Don’t Teach an Eagle to Fly – 1. chapter

The fog slowly tore itself apart between the slopes, like a quiet omen of ruin. Cold wind lashed the faces of the men gathered on the rocky rise overlooking the wide valley below. Down below, enemy troops were already forming. Orderly ranks. Blades ready. Their breath misting in the frozen morning air. Above them, banners snapped in the wind, each bearing an eagle with its wings spread. In this corner of the world, that symbol meant fear and blood.

King Tharan, ruler of the mountain realm, had been leading his army into the lowlands for months. Their raids were brutal and relentless. One border stronghold after another had fallen, and the land shook beneath the weight of a war Kaelan’s people had never provoked.

This was no longer the beginning. The war had raged for a long time now, battle after battle. Tharan had won most of them, yet Kaelan hadn’t yielded. The place under attack today lay directly on the road to the capital. To the home Kaelan intended to defend to the last man. That was why he had come to the battlefield himself. Not out of pride. Out of necessity.

Kaelan stood at the head of his army, wrapped in a dark cloak beneath which modest but practical armor gleamed. His commanders stood on either side of him, composed but ready. He didn’t have his full force with him. A large part of his army lay hidden in the western woods. Waiting in silence. Ready to strike from the side once the enemy stepped into the trap. That was his advantage. Home ground. He knew every hollow, every shadow. And he knew how to wait.

Among the enemy riders, one figure drew the eye. Heavy armor. A black horse. Kaelan noticed him at once. Two details set the rider apart. A ring of personal guards rode close, and his armor alone bore the royal eagle crest. His bearing revealed a natural authority. Soldiers aligned themselves around him with respect. Clearly of Tharan’s blood. Kaelan already knew the heir took part in certain battles himself. Especially the ones that mattered.

Kaelan’s mind worked fast. If this truly was Tharan’s successor, taking him alive could change the course of the war. They could bargain for peace, favorable terms, or at least buy time. Even if today’s battle was lost.

“That rider,” Kaelan said to his commanders, pointing toward the valley. “I want him alive. At any cost. Have the archers target him. When the troops move, pull him from the saddle. Don’t kill him. Take him prisoner.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Prepare yourselves,” Kaelan added quietly, his voice carrying through the ranks with iron certainty. “They’re entering the valley. A few more steps. Then close in.”

The valley fell silent. Only the breath of horses and the rustle of gear disturbed the fragile calm before the storm. Then came the first tremor of earth beneath the hooves. Mountain riders surged forward, shields raised, lances lifted. A battle cry tore through the air, and with it, Kaelan’s ranks split open.

From the western woods, hidden units emerged from the shadows. Fast riders. Archers with steady aim. Their arrows swept through the air like a flock of black birds. Those struck fell not with screams, but in stunned silence.

Kaelan commanded from the saddle. His voice cut clean through the chaos.

“To the center! To the eagle! Surround him!”

The battle rolled like a wave. Air filled with clashing steel, pounding hooves, shouted orders. Shields crashed. Blades slid across armor. Dust rose and choked the field. At the heart of it all, the eagle cut his way forward, deflecting attacks with a precision that spoke of training and courage. But Kaelan noticed he was pushing too far ahead of his guard. He’d stepped out of the circle of protection and let himself be drawn deep into the fight. It wasn’t tactical. It was pride. Or recklessness.

Kaelan raised his hand and signaled.

“Pull the eagle from his horse and drag him off the battlefield,” he shouted, his voice sharp as a blade.

He turned his horse hard and drove forward, straight into the maelstrom where he could rely on no order and only his own eyes.

Horses threaded their way among the falling men. Too close to aim. Too chaotic to command. Only movement. Resolve. Instinct. The vanguard of Kaelan’s men began closing in, yet the rider on the black horse moved with unsettling precision. Always slipping through gaps, always one step ahead.

Kaelan drove his heels into his horse’s flanks. Hell roared around them, but the target was clear. He was too close now to let the prey escape.

The circle tightened. Kaelan forced his way forward, shouts and the clash of weapons ringing in his ears. His horse slipped between his own men until it nearly brushed the black stallion’s flank.

The rider turned. Their gazes locked for a heartbeat. In that instant, Kaelan saw anger. Not fear. Not shock. Anger. And something unexpectedly personal.

He hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he shot out a hand and seized the rider by the forearm, hard, almost brutally. Their armor scraped. Metal rang against metal as their bodies pitched close. He felt the rider resist and wrench against his grip, and caught a brief breath, an almost silent exhale of surprise.

