With dawn creeping into the sky, its colour painted a warning in crimson hues. Damien stirred from his restless sleep. A night of faint drizzle had left the forest wet and heavy with the scent of earth. Otherwise, the camp was quiet, only broken by the soft clinking of armor and the muted conversations of soldiers getting ready for another long march.
Damien sat beside the campfire, its dying embers reflected in his slow strokes of sharpening his sword. The blade was mirror-sharp, reflecting the discipline he demanded of himself.
"You rise early," Amara said, quietly materializing beside him as she did so often. She tossed him a chunk of stale bread from her pack before taking a seat on a log.
"I barely slept," Damien said catching the bread and biting into it with a nonchalance.
Amara smirked over her head, stretching out her arms. "That's become a habit."
He glared at her, his eyebrow shot high. "And you? Try to tell me you slumbered peacefully."
"Like a baby," she said, the smirk deepening. "Although perhaps it helps having it known that you're the one going over everything."
Damien shook his head, a thin smile twisting his lips. "If you didn't have that wit of yours, I'd have put you in a cell by now."
"You'd miss me," she said with feigned confidence.
He said nothing, his expression relaxing. "Perhaps."
For a moment, he almost believed what he'd just said. The sincerity in his voice caught him off guard. Amara paused and her smirk fell into unreadable lines.
By mid-morning, the company had packed up camp and was moving out. The trail had narrowed down and shifted to more rugged territory as the dense forest opened up onto rocky ground. The sound of rushing water also increased with their approach toward the final target: a mercenary outpost precariously perched along the edge of a roaring river.
"Another camp, another fire," Amara muttered as they crouched over a ridge overlooking the site.
Damien studied the outpost, his steel-gray eyes narrowing. The mercenaries had set up a series of tents and supply wagons near the water, their position fortified by makeshift barricades.
"They're expecting trouble," Aldric said, standing alongside them on the ridge.
"Reynard's not leaving anything to chance," Damien replied. "But they've made a mistake."
"And what's that?" Amara asked.
"They're arrogant," Damien said. "Their outpost on the riverbank disadvantages them. If we destroy their supplies and force them to enter the river, they can't retreat."
said Aldric, bobbing his head in approval. "A good plan, Your Grace. How do you want to implement it?
"We're splitting up into two groups," Damien said. "Aldric, you take the main force and draw their attention to the south. Amara and I slip in from the north, set their supplies afire. Once that's going good and proper, we drive them out onto the river."
Amara grinned. "I do so love a good distraction."
Watch out, Aldric said solemnly. "Those mercenaries wouldn't think twice about killing you if they saw you."
"They can try," Amara said with a teasing smile.
---
Sunset had been set as the hour of the attack. The golden glow cast long shadows through the outpost. Aldric's team charged, their rush punctuated by the ringing crash of steel on steel and the battle cries of soldiers. Damien and Amara moved unnoticed by the dazed guards and slipped between tents like phantoms.
"There," Damien said, pointing to a cluster of supply wagons near the centre of the camp. "That's our target."
Amara nodded, already drawing out a flask of oil from her satchel.
The two ran quickly, spewing oil over the wagons and crates that jumbled together. Battle cries rang out now, but the mercenaries were so focused on Aldric's forces that they paid no attention to the danger in their own camp.
"Ready?"
Always, Amara said, blue eyes shining bright, as she took the torch Damien handed her.
He lit the torch and hurled it onto the nearest wagon. Fire burst out, spreading fast since oil had been poured onto the surface.
The pandemonium was immediate. Mercenaries yelled in terror, jerking their heads from the oncoming soldiers to the rampant fire that consumed their supplies.
"Time to take a hike," Damien said, tugging Amara's arm to move back into the shadows.
Mercenaries tried to rally, but the fire was spreading too fast. Black smoke arose in the air, and the heat became unbearable.
"Fell back to the river," one of their leaders yelled, his voice barely audible above the din of the fire.
Exactly what Damien planned.
Aldric's forces pressed forward, driving the disoriented mercenaries toward the water. Those who attempted to stand their ground were quickly overwhelmed, their lines breaking under the weight of the attack.
From their vantage point, Damien and Amara watched the plan unfold.
"You're getting good at this," Amara said, a note of admiration in her voice.
"I've had a lot of practice," Damien replied, his tone grim.
She nodded to one side, weighing him. "You really mean that, don't you? This isn't just some strategy to you. It's personal."
"It has to be," Damien whispered. "If I don't make it personal, I'll never make things right."
Amara said nothing; there was a softening to her features. "You are carrying a lot, Damien. But you are not alone any more."
Her words hung in the air, a rare moment of vulnerability between them.
---
The battle was over by nightfall. Mercenaries' outpost was in ruins, its members either already taken prisoner or have fled. Damien's forces reassembled by the river with raised spirits over the victory.
Damien stood at the edge of the water, gazing out into the moonlit surface. Despite the win, he couldn't find repose in his head.
"You did it," she said as she came beside him.
"For now," came his reply. "But Reynard will not stop. This was just one of many battles."
Amara leaned against a rock nearby, her blue eyes discreetly trained upon him. "And you're ready for all of them, aren't you?"
"I have to be," Damien replied.
She smiled weakly, "You're a stubborn man, Damien Vryce. But I think that's what makes you dangerous."
He looked at her, still sombre but with a hint of demure amusement beginning to break through. "And what about you; you're dangerous?"
Amara grinned. "Wouldn't you like to know?"
Their laughter, infrequent and unshaped, floated across the water.
---
When quite puzzled, soldiers tended to the wounded, and little by little began preparations for the next phase of their campaign. They sat there by the fire, thinking increasingly potently about plans and uncertainties.
As usual, Amara had blindingly crept beside him.
"You are still thinking about him, aren't you?" she inquired.
"Reynard," said Damien with a nod. "He is always half a step ahead. Even when we win, he still finds his way to remain paranoid."
"Then we must be smarter," Amara said self-assuredly.
Damien glanced at her, a smile creeping onto his lips. "With you on my side, it may just be a reality."
With a mock roll of her eyes, Amara preferred to wear a subtly white smile. "Careful, Damien. You're beginning to sound rather like you trust me."
"I do," he said with surprising simplicity.
She had nothing whittier to say for once.
As the fire crackled between them, Damien felt a strange peace. The future was an uncertain one, and for the first time in quite a while, it felt that somehow success awaited.
Together, they would bring Reynard's rebellion to its knees and perhaps forge something far stronger than what either had ever imagined.