Dragon's Fire Consort
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 5
The northern border was unforgiving terrain—rocky highlands cut by deep ravines, sparse vegetation offering little cover. The kind of landscape that favored mobile horse archers over traditional Chinese formations.
Exactly what Zhang Mei had planned for.
Three thousand Qin soldiers made camp in a valley with good sight lines and defensible approaches. Not because they intended to stay, but because they wanted to be seen.
“The scouts report Xiongnu war parties in the area,” General Han said, studying the map by firelight. “Maybe five hundred riders. They’ve been harassing supply caravans for months.”
Zhang Mei traced the terrain features. “They’ll scout us tonight, attack at dawn when they think we’re vulnerable. Standard raiding pattern.”
“Let them come,” Liang said. He’d been quieter since they’d marched out, his expression harder. This was his element—command in the field, where politics couldn’t reach. “Captain, walk me through it again.”
She moved markers on the map. “We appear to be a standard Qin formation—heavy infantry center, cavalry on the flanks, command position obvious. They’ll expect us to meet them head-on, try to pin them down with numbers.”
“But we won’t.”
“No. The moment they commit to the charge, our ‘heavy infantry’ scatters into spread formation. Their arrows hit empty ground. Meanwhile, our actual strike force—” She indicated the ravines on either side. “Hidden archer units in elevated positions. Crossfire. They’ll be caught between our mobile infantry and two walls of arrows.”
General Zhao, a younger officer she’d worked closely with during training, frowned. “It requires perfect timing. If the infantry scatter too early, we lose cohesion. Too late, and they take casualties.”
“That’s why we have flag signals,” Zhang Mei said. “Red flag, hold formation. Yellow flag, prepare to scatter. Green flag, execute. Simple, visible, unmistakable.”
“And if they don’t take the bait?” Han asked. “If they recognize the trap?”
“Then we have mobile reserves who can adapt. The whole point is flexibility.” She looked at Liang. “Your call.”
He studied the map for a long moment. Every officer in the command tent was watching him, waiting. This was the moment—commit to radically different tactics, or default to traditional formations.
“We execute Captain Zhang’s plan,” he said finally. “General Han, position the archer units before midnight. General Zhao, ensure every squad leader understands the flag signals. If anyone has questions, they come to me or the Captain. Clear?”
A chorus of “Yes, Highness.”
After the officers dispersed to their tasks, Liang caught Zhang Mei’s arm. “If this works, you’ll have revolutionized Qin warfare. If it fails—”
“It won’t fail.”
“You’re certain?”
She met his eyes. “I’m certain that sitting in traditional formation while horse archers circle and shoot us to pieces is guaranteed failure. This gives us a chance.”
“A chance.” He smiled without humor. “I’ve built a career on chances.”
They came at dawn, just as predicted.
Zhang Mei stood beside Liang on a slight rise, watching the dust cloud approach from the north. The Xiongnu war party was larger than the scouts had estimated—closer to seven hundred riders, moving fast and fluid like a school of fish.
Beautiful, in a deadly way.
“They’re confident,” Liang observed.
“They should be. On paper, they have every advantage.” Zhang Mei watched their approach, calculating angles and timing. “But they’re also predictable. They’ve been raiding like this for months, always the same pattern.”
The Xiongnu riders spread out as they approached, preparing for their classic tactic—circle the enemy formation, pepper them with arrows from multiple directions, avoid direct engagement. Wear them down, then pick off stragglers.
It had worked against every Qin force they’d faced.
The enemy commander—identifiable by his elaborate armor and position at the center—raised his hand. The war party accelerated, hooves thundering, raising a wall of dust.
“Hold,” Zhang Mei said quietly.
Liang relayed the command. The red flag snapped in the wind.
The Qin formation stood motionless. Three thousand men in traditional ranks, shields up, spears ready. A perfect target.
The Xiongnu riders whooped, drawing their composite bows. At this range, they’d start their circling pattern, launching arrows in devastating waves.
“Now,” Zhang Mei said.
The yellow flag rose. Across the formation, squad leaders tensed.
The Xiongnu loosed their first volley—hundreds of arrows arcing through the dawn sky.
“Execute.”
The green flag snapped up.
The Qin formation exploded into motion. Units scattered in precise patterns, spreading out, creating space. The arrow volley hit mostly empty ground, a few soldiers too slow taking hits, but the vast majority simply ... weren’t there anymore.
The Xiongnu commander’s confusion was visible even from a distance.
Then the ravines erupted.
Hidden archer units on both sides opened fire, crossbow bolts and arrows streaming into the Xiongnu flanks. The riders tried to wheel, to adapt, but they were caught between the scattered mobile infantry and the elevated archer positions.
“Cavalry, now!” Liang shouted.
Qin cavalry burst from concealed positions behind the rise, hitting the Xiongnu from behind. Not a traditional charge—fast strikes, in and out, using the enemy’s own mobility tactics against them.
The battle dissolved into chaos. The Xiongnu tried to rally, but their advantage was gone. They were fighting on multiple fronts, unable to use their superior archery when the enemy was both everywhere and nowhere, when leaving their backs exposed meant cavalry strikes.
It was brutal. Efficient. Exactly what Zhang Mei had designed.
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