finally she turned.

  “Burn it.”

  Rolf nodded immediately.

  “Already planned on it.”

  They left the chamber together.

  Downstairs the last resistance had already collapsed.

  Dagny’s men were dragging bodies into the courtyard.

  Torches were spreading through the halls.

  Flames began licking up the wooden beams.

  Outside, the night sky glowed orange.

  Leif stepped beside her.

  “You froze,” he said quietly.

  Dagny didn’t look at him.

  “I didn’t.”

  Leif studied her face.

  But he didn’t argue.

  Rolf approached, wiping blood from his axe.

  “The manor’s finished,” he said.

  “Village too.”

  Dagny nodded once.

  “Good.”

  She mounted her horse without another word.

  Behind them the manor burned.

  Smoke curled into the sky.

  Somewhere in the distance, the first survivors would already be running.

  And when they reached the next village—

  they would carry a story with them.

  A story about the woman who came in the night.

  The woman who led forty men against two hundred.

  The woman who burned a lord in his own hall.

  They would whisper the name that soldiers already feared.

  Ironheart.

  Dagny looked north as the flames rose behind her.

  Somewhere beyond the dark forests and frozen rivers—

  Ivar still lived.

  And tonight…

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  he was one step closer to hearing her name.

  Far to the north, winter ruled the coast of Vestfold.

  Snow drifted against the wooden palisades surrounding the settlement, and the sea crashed against the black rocks below the cliffs.

  Torches burned along the walls of the great hall.

  Inside, warriors filled the benches.

  Some drank heavily.

  Others sharpened their weapons beside the fire.

  At the far end of the hall sat the man who ruled them all.

  Ivar the Boneless rested in a carved wooden chair beneath the banners of his kingdom.

  Vestfold had once belonged to another king.

  Now it belonged to him.

  A messenger knelt before him on the floor, snow melting from his cloak.

  “You rode through a storm for this?” Ivar asked calmly.

  “Yes, my king.”

  The hall had quieted slightly.

  News from the south always carried interest.

  “Speak.”

  “The commander in Ardenvale.”

  Ivar’s expression did not change.

  He already knew who the man meant.

  Dagny.

  The girl who should have died four winters ago.

  “She lives,” the messenger continued.

  “That part is not news,” Ivar said calmly.

  A few warriors nearby chuckled.

  The messenger swallowed.

  “No, my king. But her victories are spreading.”

  That earned more attention.

  “Victories?” Ivar asked.

  “Yes.”

  The messenger kept his head bowed.

  “She moves with small warbands. Strikes quickly. Takes enemy positions before they can gather their forces.”

  Ivar tapped a finger lightly against the arm of his chair.

  “And?”

  “She defeated a lord west of Ardenvale.”

  “How many men?”

  “Two hundred.”

  The hall stirred.

  “And she had?”

  “Forty.”

  The murmurs grew louder.

  Even hardened warriors respected odds like that.

  Ivar remained silent for several seconds.

  Then he leaned back slightly.

  “She learns quickly.”

  His eyes drifted toward the fire.

  Flames cracked and spat sparks into the hall.

  For a moment, his thoughts returned to another battlefield.

  Vestfold.

  Four winters earlier.

  Smoke.

  Screaming.

  Steel ringing in the dark.

  He remembered the girl.

  Blood on her face.

  Armor broken.

  Still fighting.

  Still trying to reach him through the chaos of battle.

  She had cut down several of his warriors before someone dragged her away.

  Ivar’s jaw tightened slightly.

  “I should have killed her myself.”

  The words were quiet.

  But the warriors closest to him heard them.

  “She was just a girl then,” one of them said.

  Ivar didn’t look at him.

  “Girls grow.”

  Silence settled again.

  The messenger hesitated before continuing.

  “The soldiers in the south have started calling her something.”

  Ivar’s eyes lifted slowly.

  “Oh?”

  “Ironheart.”

  This time the hall did not react.

  Because the men here already knew that name.

  Ivar had spoken it before.

  He exhaled slowly through his nose.

  “I wondered how long it would take for that name to spread.”

  The messenger frowned slightly.

  “My king?”

  Ivar waved a hand dismissively.

  “Nothing.”

  He looked back toward the fire.

  Dagny Ironheart.

  Alive.

  Winning battles.

  Becoming something dangerous.

  Interesting.

  Footsteps echoed across the hall behind them.

  A woman stepped inside from the cold night.

  Snow clung to the edges of her cloak.

  Her armor was worn but well maintained, and a sword hung easily at her side.

  Eydis removed her gloves as she approached the fire.

  “I heard voices,” she said.

  Her eyes moved briefly toward the messenger kneeling on the floor.

  “What news?”

  Ivar gestured lazily toward the man.

  “More stories about the girl from Vestfold.”

  Eydis stopped walking.

  “The one who survived the battle?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about her?”

  Ivar studied the flames for a moment before answering.

  “She’s winning.”

  Eydis raised an eyebrow.

  “With what army?”

  “Small ones.”

  She considered that.

  “That’s harder.”

  “Yes.”

