The morning mist curled low, damp and cold, clinging to the soldiers' armor. The road along the river was packed with men, steel, and fear. Meredith's breath clouded in the chill, her hands tight on the reins. She forced herself to look at them—her army. Not Kael's. Hers. Every pair of eyes carried her father's memory, and every failure would write her name in disgrace.
The horns blew.
From the fog, Harrow's vanguard emerged. Ten thousand strong. Banners whipped crimson in the wind. His voice rang across the field, carried by a war horn:
"Traitors! False king! False queen! Today, your stolen crown is buried in the mud!"
His soldiers roared, shields slamming in rhythm. The chant rolled like thunder. "Harrow! Harrow! Harrow!"
Meredith's heart pounded. Kael raised his hand, his voice calm, sharp as a blade:"Today, Harrow drowns. Remember this river. Remember this field. Let the kingdom see what happens when loyalty breaks."
He dropped his hand.
A crash tore through the valley. Hidden supports gave way, and the river surged onto the road, a torrent swallowing the front ranks. Horses reared and screamed. Men slipped into the sucking mud, dragged down by their own armor. Chaos spread like fire.
"Archers!" Kael bellowed.
A thousand bowstrings sang. Arrows blotted out the sun, tipped with oil-soaked rags burning bright. They rained fire into the mass of men and water. Screams rose, steel clattered. Harrow's men broke, some charging forward, others clawing to retreat.
Harrow himself appeared at the center, helm black as night, sword raised. His voice cut through the din."Hold the line! Push forward! They bleed same as us!"
His captains echoed him, forcing men into order, driving them into the flood like cattle into slaughter.
Meredith's throat tightened. This wasn't a clean trap. It was slaughter. And it wasn't enough. Harrow was forcing momentum back.
"Kael!" she shouted, spurring her horse closer. "He's breaking through!"
Kael's jaw tightened. He turned to his lieutenant. "Signal the cavalry. Ride their flanks. Break their breath before they rally."
The lieutenant hesitated, eyes darting to the flooded field. "My king—riders will drown in that muck—"
"They'll drown slower than Harrow's men. Go!" Kael snapped.
The lieutenant saluted and galloped away.
Meredith couldn't stay still. She slid from her horse, boots sinking into mud up to her shins. Nearby, a supply cart overturned, spilling barrels into the muck, crushing men. She screamed at soldiers struggling to lift it.
"Shields under the wheel! Use leverage, damn you! Push on three!"
Startled, they obeyed, heaving with her. The cart shifted, soldiers dragged free the wounded. One gasped, coughing blood, clutching at her sleeve. "My queen… you stood with us…"
Her stomach clenched. She pulled free, barking: "Get him to the healers! Move!"
The sky split with another roar as Kael's cavalry thundered down the ridge, hitting Harrow's flank. The impact was a thunderclap—horse against man, lance against shield. The rebels screamed, their line buckling.
But Harrow did not break. His voice rose above the chaos: "Forward! For your homes, for your sons! Do you kneel to an exile, or do you take back what is ours?"
His men rallied, slamming their shields, pushing back against the flood. Mud splattered, blood sprayed, steel rang on steel. For every man who fell, another took his place.
Meredith's heart froze. Harrow was no fool. He had planned for this.
"Kael!" she shouted again, forcing her way toward him. "He's baiting us into the mire. He wants your cavalry swallowed whole!"
Kael's eyes snapped to hers. For a moment, anger flared—how dare she call strategy in front of his men. But then he saw the truth of it. He growled, "Pull them back. Shift to the ridge. Archers—focus fire on their captains!"
The order flew down the line. Arrows fell like judgment. Harrow's captains dropped one by one, screams swallowed by mud. His formations faltered.
Still, the rebel lord fought on. His blade cut a path through the mire, black armor glistening with blood and rain. He locked eyes with Kael across the chaos, raising his sword.
"This ends when I take your head!" Harrow roared.
Kael's voice answered, cold and sure: "Come, then."
The two forces surged toward each other, the river sucking at their boots, the battlefield narrowing into a crucible of steel.
And all the while, Meredith's eyes caught something else—an envoy, cloaked, standing on the ridge. Watching. Not fighting. Watching. When Kael's trap sprung, the envoy had not flinched. When Harrow's men fell, he had not moved. His presence burned in her mind.
There's more here. Someone feeds this rebellion. Someone wants us all in the mud.
She clenched her jaw, forcing herself back into the storm. If Kael fails, I die with him. And I will not die forgotten.
The river roared. Steel clashed. And in the mist, a greater shadow lingered, unseen.