Chapter 9: Blood on the Frontlines

The raid's triumph was a fleeting spark in the dark, snuffed out by the cold dawn that followed. Kara stood at the edge of the rebel camp, her boots caked with mud and blood, her warhammer heavy in her grip. The air smelled of smoke and iron, the battlefield's stench clinging to her like a second skin. Her muscles ached from the fight, but her mind was sharp, replaying every strike, every scream, every drop of blood that had painted the earth. She'd proven herself, yes, but the cost was etched in the faces of the rebels who'd fallen, their bodies now pyres sending ash into the bruised sky.

Dren approached, his axe slung over his shoulder, his beard flecked with soot. "We're pushing deeper into Veyl's territory," he said, his voice gruff but steady. "You ready for round two, ironsmith?" There was no mockery in his tone this time, only a soldier's respect. Kara nodded, her emerald eyes flicking to Ashka, who rested nearby, her patched wing flexing as she shook off the night's chill. The dragon's amber gaze met hers, a pulse of heat flaring in Kara's chest—shared strength, unspoken resolve. "I'm ready," she said, her voice low but firm. I have to be.

Talon emerged from the command tent, his shoulder bandaged, his gray eyes shadowed with fatigue. He glanced at Kara, then at Dren, his expression unreadable. "We leave at first light," he said, his tone clipped. "Veyl's scouts are already regrouping. If we don't hit them now, they'll hit us harder." He turned to Kara, his gaze lingering on her warhammer. "Don't let yesterday's win go to your head. You're still green." His words were sharp, but there was something beneath them—a flicker of concern, maybe, or doubt. Kara's jaw tightened, her pride stinging. I'm not a child, she thought. I'll show him.

The march into enemy territory was a grim procession, the rebels' boots crunching over frost-crusted ground, their breaths misting in the cold air. Kara rode Ashka at the front, the dragon's claws gouging the earth, her armored plates glinting like obsidian in the weak sunlight. Dren rode beside them on a sturdy warhorse, his axe strapped to his back, his gaze scanning the horizon. "Stay sharp, ironsmith," he muttered. "Veyl's got more than just scouts up his sleeve." Kara's grip on her hammer tightened, anticipation coiling in her gut like a spring. Let them come, she thought. I'm not afraid.

The enemy struck without warning, a volley of arrows raining from the treeline like a swarm of hornets. Ashka roared, her wings flaring to shield Kara, but the rebels weren't so lucky—screams tore through the ranks as arrows found flesh, blood splattering the dirt. Kara's heart lurched, her pulse spiking as she urged Ashka into the sky, the dragon's wings beating hard against the wind. From above, she saw them: Veyl's riders, mounted on sleek, gray-scaled dragons, their spears gleaming as they dove toward the rebel lines.

"Take them down!" Dren bellowed, his horse rearing as he swung his axe at a low-flying rider. Kara's breath hitched, her focus narrowing to the nearest enemy—a rider with a jagged scar across his face, his spear aimed at Dren's back. She leaned forward, Ashka diving with a screech. The world blurred, the wind whipping her hair, and with a yell, she swung her hammer, its head smashing into the rider's chest. Bone crunched, blood spraying in a crimson arc, and the rider tumbled from his mount, his scream swallowed by the chaos.

Dren glanced up, his eyes wide with shock. "By the gods, she's mad!" he shouted, but there was awe in his voice, a grin splitting his beard. Kara's chest swelled, a fierce pride burning through her veins, but it was short-lived. Another rider swooped in, his dragon's claws raking Ashka's flank, tearing through the armor with a screech of metal. Ashka bellowed in pain, her wing faltering, and Kara's stomach dropped, the heat in her chest flaring with shared agony. No, she thought, gritting her teeth. Not now.

Talon fought on the ground, his sword a blur as he parried a spear thrust, his movements fluid despite his injury. But a second rider dove toward him, flames licking from his dragon's maw, and Kara's breath caught. He won't make it. Without thinking, she urged Ashka into a steep dive, her hammer raised high. The rider's eyes widened as she closed in, but it was too late—her hammer crashed into his skull, the impact shuddering up her arm, blood and bone fragments splattering her face. The rider slumped, his dragon veering off with a screech, and Talon staggered back, his gaze snapping to her, his expression a mix of shock and something softer, something that made her pulse quicken.

"You're welcome," she muttered, wiping blood from her cheek, but her voice was shaky, the adrenaline fading into exhaustion. Talon's lips twitched, a ghost of a smile, but it vanished as another wave of enemies surged from the trees, their war cries piercing the air. The rebels were outnumbered, their lines breaking under the assault, and Kara's heart sank. We can't hold them. Dren fought like a man possessed, his axe cleaving through armor and flesh, but even he was faltering, blood streaming from a gash on his brow.

Then, a spear streaked through the air, its tip gleaming as it hurtled toward Talon's chest. Time slowed, Kara's breath catching in her throat, and she acted on instinct, leaping from Ashka's back, her boots hitting the dirt as she shoved Talon aside. The spear grazed her arm, pain searing through her flesh, but she barely felt it, her focus locked on Talon as he hit the ground, his gray eyes wide with disbelief. "What the hell are you doing?" he snarled, scrambling to his feet, his sword raised to block another blow.

"Saving your life," she snapped, her hammer swinging to crush an enemy's knee, the soldier collapsing with a scream. Blood dripped from her arm, warm and sticky, but she ignored it, her gaze flicking to Ashka, who tore through the enemy ranks, her jaws snapping with fury. The heat in her chest surged, a wildfire of strength and defiance, and she thought, I won't let them break us. Talon fought beside her, his movements sharp and precise, but his breath was ragged, his shoulder wound reopening, blood soaking through the bandage.

The battle blurred into a storm of steel and screams, each swing of her hammer a desperate bid for survival. Finally, the enemy lines buckled, their riders retreating into the smoke, leaving the rebels battered but standing. Kara's chest heaved, her body trembling with exhaustion, her warhammer slick with gore. Dren limped over, his face streaked with blood and dirt, and clapped her on the back. "You're a bloody marvel, ironsmith," he said, his voice hoarse but sincere. "I was wrong about you."

Kara managed a weak smile, her gaze drifting to Talon, who stood a few paces away, wiping his sword clean. His gray eyes met hers, a flicker of something warm breaking through his icy facade. "You're reckless," he muttered, but there was no bite in his words, only a grudging respect. "But you're good." He glanced at her wounded arm, his brow furrowing. "Get that looked at."

She nodded, too tired to argue, and as the rebels began to regroup, she felt Ashka's presence beside her, the dragon's snout nudging her shoulder, a low rumble of approval vibrating through her bones. The heat in her chest steadied, a quiet strength settling into her core. I'm not just surviving, she thought. I'm fighting for something bigger. Talon's gaze lingered on her, his expression unreadable, but she saw the shift in him, the way his walls cracked just a little. He's starting to see me, she realized, and despite the blood and chaos, a spark of hope ignited in her heart.