Chapter 98 – Fires of Vengeance
Dawn broke slowly over the ruined remains of Hillcrest, its light crawling across the blackened earth like a reluctant witness to the horror that had passed. The smoke from the pyres had begun to fade, but the scent of death lingered. It clung to the grass, to the stones, to the silence itself.
Lucien stood at the edge of the scorched village square, his cape billowing in the cold wind. Behind him, soldiers moved with quiet reverence, packing up the remaining bodies that hadn't yet been buried. Every man in the camp had lost someone to this war—father, brother, friend. But Hillcrest was something else. This was a message.
And Lucien had received it loud and clear.
Zara emerged from the healer's tent, her face pale but composed. She had stayed with the little survivor girl all night, tending her burns, whispering comfort until the child had finally fallen into a fitful sleep. There were circles under Zara's eyes now, but her gaze was sharper, more determined.
Lucien turned to her as she approached.
"She's stable," Zara said, her voice steady. "Still won't speak. But she held my hand when I gave her water."
Lucien nodded silently.
"She was hiding under the floorboards," Zara continued. "The fire didn't reach her, but she heard everything. The screams. The laughter. They didn't just burn this village, Lucien. They *enjoyed* it."
His jaw clenched. "The Black Thorn thrives on fear. The more they sow, the more their name spreads. They're not just fighting us—they're trying to break our spirit."
Zara stepped closer. "Then don't let them."
Lucien looked at her, his eyes burning. "I won't. I swear, Zara. They want terror? I'll give them something greater. I'll give them justice."
---
That afternoon, Lucien summoned his captains and commanders into a makeshift war tent on the outskirts of the village ruins. A large map was spread across a crude wooden table, weighted at the corners with stones and daggers.
Zara stood beside him—not behind him, *beside* him—garbed in a deep forest green tunic and leather boots. Her presence in the room turned heads, but no one dared question it. Not after Hillcrest. Not after she'd spent the night washing blood from a child's skin.
Lucien pointed to the eastern edge of the map. "We know from the scout's last route that the Black Thorn is stationed somewhere in the valley between Crestmoor Hill and the Twin Rivers. That's their fallback point."
Sir Edric leaned over the map. "That terrain is narrow. If we flank both sides, we can corner them."
Lucien nodded. "Exactly. We split into three battalions. One from the north, one from the south, and one rides directly through the valley to draw them out."
Zara frowned. "Isn't that too risky? You'd be riding straight into their trap."
Lucien met her eyes. "Yes. Which is why I'll lead the bait battalion."
A murmur swept through the commanders.
"No," Zara said immediately, stepping forward. "Send someone else."
Lucien's expression didn't change. "They're hunting me, Zara. I'm the one they want. If I lead the central charge, they'll believe they have me surrounded. It'll make them arrogant."
"You'll be outnumbered—"
"But not unprepared," he replied. "We'll plant archers in the cliff trees above the valley. Once the signal is given, they'll rain down hell."
Zara's hands curled at her sides. "And what if something goes wrong? What if you don't make it out?"
Lucien's voice softened. "Then command falls to you."
The room went silent.
Zara stared at him, eyes wide. "Me?"
Lucien turned to the men. "She knows the strategies. She knows the terrain. And more than any of us, she knows what's at stake. If I fall… you follow *her*."
Sir Edric was the first to nod. "She earned my respect at Hillcrest."
One by one, the others followed.
Zara swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded stiffly. "You're not going to fall. But if you do, I'll finish what you started."
---
The next morning, the army moved.
Hundreds of riders rode in silence, the sound of hooves muffled by damp soil and the whispering wind. The sky was grey again, heavy with clouds, as if mourning what had already been lost.
Zara rode near the rear battalion for a time, overseeing the supplies and speaking with the healers. But her eyes were always on the front, always searching for Lucien's crimson cloak among the trees.
Lucien led the central charge himself, flanked by his most loyal men. He rode with steel in his eyes, his sword strapped across his back like the weight of the world.
As they neared the valley, the terrain began to change—steeper hills, denser thickets, and the soft murmur of the Twin Rivers nearby.
Lucien signaled the troops to split.
Zara's battalion peeled off to the southern slope, while Sir Edric led the northern flank. Lucien gave her one last look—long, intense, filled with something unspoken.
She nodded once.
And then they disappeared into the mist.
---
From her position on the ridge, Zara had a clear view of the battlefield.
She knelt behind a patch of thick ferns, her spyglass raised. Below, in the valley, the Black Thorn camp flickered with orange fires and dark figures. They moved like predators—confident, unhurried.
Until Lucien's banner crested the far hill.
Chaos erupted.
The mercenaries charged forward, shouting war cries, blades raised. Lucien met them head-on, steel flashing, his men thundering into battle like a living storm.
Zara's heart thundered in her chest.
Now.
She raised the red flare torch.
"Signal the archers!" she shouted.
An instant later, the sky exploded with arrows.
Dozens—hundreds—rained down from the cliffs above. Screams echoed through the valley as the mercenaries scrambled for cover. Lucien's men drove forward, carving a path through the chaos.
Zara mounted her horse and led her battalion down the southern slope.
"Now! Cut off their escape!"
They slammed into the enemy's rear like a crashing wave. Zara swung her blade, blocking a strike aimed for her throat and driving her hilt into the attacker's jaw.
Around her, the tide turned.
Lucien broke through the center lines, his blade dancing like fire. He spotted Zara cutting down a mercenary and roared her name—both in warning and awe.
She turned just in time to block another strike—and saw him coming.
A tall man in black armor. The leader.
The commander of the Black Thorn.
He grinned at her, blood on his teeth.
"You must be the bride."
Zara didn't flinch. "You must be the coward who burns villages."
He lunged.
Their blades clashed in a shower of sparks. He was stronger, but Zara was faster—dodging, ducking, countering. Lucien saw them locked in battle and tried to reach her—but a wave of mercenaries cut him off.
"You think wearing a prince's ring makes you a warrior?" the Black Thorn commander growled.
"No," Zara gasped, twisting under his sword, "but watching my people die made me one."
She feinted left—then drove her dagger into his thigh.
He screamed.
Lucien barreled through the last line of fighters and reached them just in time to drive his sword clean through the commander's chest.
Silence fell.
The battle was over.
---
The aftermath was a haze of smoke and exhaustion. Bodies were carried. Wounded treated. Weapons gathered.
Zara sat on a broken log, wiping blood from her brow. Lucien knelt before her, checking the cut on her arm.
"You fought like a soldier," he said.
"I fought like your wife," she replied. "And I'd do it again."
Lucien rested his forehead against hers. "You saved us, Zara. You turned the tide."
She smiled faintly. "Then let the world know. The prince's weakness… is also his greatest weapon."
---
End of Chapter 98