  The messenger finally looked up.

  “My king… what are your orders?”

  Ivar remained silent for a moment.

  Then he said simply,

  “None.”

  The hall shifted slightly.

  “No orders?” the messenger asked.

  Ivar’s eyes flicked toward him.

  “If I send men after every warrior who wins a few battles…”

  He gestured toward the crowded hall.

  “…I would have no warriors left here.”

  A few men laughed quietly.

  But Eydis was still watching him carefully.

  “You’re curious,” she said.

  Ivar’s smile returned faintly.

  “Of course I am.”

  He leaned back in his chair.

  “People who survive things they shouldn’t survive tend to become interesting.”

  Eydis folded her arms.

  “And if she keeps winning?”

  Ivar’s gaze drifted toward the dark doorway of the hall.

  Toward the storm outside.

  Then he said calmly,

  “Then one day she’ll come north.”

  The fire popped loudly.

  “And when she does,” he added,

  “we’ll see if Ironheart still beats.”

  ARDENVALE:

  By the time they returned to Ardenvale, the sun had already fallen behind the hills.

  Torches burned along the stone walls of the fortress, and the gates opened as Dagny and her warband rode through.

  Word of the victory had traveled ahead of them.

  Soldiers were already gathering in the courtyard.

  Some cheered.

  Others beat their fists against their shields.

  “Ironheart!”

  The shout started from somewhere in the crowd.

  “Ironheart! Ironheart!”

  More voices joined until the name echoed off the castle walls.

  Dagny dismounted slowly.

  The cheering did not stop.

  She forced herself to nod to the soldiers, though the sound of the chant felt strange in her ears.

  Ironheart.

  Leif rode up beside her, grinning.

  “Well,” he said, swinging off his horse, “looks like the name stuck.”

  Behind them, Rolf laughed loudly.

  “Stuck?” he said. “They’re shouting it like you’re already a legend.”

  Dagny rolled her eyes.

  “They’re shouting it because they’re drunk.”

  Rolf shrugged.

  “That helps.”

  More soldiers surrounded them as they walked toward the great hall.

  Claps on the shoulder.

  Shouts of congratulations.

  Someone shoved a mug of ale toward Dagny.

  She shook her head.

  “Not tonight.”

  Rolf grabbed the mug instead.

  “That means more for me.”

  Inside the hall, the celebration had already begun.

  Tables were crowded with soldiers.

  Ale sloshed across wooden cups.

  Someone was playing a lute badly in the corner while several others tried to sing along.

  The moment Dagny stepped inside, more voices rose.

  “Ironheart!”

  Rolf raised both hands dramatically.

  “Yes, yes, she’s very impressive,” he announced loudly. “Now bring more ale before she decides to conquer another lord’s hall.”

  Laughter filled the room.

  Dagny shook her head and moved toward a quieter section of the table.

  But before she could sit, Leif stepped in front of her.

  Leif folded his arms.

  “You’re not doing this tonight.”

  “Doing what?”

  “The brooding commander act.”

  Dagny raised an eyebrow.

  “I don’t brood.”

  Rolf nearly choked on his drink.

  Leif stared at her flatly.

  “You brood constantly.”

  “I do not.”

  “You absolutely do.”

  Rolf wiped ale from his beard.

  “Every time we win a battle you stand somewhere dramatic and stare into the distance like you’re about to declare war on the sky.”

  Dagny stared at both of them.

  “You two are insufferable.”

  Leif grabbed a mug from the table and pushed it toward her.

  “Drink.”

  She didn’t take it.

  “I’m not getting drunk.”

  Rolf leaned across the table.

  “You just led forty men against two hundred and won.”

  “So?”

  “So tonight you drink.”

  Dagny crossed her arms.

  “I have responsibilities.”

  Leif gestured toward the roaring hall around them.

  “And all of them are currently celebrating you.”

  Rolf added,

  “Besides, if Ironheart never drinks, people will start thinking she’s not human.”

  Dagny fought the urge to smile.

  “I don’t care what they think.”

  Leif leaned closer.

  “We do.”

  She looked between the two of them.

  Both were grinning.

  Waiting.

  Finally she exhaled.

  “You’re both terrible influences.”

  Rolf raised his mug.

  “We try.”

  Dagny picked up the ale.

  The soldiers nearby noticed immediately.

  Cheers erupted again.

  “Ironheart!”

  She rolled her eyes and took a drink.

  Ale burned slightly down her throat.

  Rolf slammed his mug against the table.

  “There it is!”

  Leif laughed.

  “Look at that.”

  Dagny shook her head, but a small laugh escaped her before she could stop it.

  For the first time since the battle—

  the tension in her shoulders eased.

  Just a little.

  Rolf leaned back in his chair, clearly pleased with himself.

  “See?” he said. “Not so difficult.”

  Dagny took another drink.

  Across the hall the soldiers were still celebrating.

  Music.

  Laughter.

  Victory.

  For tonight, the war felt far away.

  And for a brief moment—

  Dagny allowed herself to simply sit with her friends.

  Not a commander.

