Dragon's Fire Consort
Copyright© 2026 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 8
Spring arrived with unseasonable warmth and five thousand soldiers assembled for the northern campaign.
Zhang Mei stood on the palace walls at dawn, watching the army prepare to march. Supply wagons stretched in long lines. Cavalry units checked their horses. Infantry formations drilled one last time before departure.
It looked impressive. Organized. Ready.
She knew better.
“Counting problems?” Liang appeared beside her, already in field armor.
“Always.” She gestured at the supply train. “Sixty wagons. Zhao’s requisition listed eighty. Twenty are ‘delayed’ due to administrative issues.”
“Which means we’re already operating at three-quarters capacity.”
“And that’s just what we can see.” She’d spent the last month trying to audit supplies, but Zhao’s officials had blocked her at every turn. Politely. Respectfully. Completely.
“We adapt,” Liang said. “Like always.”
“Like always,” she agreed. But the weight in her chest suggested this time might be different.
The march north took two weeks. The weather held clear, the troops moved efficiently, and nothing catastrophic happened.
Which made Zhang Mei more nervous, not less.
Zhao wouldn’t sabotage them close to the capital where witnesses could report back quickly. He’d wait until they were committed, far from help, dependent on the supply lines he controlled.
Wait until failure would look like military incompetence rather than deliberate sabotage.
They established camp in the same valley Zhang Mei had used for the first campaign. Defensible position, good sight lines, close to water. General Han approved the choice with a nod—he’d learned to trust her tactical judgment.
“Scouts report Xiongnu forces gathering thirty li north,” General Zhao reported. “Larger than before. Maybe two thousand riders. They’ve had all winter to regroup.”
“And to learn from our tactics,” Zhang Mei added. “They won’t fall for the same trap twice.”
“So we need new tricks,” Liang said. “Captain?”
They spent the evening planning. The Xiongnu would expect the spread formation, the hidden archers, the cavalry strikes. So they’d adjust—create what looked like the same trap, but with critical differences. False flags to misdirect. Feint positions that would draw the enemy into the real killing ground.
It was complex. Required precise timing and flawless execution.
It could work. If everything went right.
Zhang Mei didn’t believe in everything going right.
Three days into camp, the first supply wagon arrived from the capital.
One wagon. Not the scheduled convoy of ten.
The wagon master was apologetic. “Administrative delay, Highness. Crown Prince Zhao’s office assures the rest will arrive within the week.”
Liang’s expression didn’t change. “What supplies did you bring?”
“Grain, Highness. Rice and millet. The weapons and medical supplies will come with the next convoy.”
Grain. Essential, but not urgent. They had enough food for another week, maybe ten days if they rationed.
Weapons and medical supplies—those they needed now. Training consumed practice weapons. Injuries required bandages, medicine, treatment.
“Thank you,” Liang said. “Dismissed.”
After the wagon master left, Liang turned to Zhang Mei. “He’s starting.”
“We knew he would.” She’d already been calculating. “We can last two weeks on current supplies if we’re careful. That should be enough for the initial engagement.”
“And if the battle doesn’t go as planned? If we take heavier casualties? If we need to pursue?”
“Then we adapt. Again.”
But she could see the strain in his face. Command in the field was hard enough without knowing your own brother was actively trying to make you fail.
The week passed with no additional supplies. The troops grumbled but remained disciplined. Zhang Mei implemented strict rationing protocols, recycling practice weapons, training medics to use field expedients when standard supplies ran low.
It was manageable. Barely.
Then the second attack came.
Not from Zhao this time. From the Xiongnu.
They hit at midnight—not a full assault, just a probing raid. Two hundred riders, fast and silent, targeting the supply area and horse lines.
It should have been a minor skirmish. The camp was well-defended, sentries alert, response protocols clear.
But the alarm bells didn’t ring.
Zhang Mei woke to screams and the smell of smoke. She was dressed and armed in seconds, her knife in hand, running toward the chaos.
The supply area was burning. Horses scattered in panic. Xiongnu riders whooped and fired arrows into the confusion before vanishing back into the darkness.
The response was disorganized, chaotic. By the time Liang rallied the cavalry for pursuit, the raiders were gone.
The damage assessment came at dawn.
“Twelve soldiers dead,” General Han reported, his voice tight with anger. “Twenty wounded. We lost thirty horses, four supply wagons, and most of our medical stores went up in the fire.”
“The alarm system?” Liang asked.
“Someone cut the bell ropes. All of them. Simultaneously.”
Sabotage. From inside the camp.
Zhang Mei felt ice in her veins. “The sentries who were supposed to be watching the alarm posts?”
“Can’t find two of them. The third is unconscious. Someone hit him from behind.”
“Check their backgrounds,” she said. “Who recruited them? Who vouches for them?”
The investigation took hours but confirmed what she already suspected. All three sentries had been transferred to Liang’s command recently. All three had connections to officials in Crown Prince Zhao’s administration.
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