The River's Blade

The cavalry saddle sat in the corner gathering dust. Afternoon light caught the worn leather through the window. Lirien stared at it from her bed like it was mocking her.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd mounted a horse. Three months? Four? Her lungs wouldn't let her stand without gripping something for balance.

The empire's sails had appeared on the horizon that morning. White and crisp. Inevitable.

She'd sent messengers to the cavalry barracks. They'd sent back silence. Everyone knew the truth now—the general who won three mounted charges couldn't ride anymore.

Footsteps outside her door. Quick. Light.

The door opened before she could call out.

A woman slipped inside with a smuggler's economy of movement. Young, maybe twenty. Calloused hands that knew rope and river water.

"You're the criminal they warned me about." Lirien's voice came out rougher than she intended. Her lungs burned with each word.

"And you're the general too sick to mount a horse." The woman balanced on the balls of her feet, ready to bolt. "We're both useless by their measure."

The audacity of it stole Lirien's breath. She reached for her sword hilt before remembering she'd left it across the room. Her hand found only bedsheet.

The woman pulled a rolled parchment from her coat. Spread it across Lirien's bedside table between medicine bottles. The map was hand-drawn, detailed in a way no military academy chart ever managed.

"I'm Kael Riversong." She traced a line on the map with her finger. "Your cavalry can't fight on water, General."

"I'm aware." Lirien gripped the chair arms to sit upright. Her hands trembled with the effort.

"But the river can fight for you."

Kael's finger moved across the parchment, following invisible paths. The Saraighat Narrows compressed to barely a kilometer wide. Hidden channels marked in careful detail.

"These currents'll drag warships sideways." Kael glanced up, checking if Lirien followed. "Big ships can't maneuver quick enough. They'll collide with each other trying to avoid what they can't see."

"And how would you know imperial fleet tactics?" Lirien kept her voice flat. Professional.

"I don't." Kael's finger kept tracing. "But I know what the river does to anything too heavy to respect it. Fisher boats—small ones—can dance through blind spots your academy never taught."

The word "academy" carried the slightest edge. Bitter experience wrapped in casual observation.

Lirien studied the map. The narrows formed a natural bottleneck. Any naval commander would see the trap of compressed space. But the current markers Kael had drawn—those weren't in any textbook.

"You're asking me to trust smuggler knowledge over military doctrine."

"I'm askin' you to trust that water don't care about doctrine." Kael straightened, balancing weight like standing on a moving deck. "I watched my father drown in an imperial pursuit three years back. He tried to run their course instead of using what he knew."

Something in the way Kael said it—not pleading, just stating fact—made Lirien's resistance crack.

She traced the current markers with her own finger. Her mind saw formations, cavalry charges translated to boat movements. Flanking maneuvers that used geography instead of speed.

"You're proposing revolution." Her finger stopped at the narrowest point. "Not just tactics. Complete abandonment of traditional naval formation."

"I'm proposin' we fight with what we got instead of dyin' with what we lost."

The cavalry saddle caught more afternoon light. Dust motes danced in the beam.

Lirien's breath came shallow and labored. Each inhalation a reminder of what her body couldn't do anymore. But her strategic mind—that still worked. Still saw patterns and possibility.

"Show me." She gripped the chair arms harder. Her knuckles went white. "Every current. Every blind spot. Everything your father taught you before he drowned."

Kael's shoulders dropped half an inch. Relief she tried to hide behind river folk pragmatism.

"Gonna need more than one afternoon, General."

"Then we'd better start now." Lirien shifted in the bed, pulling herself more upright despite her lungs protesting. "The empire's not waiting for me to accept my uselessness."

Kael pulled the chair closer. Sat. Her fingers returned to the map, this time moving with purpose rather than persuasion.

"First thing you need to understand—currents got three layers. Surface flow, mid-depth cross-current, and bottom drag. Imperial pilots only see the first."

Lirien leaned forward. Her empty cavalry days giving way to something she'd never imagined commanding.

Hope tasted like river water and desperation.