“Dismount,” Kaelan growled.

Instead of an answer, a sword flashed past his throat. He jerked back just in time, knocked the blade aside with his shield, then drove his boot into the enemy horse’s flank. The black stallion reared. The rider lost his balance. Kaelan struck, slamming his shoulder into the rider. They crashed from their mounts in a cloud of dust.

The impact tore them apart. Kaelan rolled and was on his feet at once, ready. The rider was already kneeling, weapon raised. Too fast. Far too fast.

Steel met steel. Sparks flew. Metal sang. Kaelan pressed in, but could gain no advantage. Every move of his opponent was fluid and deliberate. Unusual. Almost graceful.

“You’re no ordinary man,” Kaelan snarled, blocking a strike aimed at his shoulder.

The rider didn’t answer. He only smiled. Brief. Almost mocking.

That was when Kaelan felt it again. Not doubt, but that strange, nagging sense he’d noticed before. Something in the posture. The grace. The silence that felt wrong in the middle of such fury. Something that gnawed at his mind without shape or name. But there was no time to think. The fight wasn’t over. Kaelan stepped back, eyes locked on his opponent. The world narrowed to that single figure. The eagle breathed quickly but evenly, sword still firm in hand. No panic. No retreat.

Kaelan lunged again, this time aiming to unbalance him. A low, quick strike at his side. The blade met resistance. The counter came almost at once. A sharp swing that forced Kaelan back. Then another. And another. Kaelan had to admit it. This rider had endured the impact, the fall, the man-to-man fight. And he was dominating it.

Then the eagle faltered. Just for a heartbeat. He turned his head slightly, as if trying to catch something in his peripheral vision. That was what Kaelan had been waiting for. He surged forward and grabbed the rider by the shoulder. Bodies collided again. This wasn’t swordplay now. It was strength. Balance. Will.

“Drop the weapon,” Kaelan growled into the helmet so close he felt its chill on his cheek.

“Never,” came the reply. Hoarse and rough, yet carrying a softness that didn’t belong on a battlefield.

Kaelan stared into the eyes behind the visor. Gray. Bright. Alive. Then he noticed the line of the jaw, too fine. The slender neck beneath the gorget. The glove fitted not to a man’s bony hand, but to long, slender fingers.

Something didn’t fit. Like a piece of a puzzle refusing its place. He moved slowly, with a caution he didn’t fully recognize. His hand rose to the helmet. And with one motion, he tore it away.

Time stretched like smoke. Long pale hair spilled free, cascading over the shoulders. Pale strands fell slowly, trembling in the wind like golden proof. And those eyes. The same ones that had pierced him with contempt moments before. They belonged to a woman.

Kaelan froze. His pulse skipped. The world fell silent, as if the battle, the wind, the air itself had stopped. Only her. Still. Not a word. Not a gesture. Just those eyes holding him in place like a blade at his throat.

No. It couldn’t be. And yet she stood there. Real. Hidden all along.

Then, in one sharp movement, she twisted, tore the helmet from his hand, and pulled it back on. She rose with impossible speed, sword ready.

She vanished.

Gone. Swallowed by the crowd and the chaos of the field. Yet his gaze followed her as if he could see through walls of bodies, through the dust rising into the sky.

Kaelan stood there, unable to move. His body refused him. His mind wouldn’t react. Not because of loss, but because of the discovery. A woman. Not a man. Not a commander. An enemy with a face he would remember forever.

Seconds passed. Maybe less. He still hadn’t moved. The world continued without him. The battle didn’t pause. While he stood frozen, his men acted.

A shout rose from the left. His captain’s voice.

“We have him!”

Kaelan snapped back. He turned sharply and pushed toward the sound, weaving between bodies and through the mud clinging to his boots. He saw the cluster of figures. His own men closing around someone held fast in their grip.

“Alive,” Kaelan shouted. “Get him down. Don’t hurt him.”

The soldiers stepped back, confused, and at the center knelt the eagle, helmet still on. One man reached to tear it away. Kaelan barked.

“No!”

The soldier froze.

“Get him off the field. Quickly! Don’t let anyone see. Take him straight to my tent. And do not lay a hand on him. Keep the helmet on.”

No one dared protest. Kaelan stepped closer. Their gazes met again, through the visor. He knew now what lay behind it. And despite everything, his breath fractured in his chest once more.