To the southeast of Salt Spring, sand whipped across the battlefield. Scouts returned on horseback, bearing grim news: six hundred enemy cavalry and ten fire crossbow carts were advancing.
General Tu Lu stood silent in iron armor, twin golden dragons on his shoulders and a red cloak draped over his back. The scars across his chest told of a lifetime of war. His sharp eyes scanned the horizon, unshaken by the storm.
"They've brought siege weapons," Li Song reported. "It's retaliation for Tali."
"They always come for blood during festivals," said Bai, her face pale but steady.
"Then let's break their ritual," Tu Lu replied coldly. He ordered the camps to rotate into formation: thirty cavalry to ambush the left slope, artillery ready on the west, crossbows to shatter the front, fire at the center, and cavalry to flank the rear.
By noon, enemy cavalry charged through the sandstorm. A hundred heavy riders led the assault, banners trailing like fire behind them. Crossbow carts and fire-launchers followed, drums pounding like thunder.
Under their banners stood a young man in black armor, sword in hand.
"That Aisuren's son?" Li Song asked.
"He's bold," Tu Lu said. "And ruthless."
Fireball cannons roared, but the cavalry pressed on. Tu Lu held the center; Li Song flanked with eagle archers, cutting through the enemy's left.
In the chaos, the black-armored youth broke through, moving like a shadow, his strikes deadly and precise. Bai narrowed her eyes. "He's the new blood—Aisuren's heir. They call him 'The New Blade.'"
"He's no child," Tu Lu muttered.
The youth cut down two drummers. Tu Lu shouted, "Li Song, with me!"
They charged.
Li Song met the youth in combat. The boy's sword was fast, curved, brutal. His blows struck like iron. Li Song parried with "Dog," his arm numb from the impact.
"You're strong," he growled. He slashed at the horse's legs. The youth leapt, spun midair, and nearly sliced Li Song's faceplate.
"Too sharp," Li Song muttered. "Too fast."
Blades clashed. Tu Lu cut down three riders and roared, "Hold the line!"
The youth met Tu Lu head-on. Blades struck. He staggered back, bleeding, but smiled coldly. "You're old."
Tu Lu didn't answer. He pressed on, driving the youth back into the ranks.
That night, Bai led fifty scouts through the valley. Draped in gray cloth, they crept near the enemy camp. Grain tents sat exposed.
At her signal, flames erupted. The camp fell into chaos. Tu Lu advanced. Li Song and the archers emerged, picking off fleeing soldiers.
By nightfall, the enemy retreated. Blood soaked the dunes. Seventy border soldiers lay dead. Medics worked by lantern light, shadows flickering on broken bodies.
Tu Lu stood bleeding, an arrow lodged in his shoulder. He waved away help.
Bai leaned on her horse. "East is still a mess. West's heating up. No rest yet."
At the fire, Li Song sharpened "Dog." He couldn't forget the youth's blade, or the strength behind it.
"Raymond has changed," he whispered.
Across from him, Bai twirled a grass blade. "If you'd struck half a second faster..."
"I'd have taken his shoulder," Li Song said. "But he was wind and steel."
They sat in silence. A bugle echoed in the distance.
Tu Lu's voice rode the wind: "In three days, we march west."
Li Song looked up. Stars shimmered above. The fire caught the edge of his blade.
The war had only just begun.