fight their own brothers and cousins. We will treat them accordingly.”
He released the mercenary captain, who exhaled and rubbed his shoulder. The mage had more power in his hands than mere wizardry.
“As has been said, Mabel rebels with astounding regularity,” said the king softly. “Yet it has always returned to the shelter of the Purple Dragon’s wings. One thing the long history of this land has taught my family is that creating grudges only perpetuates our difficulties.”
He met the eyes of the mercenary captain and added, “Let me remind everyone present that this attack is no excuse for pillaging and looting. No one is to set any fires except by order. If the person fleeing from your sword is a civilian, he is a target you will not strike at, molest, or maim ‘accidentally.’ I’ll consider that clearly understood by all of you, see that your men also clearly understand the punishment they’ll face if they forget such things.”
One of the militia leaders piped up. “Can’t we convince just one of these loyal Arabellans to open the gates for us?”
The king shook his head. “They are cowed by Gondegal’s swords and his popularity. Once battle is joined and we rout a few of his stalwart swords, the populace will rise on our side, but for the moment, all of them are lying low. The folk here are fickle, but dependably so.”
One of the wizards asked, “What about the noble houses? Have they thrown in with Gondegal?”
Bhereu spoke up in reply. “A few of the minor houses have, the Immerdusks and Indesms being the most prominent. The Marliirs, the largest Arabellan house, have remained loyal. Most who bear that proud name are under house arrest now, keeping a few of Gondegal’s troops busy guarding prisoners rather than manning the walls.”
“Most of what we know about what’s going inside has come from the Marliirs,” added Thomdor. “Magical reconnaissance has been largely ineffective.”
“On that note,” said the king, “this is the battle plan for the morrow.”
Vangerdahast nodded and waved his hands. A series of purplish blocks appeared on the table, outside the walls of the model city. As the wizard spoke, the blocks moved toward the walls.
“The militia will form on the left flank and mount a feint attack on the High Horn Gate and northwest wall, while the mercenaries will make a sally against the South Gate, more to draw fire and force a committal of defenders than to earnestly take the gate. The bulk of the army, on the right flank, will move along the long southern wall. The intent is to make Gondegal’s forces think the bulk of our army is moving to the East Gate, to attack there. In fact, the forces under the duke will move farthest east, the forces under the king will stand to the center, and the forces commanded by the baron will assemble at the western end of the front.”
Small blocks detached the from the larger ones and swept around the city to east and west. “Light cavalry will break off at this point and cut off both east and west gates, to provide an impediment should Gondegal’s forces choose to bolt. They will include a few war wizards. Our main body of forces will hold the majority of our mages, the baron, the duke, and His Majesty.”
A series of small flashes appeared along the southern wall, in front of the largest block. “The war wizards will bring down the wail in this area with lightning bolts and instruments of blasting. There is a potential for severe damage in the buildings immediately north of the wall, so while the first wave secures the area, the forces who are to penetrate the city must get past any ruin and move swiftly. Later we can examine the fallen buildings for survivors.”
“Goodbye, Wink and Kiss,” muttered Thomdor, thinking of his favorite tavern, located on the far side of the wall that was to be breached.
“With the walls blown,” the wizard continued, “the main force will split up. Thomdor’s men will take the South Gate and let the mercenaries in, together, they are to cleanse the breached area of hostile troops and hold it-in particular, holding any relatively unblocked streets and emptying the buildings along those streets, in case a route of retreat is needed. Bhereu’s forces will enter the city and move to the East Gate, to take it-but even more importantly, to contain any enemy troops mustered there. The king will lead the main body across the city, to the Citadel of Mabel, to surround it and to try to force its gates. If we surprise them and move swiftly enough, it is likely we’ll snare most of Gondegal’s army in the city proper, before they can regroup at the Citadel.”
“And if they do manage to gather at the Citadel?” asked the mercenary captain.
“Gondegal can hold out in Mabel indefinitely,” said the king. “But unless he has substantially more food, plans, and men than we think he does, he cannot hold the Citadel for long if we hold the city around it. The signals you already know, pass on the orders to your subordinates and let all see to their weapons and prayers. We’ll march before the sun crests the horizon and launch the attack at dawn.”
A messenger in bright mail arrived to say the allied Sembian troops had arrived and were already complaining about their accommodations. The king smiled thinly and declared the meeting at an end. Chairs scraped and men rose, talk rising in the usual babble, the Purple Dragon pointed at his two cousins and at the wizard. They remained as the others went out.
“A solid plan,” said the king.
“Working with your suggestions,” the wizard said, “mated to the thinking written down in the court war files. There are table-sized piles of plans for attacking Mabel. Even during years of peace, it was a common practice for military scholars to attack a model Mabel with tin knights and dice.”
Azoun glanced at the city model, then folded his hands before him and steepled his fingers. “The question is,” he said slowly, “what happens afterward?”
“General amnesty,” Thomdor replied.
“We get Gondegal and his chief subordinates and hang them for their crimes, then use the treasure he’s looted for reparations,” added Bhereu.
“Troops will remain in Arabel, ostensibly to repair the wall,” said Vangerdahast, “but should remain thereafter in any case. Mabel is a frontier outpost. It should have sufficient protection.”
“Agreed,” said the king. “Cousin Thomdor, you will head up the Purple Dragon forces based here afterward, much as Bhereu controls the High Horn forces.” Both cousins nodded.
“What of the nobles?” asked the wizard.
“What of them?” asked the king.
“The talk in the court lays the weakness in Arabel at the collective feet of the Marliirs,” said the Royal Magician.
“All we know of Gondegal’s preparations has come from the Marliirs,” Thomdor said with a frown. “Old Jolithan Marliir risked a pair of daughters as messengers.”
“The Marliirs are not to blame,” said Azoun. “If anything, our own complacency brought us to this pass, wherein a charismatic impostor king can raise an army in a fortnight and seize a city in a season.”
“True, but you know court politics,” Vangerdahast replied. “Bleth, in particular, has reminded me of his contribution to this venture and of his great interest in seeing the Marliirs fail and a ‘true’ Cormyrean family have their seat in the city. Lord Bleth wants it badly.”
“Lord Bleth will have to he disappointed, then,” said the king. “My cousins are right. It would be unfair to punish the Marliirs after they risked so much for us. Besides, if I install a Bleth or anyone else who still thinks ‘true Cormyreans’ means born and raised in Suzail, I’ll have another revolution on my hands before the decade is out. Anything else?”
There was nothing else, and the king retired to his personal tent while the two cousins peered at every detail of the white stone model, pointing and plotting. Vangerdahast left them to it and wandered to the southern edge of the camp, away from the city.
Here the posted guards were widely spaced and the shadows between the fires deeper and larger. Night held sway, however many swords were gathered under it. He waited, counting the stars in the southern sky.
After about ten minutes, a voice hissed from the darkness. “Black sword.”
“Meets green shield,” the wizard replied.
“To make red war,” the darkness responded and broke away from the shadows to stand before the wizard. One of Vangerdahast’s spies. Let the royal cousins depend on nobles for information. Any wizard worth his cantrips had his own methods and his own servants.
The spy was a young woman in dark cape and leathers. Nothing gleamed upon her save an oversized golden ring on one hand. Her dagger sheaths, one on each hip, were wrapped in dark leather. Her face was soft and cherubic. “My lord wizard,” she said, “I bear news.”
