In General Sanders’s command tent, the atmosphere was charged with tension. A large map spread across the central table, illuminated by several lanterns that cast flickering shadows on the canvas walls. Around that table stood four battlemasters—Xen, Vanster, Gavre, and Chris—alongside Sanders’s aide, Luke, each one wearing an expression of frustration or grim resolve.

For the past hour, they had been locked in a debate about how to deal with the powerful mage defending the city’s walls. General Sanders remained seated at the head of the table, fingers steepled before him, his gaze shifting from one face to another as he listened in silence.

“We’ll gladly spill our blood if that’s what it takes!” Xen roared, slamming a fist onto the table. He was a burly man with a scar tracing his jawline, his voice echoing in the cramped space. “Charge the walls, bring the towers—whatever it takes to overwhelm that mage!”

Vanster, lean and sharp-eyed, replied with an exasperated glare. “You think that mage will just stand there and watch?” he snapped. “That magic will tear our siege towers to pieces before they even reach the walls. You’ll be sending your men to their graves for nothing!”

“I have to agree with Xen,” said Gavre, his voice calmer but still laced with conviction. He stood with arms folded over his chest. “Even if our men die in the process, the mage will have to expend mana to defend the walls. Eventually, his reserves will run out. Better to exhaust him early than let him rain destruction on us indefinitely.”

Chris, a tall man whose armor bore dents and scratches from countless battles, shook his head. “Sacrificing our soldiers just to speed up the siege is madness,” he retorted, tightening his grip on the edge of the table. “We’re not just talking about a few casualties—if that mage is half as strong as the scouts say, he’ll annihilate entire platoons before his power even wanes.”

Vanster gave a bitter laugh. “That’s exactly what I’ve been telling him. But you’d think Xen wants to set records for Frostbane’s highest body count.”

Xen glowered at Vanster. “Watch your tongue. I’d throw myself in front of any spell before letting that mage lay waste to our army. Don’t confuse my willingness to fight with a death wish for my men.”

Gavre cut in, his brow creased in thought. “Look, we all know we can’t ignore that magic forever. If we keep sitting on our hands, we’ll lose momentum. The enemy will have time to reinforce.”

Chris scoffed. “There are better ways than simply marching towers into a barrage of fire, earth light, water—whatever that mage conjures. We have archers, ballistae, war machines of our own.”

“Ballistae will be blown apart,” Xen snapped. “Just like the towers, they’re stationary targets once placed. One direct hit, and it’s over.”

Vanster leaned forward, voice dropping to a hiss. “Then we use infiltration. We could send a covert team Tenthblades trained for stealth straight into the city under cover of night.”

Before Xen could argue, General Sanders finally stirred, raising a hand to silence the group. The battlemasters fell quiet, turning to face their commander. Luke, who had stayed on the periphery taking notes, straightened to attention.

Sanders leaned over the map, tapping a finger against the rough outline of the city walls. “We’ll send for the Glacial Hawkeyes,” he repeated firmly. “Then we’ll draw out that mage with a small assault and have them take him out.”

A startled silence fell across the tent before Xen broke it with a scoff, his arms folding tight across his chest. “General, you must be joking. Everyone knows those men are fairy tales you tell to children, like the Permafrost Templars.”

“I have to agree with him,” Chris chimed in, shaking his head incredulously. “You’re talking about archers who can supposedly hit an apple from eight hundred meters away. It’s an impossible feat.”

Vanster, who’d been standing off to the side, snorted. “I’ve heard even wilder tales—that each Glacial Hawkeye arrow can freeze a man solid if it so much as grazes him. Sounds like a bard’s fancy to me.”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Gavre’s expression reflected a hint of skepticism, though he said nothing at first. Finally, he cleared his throat. “There’s no record of them in any Frostbane log I’ve seen—and that includes the old archives. If they do exist, they’re so secret we might as well be summoning ghosts.”

Sanders let their objections wash over him, the lantern light casting deep shadows across his face. “I’m aware of the rumors and the legends,” he said calmly, resting both hands on the table. “But I’ve also heard enough reliable information from people much higher then me. Their skill with a bow could turn the tide here.”

