The rain came without warning.
One moment the sky was pale and empty, the next it broke open, heavy drops hammering armor and earth alike. The road turned slick almost instantly, mud swallowing hooves, boots, wheels. Men cursed under their breath. A cart tipped slightly and had to be steadied by three soldiers before it slid into the ditch.
I raised my hand and the column slowed.
We were nearing Belanor Ridge now—the long rise that overlooked the river bend on the map. From there, you could see three things at once: the ford, the road south into Draeven influence, and the farmlands that fed half this region of Kaeldor.
Whoever held the ridge decided who ate.
I felt that truth more sharply than the rain on my face.
"Make camp below the treeline," I ordered. "No fires yet."
Ril frowned. "It'll be miserable."
"Yes," I said. "And hidden."
The ridge loomed dark and quiet as we worked. Tents went up unevenly. Cloaks were wrung out, laid over saddles. The men moved without complaint—tired, but alert. They'd learned. War teaches faster than any drillmaster.
Elren approached, helmet tucked under his arm. "Scouts returned."
I nodded for him to continue.
"Draeven patrols have doubled along the southern road. They're not crossing yet. Just… watching."
"They know we're here," Ril said.
"Yes," I replied. "And they want us to know they know."
That earned a thin smile from Elren. "So what's the play?"
I looked toward the ridge. "We take the high ground before dawn. Quietly. If they want to watch, let them look up."
That night, sleep came in fragments.
The rain softened, then returned.
Somewhere in the dark, a horse whinnied and was quickly soothed. I lay under my cloak, staring at the black shape of the ridge, thinking not of battles but of space—distance, slope, time.
Wars aren't won by killing alone. They're won by being where the enemy can't afford you to be.
Just before dawn, I rose.
"Move," I said softly.
We climbed the ridge as the sky lightened, mist clinging to the ground. The ascent was slow, careful. Shields were strapped tight to avoid clatter. Orders passed hand to hand, not mouth to ear.
At the crest, the world opened.
The river curved below us, silver and calm, deceptively narrow at the ford. Beyond it, the road ran straight and exposed, cutting through low fields toward Draeven territory. Smoke rose faintly from distant villages—some cooking fires, some not.
Ril exhaled. "If they try to cross now…"
"They won't," I said. "Not today."
We began digging in immediately. Shallow trenches, stone markers, stakes angled toward the slope. Nothing impressive. Just enough to make movement costly.
By the time the sun fully rose, Draeven banners appeared on the southern road.
They stopped when they saw us.
I watched them from the ridge, counting shapes, spacing, posture. Disciplined. Confident. But they didn't advance.
Good.
The first messenger arrived at midday.
He rode alone, unarmored, bearing a white cloth tied to his spear. He stopped well short of bow range and waited.
I went down to meet him with Ril and two guards.
He bowed. Not deeply. Deliberately measured.
"Strategos Valen Draegor sends his regards," he said. "He asks why you block a road that does not belong to you."
I looked past him at the distant banners. "Tell your Strategos the road belongs to whoever bleeds on it."
The messenger didn't flinch. "He expected that answer."
"Of course he did."
"He also asks how long you intend to stay."
I smiled faintly. "As long as it takes for him to decide whether he values time or blood more."
The messenger nodded once. "I will tell him."
As he turned to leave, I added, "And tell him this ridge feeds five villages. If his men cross the river, they starve."
That made him pause.
He looked back at me, eyes sharper now. "You're certain?"
"Yes."
He bowed again, deeper this time, and rode off.
By evening, the mood in camp had changed.
Holding ground does something to soldiers. It gives them purpose. They weren't just marching anymore—they were anchored. Men sharpened blades they might not use. Others stared down at the road, imagining shapes that weren't there yet.
Ril sat beside me near a small, carefully shielded fire. "They're not attacking."
"No," I said.
"So what are they doing?"
"Waiting for us to make a mistake."
He grimaced. "You planning one?"
"Not tonight."
The mistake came anyway.
Just after dark, a runner arrived from the north. Breathless. Mud-splattered.
"Sir—Belmoor village—"
My chest tightened. "What about it?"
"They tried to resist Draeven supply demands. Publicly. Like you warned them not to."
"And?"
The runner swallowed. "Draeven didn't burn it. They didn't kill anyone. They took every animal. Every sack of grain. Even seed stock."
Silence spread around the fire.
Ril swore quietly. "They're making an example."
"Yes," I said. "A clean one."
Elren clenched his fist. "We can march. Strike them while they're divided."
"And leave this ridge?" Ril asked sharply.
I stood slowly. "No."
Both of them looked at me.
"Belmoor will suffer," I continued. "Some will die. But if we abandon this position, Draeven takes the road, the ford, and the harvest beyond it. Then more villages starve."
Elren's voice was tight. "You're choosing again."
"Yes."
Ril stared into the fire. "Does it ever get easier?"
"No," I said. "If it does, we're lost."
Later that night, I walked the ridge alone.
The wind was cold. The river whispered below, indifferent to banners and men. I thought of Belmoor. Of Harrow's Ford. Of villages that didn't even know my name but would curse it anyway.
Leadership wasn't glory.
It was weight.
Behind me, footsteps crunched softly.
Ril stopped a few paces away. "The men are asking questions."
I didn't turn. "What kind?"
"Whether this is what winning looks like."
I considered that. "Tell them this is what holding looks like."
He nodded. "And when they ask about Belmoor?"
I finally looked at him. "Tell them the truth. That Draeven is teaching us what mercy costs."
Ril hesitated, then asked quietly, "And what will you teach Draeven?"
I looked back toward the road, where enemy fires now burned in the distance like scattered stars.
"That ground remembers," I said. "And so do I."
Before dawn, a new banner appeared among the Draeven lines.
Black field. Red sigil.
Valen Draegor had arrived.
I watched it in silence, already measuring the days to come.
The ridge was ours—for now.
And the war had just learned where it would hurt.