By the time the sun rose above the horizon, shedding a kaleidoscope of orange and gold across the sky, Damien stood on the battlements of Blackthorn Manor. The cool morning breeze held the fragrances of dew and other faint hums of activities below.
Soldiers prepared for battle — armor buckled, knives honed, and horses saddled. Damien had given his orders the night before: a small but elite unit would intercept the mercenaries, the Iron Scales, before they could be deployed to bolster Reynard's forces along the road to Winterhold.
General Aldric stood beside him, a grim line etched across his furrowed face. "A bold plan indeed, Your Grace, but a dicey one. No one in the world should ever underestimate the Iron Scales as an enemy."
Damien nodded. "Which is the reason why I have decided to lead charge."
Aldric spun on his heel. "Your Grace, with all due respect to you, it is madness. You cannot put yourself in harm's way on the battlefield."
"If you ask me, the opposite is true," Damien calmly countered. "Morale would be much stronger if they know that I, as their commander, stand with them instead of cowering behind castle walls."
Aldric winced and nodded reluctantly. "As you say, Your Grace. But you'll need someone to watch your back out there."
Damien grinned. "I have someone in mind."
Several hours had elapsed when Damien took the head of his troops astride their army; his black steed strode grimly across the rugged landscape. The road from here to Winterhold was so narrow and winding: on both sides of it, dense forests quite could easily hide an ambush.
Amara rode beside him, her accustomed smirk replaced by a look of quiet focus. She had traded in her cloak for a set of lightweight leather armor, and a pair of daggers hung from her belt.
"Not bad," she said, casting a glance over Damien's polished plate armor. "But you might think through not being so shiny. That makes you quite a target."
"Noted," Damien said dryly. "I'll try my best to remember that when next designing my wardrobe."
She chuckled again, but her expression soon turned serious. "You're really putting yourself in the line of fire for this."
"I must," Damien said, his voice steady. "Reynard's rebellion isn't about politics alone. It's a test of my 'gallant mettle'. If I'm to redeem some of the ruin I have wrought, there is no way I can flinch away from the front."
Amara looked him up at that, her sharp blue eyes combing across his face. "You've changed, Damien. Most lords send their men out to die and call it leadership. But you."
"I have squandered one life appallingly," Damien said, his voice heavy. "I will not squander another one like that."
---
They arrived by noon to the clearing where the ambush would be set. Damian's scouts had identified a very narrow pass where the Iron Scales mercenaries had to pass by. It was the perfect place to halt them.
General Aldric slid off his horse and stepped over to stand beside Damien and Amara as they pored over the final copy of the map one last time.
"The Iron Scales are about a half-day's march behind us," Aldric said. "We will have the advantage of terrain and surprise, but they will outnumber us."
"Which is why precision is key," Damien said. "We'll split into two groups. Aldric, you'll take the main force and engage them head-on. I'll lead a flanking unit to hit their rear and cut off their retreat."
Amara raised an eyebrow. "And what's my role in this brilliant scheme?"
"You scout ahead," Damien said. "If the Iron Scales have any surprises waiting for us, I want to know before they do."
She smiled. "Sounded like fun. Don't get killed before I get back, though."
And then Amara vanished into the trees. Damien turned to Aldric. "Signal the men to take their posts. We will move as soon as she returns.
The hours dragged by torturously, and the men sat in a silence which grew more taut by the minute. Damien stood at the edge of the forest with his eyes fixed on the road below. Each creak of a leaf, each squawk of a bird, made his nerves quiver.
Amara finally emerged from the underbrush.
"They're close," she said, slightly out of breath. "About two hundred of them, heavily armed. No siege weapons, but they've got a few mages mixed in."
"Mages," Damien muttered, his mind racing. Magic users could complicate things, but they were far from invincible.
"Anything else?" Aldric asked.
Amara nodded. "Their leader—Gregor Kane. Big guy, loves to swing around a massive axe. He's the type who thinks brute strength solves everything."
"Then we'll use that against him," Damien said. "Aldric, have your archers focus on the mages. We can't afford to let them cast freely. Amara, you're with me. Let's move."
----------------------------------------
The ambush unfolded like clockwork.
As the Iron Scales mercenaries poured into the narrow pass, Damien's archers let a hail of arrows up from the ridge above. Screams and yelling filled the air as the mercenaries scrambled to and fro for cover, their formation breaking apart.
"Forward!" Aldric bellowed, leading the main force into the fight. Steel clashed and battle roared through the pass as Damien's soldiers engaged the mercenaries head-on.
Meanwhile, Damien and his flanking unit emerged from the treeline, crashing into the rear of the Iron Scales formation. These mercenaries caught between two forces were hungry to fight with brutal desperation, but a lack of coordination proved their undoing.
Damien's sword flashed as he hacked down, one enemy after the other, with precision, deadly. Battle coursed through him, but this time had something of purpose to it.
Fighting alongside him was Amara; her daggers were a blur as she danced through all the chaos. Her agility and the precision were unmatched, and more than once, she saved Damien from an attack he hadn't seen coming.
"There's Kane!" she cried, pointing to a monstrous figure in the center of the battlefield.
Gregor Kane towered over the other mercenaries, his massive axe carving a bloody path through Damien's soldiers.
"Leave him to me," Damien said, his voice cold.
Amara hesitated, then nodded. "Don't die. I'd hate to have to finish this war without you."
Damien pushed through the chaos, his eyes locked on Kane. The mercenary leader turned as Damien approached, a savage grin splitting his scarred face.
"Well, well," Kane rumbled. "The duke himself. Come to die like a hero?"
"I've already died once," Damien replied, leveling his sword. "Let's see if you can do better."
With a roar, Kane charged, his axe swinging in a wide arc. Damien sidestepped the attack, his blade lashing out to slash Kane's side. The mercenary growled in pain but didn't slow, his brute strength driving him forward.
Again and again, the two clashed, steel on steel ringing through the quiet of the hills. Kane's attacks were powerful but predictable, giving Damien the opportunity to outmaneuver him at every turn.
Finally, Damien saw his opening. As Kane brought his axe down in a heavy overhead strike, Damien sidestepped and drove his sword into the mercenary's chest.
Kane lurched, his axe falling from his grasp. He looked down at the blade protruding from his chest, then back at Damien.
"Damn…" Kane muttered, a hint of a murmur of respect for him. "Didn't think… you had it in you."
Damien yanked his sword out of Kane's torso, and he hit the ground.
---
As the sun dipped toward night, the battlefield was silent. The Iron Scales were defeated, their survivors either captured or scattered.
Damien stood among the bodies, his armor slick with gore but whole. His men shouted his name, their spirits lifted at the utter rout he had given them.
Amara drew closer, her daggers still sheathed. "Not bad, Your Grace. I think I may actually begin to believe in you."
Damien smiled weakly. "Good. Because this is only the beginning."
As the soldiers started to take care of the injured and establish order on the battlefield, Damien gazed towards the horizon. Over that, the faint outline of Winterhold slowly became visible.
The rebellion was hardly near its end, but for the first time ever, it was almost within Damien's grasp-victory.