Ambrosial Promise

Chapter 46: The Second Wave

Sheira’s POV

In the dim, flickering light of the war room's solitary candle, I surveyed my council with a steely gaze that belied my years. The large oak table bore the weight of many maps, their edges curled like withering leaves, marked with the scarlet tokens of impending battle. Beside me, Eamon stood firm, his eyes mirroring the resolve that I felt coursing through my veins.

"Queen Sheira, the scouts confirm Lorendale’s forces occupy our southern territories near Willowford," General Suffine reported, her voice echoing slightly off the stone walls. "Their camp sprawls, unfortified, trusting the river as a natural barrier."

I nodded, my mind weaving through the threads of strategy. "And our assets?"

"Two regiments stationed at Fort Varin, unseen by Lorendale's scouts. Another lies in wait behind the ridge of Elmor," Suffine added, pointing to the locations on the map.

Eamon leaned forward, his fingers brushing against the map’s surface. "The element of surprise is ours then. We strike at dawn, hit them hard and fast before they realize they are surrounded."

Sheira's eyes glittered with a tactical coldness. "General Suffine, outline the phases."

Suffine straightened, her hands clasped behind her back. "Phase one: Cavalry units from Fort Varin will launch a feint attack on their eastern flank. While they scramble to meet this threat, we deploy our archers on Elmor’s ridge. Their arrows will rain confusion."

"Phase two," Eamon interjected, his voice steady and sure, "while their forces are engaged, I lead the dual swordsmen through the forest trail, circling to their rear. A hammer to the anvil."

I concluded, "And I will lead the main force across the river at dawn under the cover of mist. Their divided attention will be their downfall. We reunite at their camp, reclaiming what is ours."

Nods of approval echoed around the table as the plan set into our minds like stones in wet cement.

***

The next morning, as the first blush of dawn colored the sky, I donned my clothes, brown-colored hakama against my skin. My sword felt right in my hand, a familiar weight tethered to my soul. Eamon stood beside me, his twin swords gleaming dimly in the new light.

The air was thick with mist as we approached the river, the water's surface smooth like a polished shield. Across the expanse, the unsuspecting camp of Lorendale sprawled, vulnerable.

As planned, the distant thunder of hooves signaled the cavalry’s charge, drawing the first lines of Lorendale's soldiers towards the east. Almost simultaneously, a whisper of arrows soared from the ridge, finding marks among the enemy, sowing chaos.

Eamon flashed me a tight grin. "To the forest trail. The real fight begins now."

With disciplined silence, we maneuvered through the underbrush, the dual swordsmen adept and agile. Eamon’s movements were fluid, a dance of steel and shadow as we bypassed small contingents of enemy scouts.

Upon reaching the rear of the Lorendale camp, Eamon’s twin swords struck swiftly and surely, cutting down a sentry before a sound could escape his lips. I watched him move, a part of me stirred by his lethal grace.

Then, with the clash of my own sword against an attacker, I led my main force through the river. The water was cold and biting, but my heart burned with the fire of battle.

Together, we charged, Eamon from behind and I from the front, trapping the disoriented enemy in a vice. The clash of swords rang like a terrible symphony, the air sharp with the tang of metal and the cries of the fallen.