The Silver Vein River was no gentle stream.
It rose from the ice cap of the Walsburg Mountains to the northeast and spanned more than a thousand meters. In summer, it was a roaring, rampaging dragon, sweeping ice floes and massive logs downstream to crash against the rocky banks with thunderous force.
Now, however, under the reign of bitter cold at forty below zero, its surface had frozen into a single sheet of blue-black ice, smooth as a mirror.
Veylin reined in his horse, his brow furrowing slightly.
His breath condensed into frost on his eyebrows as he looked across the vast frozen river toward the enormous structure spanning its banks.
This should have been Hector's only escape route.
Even the most careful plans could have a flaw. Before setting out, he had focused on calculating marching speeds and demolition points, overlooking the bitter cold of forty below-it had turned the Silver Vein River, once a natural barrier, into level ground horses could gallop across.
Fortunately, he had discovered this fatal oversight before it was too late.
Upon reaching the river and dismantling the two wooden bridges downstream, he had already ordered the Stuka Knights to contact Caroline at once and have the Leviathan travel upstream from the estuary, reaching the Silver Vein River as soon as possible to break up the ice and prevent troops from crossing.
At least the snow had stopped two days ago...
Veylin silently counted through the Druids' predictions. If they could endure these five or six hardest days, the temperature would rise to normal winter levels, and this rampaging dragon would no longer be so easily chained.
For now, then, if they wanted to trap Hector, the Archon Bridge before them remained paramount, even with their hopes resting on the Leviathan.
The Archon Bridge.