Oron led his men close to the walls of the citadel, then waved them to a halt. He felt the stone blocks, saw or touched no c***k or line or break in the sheerness. The base of the wall rested upon the icy surface of the lake. Oron kicked at the stone base with his boot, scraped at it with his bare sword.
Nothing.
He was about to shout out to Kossuth when the ice below his feet trembled and shivered, and the men behind him yelled and pointed to the western end of the fortress. Oron ran there, followed by his soldiers, as they watched a line of fire burst open at the base of the wall and crawl up in the stone, arc, then wind its way downward again. The stone it outlined burned away, melted and tumbled free, the blocks striking the ice and burning through, steaming furiously as they sank in