Xen shook his head again, still unconvinced. “Better to rely on what we know we have, General, rather than chasing specters.”

Sanders looked around the circle of commanders, gaze steady. “I understand your doubts. If no one responds to our summons, we’ll continue with our own plan. But if they do…” He allowed his words to hang in the air for a moment. “…then we just might stand a chance of taking down that mage without sacrificing our men by the hundreds.”

A charged hush settled over the tent. Outside, the wind whistled against the canvas, a reminder of the icy world waiting for them once they stepped back into the night. One by one, the battlemasters exhaled, nodding in silent acceptance—even if their faces showed a lingering trace of skepticism.

“All right,” Vanster said at last, his voice quieter than before. “I guess we’ll see if myth has any place on the battlefield.”

Sanders dipped his head in acknowledgment, turning his attention back to the map. “Then let’s move forward. We’ll prepare for our assault, and at the same time, send a messenger to wherever the Hawkeyes are rumored to dwell. If they answer, we’ll know soon enough.”

The next day, in a moment uncannily similar to the morning before, six men once again gathered in General Sanders’s command tent. A chill wind rattled the canvas walls, as though the weather itself shared in their growing impatience. Despite the bright daylight outside, a tense atmosphere filled the enclosed space, where strategy maps and tactical notes were still pinned across the central table.

Xen was the first to break the uneasy silence. He slammed a fist on the table, causing a few loose papers to jump. “General, we can’t afford to wait any longer!” he declared, his tone both urgent and exasperated.

Chris shot him a sideways glance. “Unfortunately, I’m forced to agree with this blockhead,” he muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. “But we still need a better plan than simply charging headlong into a mage’s line of fire.”

Xen gave a derisive snort. “Then you tell me a better idea. We were never expecting a mage to be here in the first place. Without anti-magic siege towers, we can’t even get close enough to fight him properly on the walls!”

General Sanders, who had been quietly observing the back-and-forth, exhaled and spoke with calm authority. “I’ll go and confront the mage myself.” His words dropped like a stone in a pond, creating ripples of shock through the tent. “I have more than enough power to reach him, and if you all keep the pressure on the walls, I can handle him in single combat.”

Xen frowned, worry creasing his brow. “But General, that’s too risky. We have no solid intel on this mage. For all we know, he could be Tier Three...or even higher.”

Sanders’s gaze hardened. “I’ve fought Tier Three mages before and won.”

Luke, silent until now, finally found his voice. “Yes, General—when you faced them in single combat. But this is a siege, not a duel in an open field. And what if he’s stronger than we think?”

A hush settled around the table. The tension weighed on every man present as they weighed the potential cost in blood.

Sanders broke the silence again, his voice quiet but resolute. “We don’t have a choice, do we? I refuse to let thousands of Frostbane warriors become fodder for a single mage. We are an elite army—we’ll fight like it.” He glanced at each face in turn. “This is my order. I expect all of you to follow it.”

With that final command, the meeting seemed poised to end. The men began gathering their notes, standing to disperse. Suddenly, a soldier swept into the tent, half out of breath and saluting hastily.

“Sorry for the interruption, General, but this letter just arrived—bearing Lord James’s seal.”

Sanders extended a hand. “Hand it here.” Tearing open the wax seal, he scanned the contents. His eyes widened slightly, and he let out a quiet exhale. “We’ve been given permission to implement the plan I proposed yesterday.”

An immediate hush descended, the surprise palpable among the officers. Sanders squared his shoulders, turning his attention to Xen. “Xen, you’ll lead your company as the detachment to lure out the mage. Coordinate the details with your Warwardens and finalize the approach.”

Though still reeling from the sudden shift, Xen nodded. “Understood, General.”

Sanders allowed himself a brief, grim smile. “Everyone else, you know your tasks. Dismissed.”

As they filed out of the tent, a renewed energy seemed to fill the space. Outside, soldiers busied themselves packing gear and tending to weapons, unaware that one letter had just changed the course of their entire siege.