The Three Peaks: Part 8 - The Siege
The Message Received
Mira’s response arrived at Irondelve’s command post three days later, carried by a dwarven messenger under flag of truce.
Thorgrim read it carefully, his expression unreadable. Lokum stood beside him, watching his commander’s face for signs of reaction.
“No artifact,” Thorgrim said quietly. “They claim there is no artifact.”
“It’s a lie,” Lokum said. “They’re protecting it, trying to convince us the cost isn’t worth it.”
“Perhaps,” Thorgrim said. He read the letter again. “Or perhaps the artifact was never there. Perhaps the rumors were overblown, and we came here based on whispers and hope.”
“Either way, we’re here,” Lokum said. “We brought an army. We established a siege. We gave them a deadline. Now we execute.”
Thorgrim was quiet for a long moment.
“What do you think would happen,” he said slowly, “if we left?”
“Left?” Lokum sounded as if Thorgrim had suggested something impossible.
“Turned around. Marched back to Irondelve. Claimed it was a false alarm, a misunderstanding, nothing worth the fortress’s time or resources.”
“We’d look weak,” Lokum said. “Every faction would see Irondelve as hesitant, confused, willing to mobilize and then retreat. Within a year, we’d be challenged by goblins and human kingdoms both.”
“But we’d have preserved the settlement,” Thorgrim said. “We’d have prevented war. We’d have avoided bloodshed over something that might not even exist.”
“That’s not how fortresses work,” Lokum said. “That’s not how we work.”
“No,” Thorgrim agreed. “It’s not how we work. So we proceed.”
He turned to the messenger. “Tell the settlement that their answer is insufficient. Tell them we will begin siege operations in two days. If they wish to surrender the artifact or negotiate terms, they have forty-eight hours.”
The Siege Begins
Sparkbrook’s defenders watched as Irondelve’s engineers constructed siege equipment. Wooden frames were erected. Battering rams were assembled. Stone-throwing catapults were positioned.
It was a show of force designed to demoralize, and it worked. Watching the siege equipment being built, knowing that it was all directed at their fortress, was a different thing than knowing about it in the abstract.
Tefur, the military commander, organized the defense with what optimism he could muster.
The plan was simple: hold the gates as long as possible. When the gates fell—and they would fall—retreat to the first sealed doors. Hold them. Fall back to the secondary positions. Use the maze that Erith had created to slow the enemy advance. Kill as many as possible. Die slowly rather than quickly.
It wasn’t victory. It was just maximizing the cost of defeat.
The First Day
When the catapults began firing, the reality of siege settled over Sparkbrook like a shroud.
Stones crashed against the gate. The impact shook the entire fortress. Dust fell from the ceiling. Dwarves working in the upper levels heard the impact like thunder and knew that something fundamental was being destroyed.
The gate held for the first day. The engineers had built it well.
But not well enough.
Urist’s Arrival
On the morning of the siege’s third day, a messenger arrived at the gates of Irondelve. He was dusty from hard travel, his horse near collapse.
“Message for Commander Thorgrim,” he gasped. “From Urist McForgemaster.”
Thorgrim received the message immediately.
It was written in the clear, direct hand of someone who had spent decades inscribing weapons and tools. The message was equally clear:
“Commander Thorgrim, I have learned of your siege of Sparkbrook. I have learned that you believe there is a legendary artifact at that settlement. I want to make clear: the artifact is here, at my settlement, three days’ journey to the east. It is with me. The settlement of Sparkbrook has no artifact. If your war is about possession of the artifact, then you are making war against the wrong fortress. I am prepared to negotiate regarding the artifact’s status. Sparkbrook is not. I suggest you redirect your armies.”
Thorgrim read the message three times.
“Bastard,” Lokum said quietly. “He’s offering himself as the target to save the other settlement.”
“It’s a very Urist solution,” Thorgrim agreed. “Noble. Probably foolish. But honest in its way.”
“So what do we do?” Lokum asked.
Thorgrim looked at the message again, at the careful script, at the weight of choice that Urist was offering him.
“We have a choice,” Thorgrim said, echoing Urist’s own words from a conversation they’d never had. “We continue the siege, kill a few hundred dwarves, and fail to find the artifact. Or we disengage, march to the east, and negotiate with Urist directly for the artifact.”
“You said we wouldn’t leave without victory,” Lokum reminded him.
“I said we wouldn’t look weak,” Thorgrim corrected. “But there’s no weakness in strategic redirection. Lokum, we have a legendary artifact three days away. Or we have rubble here and perhaps a false story about an artifact that never existed. Which is the strategic victory?”
Lokum didn’t answer. He was a warrior, not a strategist, but even he could see the math.
The Withdrawal
Within hours, Irondelve’s siege equipment was disassembled. The catapults were packed. The troops received new orders to march eastward.
Thorgrim issued a final demand to Sparkbrook: “Stand down your defenses. Acknowledge Irondelve’s authority in the region. Cooperate with our forces. And you will be treated as allies rather than enemies.”
Then the army withdrew.
The gates of Sparkbrook remained battered but standing. The fortress still held. And Mira, standing on the ramparts watching the army depart, allowed herself, for the first time in a week, to sit down and cry.
The Letter
Thorgrim wrote back to Urist personally:
“Legendary Smith, I acknowledge your message and your strategy. You have preserved a settlement at cost to yourself. Irondelve will march east and present our request for negotiation regarding the artifact. I suggest you prepare your response carefully. I am a soldier, not a monster, but I am also committed to Irondelve’s interests. Whether we come to peaceful agreement or military conflict depends on your willingness to negotiate reasonably. Expect our army in four days.”
It was signed simply: “Thorgrim Battlemaster, Commander of Irondelve.”
Urist received the letter at his camp in the eastern mountains. He read it with Drizzle beside him, and with the crown visible on the table before them—gleaming with its own inner light, beautiful and terrible and utterly impossible to deny.
“Now,” Drizzle said quietly, “the real negotiation begins.”
“Yes,” Urist agreed. “And I don’t know if I’m wise enough to navigate it.”
“You survived building a legendary reputation,” Drizzle said. “You can survive this.”
But they both knew that survival and success were not the same thing. And neither knew what came next.
Next in the series: The Three Peaks: Part 9 - The Weight of Crowns