The dying sun painted the river in blood-red hues as the Vaithara force halted on the ridge overlooking Nara Bend. Shadows stretched long and thin, melting into the thick jungle underbrush.
Prince Jay Vashisth dismounted silently, scanning the terrain. He could feel it—the tension humming in the air, the invisible weight of something about to begin.
"Two cavalry scouts—ride ahead, quietly," he ordered. "Check for runes, movement, and numbers. Don't engage. Return within the hour."
Steel-clad hooves disappeared into the trees. The others waited, still as stone.
As dusk swallowed the horizon and twilight deepened, the scouts returned—faces tight with urgency.
"They're there," the lead scout said, breath heavy. "Camp set near the river bend. Around a hundred—maybe a hundred and ten fighters. No signs of a wizard, but..."
"But what?" Jay's voice sharpened like a blade.
"They're scattered, but tense. Campfires lit, but fewer voices. They've posted no proper sentries. It's as if they know something's coming but don't know when."
"The cage?" Jay asked.
The second scout nodded grimly. "Yes. Near the central fire. Vaishnav is inside—alive, but barely sitting upright. We couldn't get close enough for more."
Jay's eyes narrowed. He clenched his fist.
"No signs of archers or cavalry?"
"They're not in formation, but… we can't be certain," the scout replied. "Their armor's mismatched—some look like old mercenaries, others like common brutes. Could be a trap."
Jay turned to his commanders. "Then we set the trap first."
---
The forest turned silent—unnaturally so—as the Vaithara army took position under moonlight. Mist curled through the trees like ghostly fingers.
Jay stood over a roughly drawn map with his key captains—Sarvan, Yarik, and Rauvish.
"Archers, to the northern grove. Stay hidden. The moment you see my signal fire arrow—strike. Don't stop until the second signal."
Sarvan nodded.
"Cavalry—shield the archers. Any bandits who break formation and charge north must be cut down."
Commander Rauvish tapped his gauntlet. "They'll meet their gods before they reach our line."
Jay turned to Yarik. "Infantry—you stay buried in the south underbrush, close to the camp. Once they try to break toward you, engage in close quarters—clean, quick, and silent."
"No war cries," Yarik grinned. "Only steel."
Jay's gaze moved to the reserve unit. "Five cavalry, five archers, five infantry. Hold support position and secure our fallback. Heal only if needed, but protect the wounded."
Finally, Jay said, "I'll cross the river bend with four cavalry. When they're distracted in the chaos, we strike from the east. My goal is simple—free Vaishnav. We bring him back alive."
His tone left no room for debate.
---
When night finally drowned the world, the jungle came alive with shadows.
The Vaithara forces moved like phantoms—faces painted in ash, armor muted, boots silenced. The north grove became a den of drawn bows and steady breath. Cavalry readied in low grass, spears gleaming under moonlight.
Jay watched from across the river bend, hidden behind vines and foliage. The camp was visible now—disorderly, but pulsing with flickering firelight.
His eyes locked on the cage.
Vaishnav. Still alive. Still breathing.
"Rauvish," Jay whispered, "On my mark."
He drew a flare arrow from his quiver, set it to his bow, and released.
Thwaaang!
The flare screamed into the night—an arc of fire splitting the dark sky.
Then all hell broke loose.
Arrowstorm.
The first volley struck like thunder.
Bandits dropped before they knew what hit them—throats pierced, backs split, limbs torn. Screams rose, followed by panic. Some fled into the darkness. Others, caught in their tents, burned as the arrows ignited kindling and crude tar lanterns.
A second volley followed. Screaming steel rained from the trees like divine punishment.
Chaos.
Several bandits tried rushing toward the northern grove—only to be intercepted by Vaithara cavalry emerging from the shadows, spears skewering them mid-stride.
On the southern end, the infantry remained unseen—silent, patient.
As panic drove more bandits into the undergrowth, the infantry moved like wolves—blades flashing, throats slit before screams could escape. No shouts. No mercy. Only swift, surgical death.
With no wizard commanding the camp, no barriers or spellfire erupting from behind, the battle tilted fully in Vaithara's favor.
Jay raised his second fire arrow.
It hissed upward—glowing red in the sky.
Instantly, archers ceased fire.
A brief pause descended.
The remaining bandits, half-mad with fear, assumed the archers had exhausted their supply.
They charged the groves, roaring—mindless.
Exactly as Jay intended.
As they ran toward the bushes, they didn't notice the infantry crouched low in silence—waiting.
One bandit leapt into the brush—and died with a blade through his eye.
Another tripped over a corpse, only to be disemboweled by a silent spear thrust from the dark.
Each step forward was death. Each scream choked mid-air. The grove turned into a slaughter pit.
Jay spurred Rudraak into motion. His cavalry followed.
They emerged from the eastern flank—thunderous hooves cutting across gravel and mud.
Jay's sword lashed out—cutting down two bandits before they even saw him.
The cage was now ten paces away.
Three bandits stood guard—momentarily stunned by Jay's sudden arrival. One rushed forward but was cleaved in half by Jay's downward strike. The other two fell to cavalry lances, their screams lost in the wind.
Jay dismounted and broke the cage lock with a strike.
"Vaishnav!"
The old man stirred, groggy, bruised, and dazed.
"I've got you," Jay said. He pulled him out, swung him onto the saddle.
Behind him, the other cavalry clashed fiercely with late-arriving bandits. One rider fell, blade lodged in his thigh, but the others held formation.
Jay turned the horse sharply. "Cover us!"
The cavalry formed a wedge, shielding him as they thundered back toward the forest trail.
Behind them, a few remaining bandits tried to pursue—but infantry closed in from all sides, cutting off escape.
Several bandits dropped weapons and fled toward the far banks.
None dared to fight anymore.
Four hours after the flare was fired, the camp burned low and quiet. Only bodies and flickering embers remained.
Zero deaths for Vaithara. Sixteen injured. One critical.
A flawless victory.
---
Before sunrise, Jay and his cavalry reached the support post.
Healers rushed forward, but Jay waved them off. "Send him to the main camp. Now."
They wrapped Vaishnav in warm cloth and prepared a cart. Jay sent his fastest rider ahead. "Tell Madhvi her father lives. Keep him stable till he reaches her."
The cart vanished into the jungle trail.
Jay stood, covered in sweat, blood, and ash—staring into the dark trees.
A victory—but something gnawed at his mind.
There were no wizards. No enchantments. No guards on Vaishnav's cage.
Why?
It felt wrong. Too easy.
He turned to his scribe. "Write a full battle report. Include absence of arcane presence. Dispatch it to the main camp with two cavalry escorts."
"Yes, my prince."
As dawn broke over the hills, Jay washed the blood from his hands—but not from his thoughts.
Because deep down, he knew—
This was just the beginning.