  Not Ironheart.

  Just Dagny.

  The hall had grown louder as the night deepened.

  Ale flowed freely between the tables, and the air smelled of roasted meat, smoke, and sweat.

  Somewhere in the corner, a soldier was attempting to play a lute while three others loudly butchered a heroic song about the battle.

  The details had already grown wildly exaggerated.

  Dagny sat between Leif and Rolf, another mug of ale in front of her.

  And another.

  And another.

  Rolf leaned back in his chair, grinning like a man who had accomplished something important.

  “You see?” he said proudly. “I told you she could drink.”

  Dagny lifted her mug with surprising dignity.

  “I could always drink.”

  Leif smirked.

  “You refused to.”

  “That was discipline.”

  Rolf snorted.

  “That was brooding.”

  Dagny pointed a finger at him.

  “I do not brood.”

  “You brood constantly.”

  She squinted at him.

  “I am going to challenge you to a duel.”

  Rolf laughed loudly.

  “You can barely sit straight.”

  Dagny glanced down at the table.

  Then shrugged.

  “That is irrelevant.”

  Leif chuckled.

  Around them, soldiers had begun chanting again.

  “Ironheart! Ironheart!”

  Dagny raised her mug toward them dramatically.

  “Yes, yes,” she said in an exaggeratedly regal voice. “Your admiration is appreciated.”

  The table erupted in laughter.

  Rolf nearly spilled his drink.

  “Oh no,” he groaned. “We’ve created a monster.”

  Dagny leaned toward him conspiratorially.

  “You always wanted a legendary commander.”

  “I didn’t realize she’d become unbearable.”

  Dagny shoved him.

  Lightly.

  Or at least she intended to.

  Rolf almost tipped off the bench laughing.

  Leif shook his head.

  “This is what happens when Ironheart drinks.”

  Dagny pointed at him.

  “Do not call me that.”

  “The entire hall is calling you that.”

  “That is different.”

  Before either of them could answer, a voice cut through the noise.

  “Commander Dagny.”

  A royal guard stood at the doorway.

  “The king requests your presence.”

  Dagny blinked slowly.

  “Now?”

  “Yes.”

  Rolf leaned closer.

  “You should probably walk carefully.”

  Dagny stood.

  The room tilted slightly.

  She paused.

  Then nodded seriously.

  “Yes.”

  Leif stood as well.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  “I can walk.”

  “You’re drifting sideways.”

  “That is a tactical maneuver.”

  Rolf burst out laughing as Dagny and Leif made their way toward the doors.

  The noise of the celebration faded as Dagny walked through the quiet halls of the castle.

  Torches flickered against the stone walls.

  Leif stopped outside the chamber doors.

  Dagny took a breath and stepped inside.

  A fire burned softly in the hearth.

  King Alric stood near the window overlooking the courtyard.

  He turned when she entered.

  “My king,” Dagny said.

  She straightened slightly, trying to appear more sober than she felt.

  Alric studied her for a moment.

  “You’ve been celebrating.”

  “A little.”

  The king allowed a faint smile.

  “You earned it.”

  Dagny said nothing.

  Alric began walking slowly across the room.

  “When you first arrived here four years ago,” he said, “I saw you as a weapon.”

  Dagny didn't react.

  “That was fair.”

  “You were angry.”

  “Yes.”

  “And anger can be useful.”

  The king stopped a few steps from her.

  “But over the years, you have proven something else.”

  Dagny watched him quietly.

  “You are not merely a weapon.”

  He gestured toward the hall outside.

  “You inspire loyalty.”

  “You lead men who would follow you anywhere.”

  “You win battles against impossible odds.”

  Dagny shifted slightly.

  “I try to win.”

  Alric shook his head.

  “You do more than that.”

  He walked to the table and poured a cup of wine.

  Then he turned back to her.

  “For four years you have fought for Ardenvale.”

  “For four years you have strengthened my kingdom.”

  He set the cup down and looked directly at her.

  “And for four years, I have watched you become something greater than the angry girl who first stood before me.”

  Dagny remained silent.

  Finally she asked,

  “What do you see now?”

  The king’s voice was calm.

  “My greatest commander.”

  He stepped closer.

  “And so it is time that your position reflects that.”

  Dagny frowned slightly.

  “My king?”

  Alric’s expression hardened with decision.

  “Tomorrow, before the court and the nobles of Ardenvale…”

  “I will name you High Marshal of the Kingdom.”

  The words hung in the air.

  Dagny stared at him.

  “That position has been empty for nearly twenty years,” the king continued.

  “No one has earned it.”

  “Until now.”

  Dagny spoke carefully.

  “You would place the entire army under my command?”

  Alric nodded.

  “Yes.”

  “You have already proven you can lead them.”

  Dagny was quiet for a long moment.

  Finally she said,

  “I was not born a noble.”

  “You do not need noble blood to command soldiers,” Alric replied.

  “You need loyalty.”

  “And you have it.”

  He stepped closer.

  “You are no longer merely a tool of this kingdom, Dagny.”

  “You are one of the pillars that will hold it up.”