Jularra turned and strolled back to the gathered lords. The room settled as the men around the table motioned for refills, exchanging uncomfortable glances while the queen made her way back to the map.
“Let’s come back to Brinnock later,” Jularra said at last. “What can each of us bring to the fight?”
Korden snapped a nod and began rattling off numbers.
“In Burrek, we have four thousand Bedrock infantry, four thousand Bedrock pikemen, one thousand archers, two thousand Spire infantry and two thousand Spire spears. Our latest estimates have approximately two hundred and fifty Ridgerazers.”
Jularra raised her eyebrows at the final number—the estimated count of magic users. “That's good. But it should be higher.”
Jularra looked around to the others before turning back to Korden. “And what about the rest of the counties? Do you have those numbers?”
“I believe so,” he replied. He started picking through his own small stack of parchments, and then looked over the queen’s shoulder to address the table. “Please correct me if any of this information is out of date.”
“Wait,” Barosain interrupted. “Burrek has, what, thirteen thousand personnel on its own? I didn’t realize your numbers were so strong. You could easily challenge Brinnock by yourself.”
Jularra licked her lips. After an uneasy few seconds, she took a deep breath.
“This fight is being waged to secure resources for all of our lands, and all of our people. That was the suggestion yesterday, and the one which I have accepted today. One we all have agreed to.”
Jularra leaned over the table, peering sharply at Barosain.
“Now, we each have different levels of support we can lend militarily. That’s fine. Each county has its own population, trade, and challenges. That isn’t the point. The point is, however, that we need to be united in this endeavor. Totally. I need your commitment and your support. We each need the other’s commitment and support. And to make this a fast and decisive battle, we need to swell our combined forces from a number that we think will bring us victory to a number that will guarantee it. Guarantee it.”
Barosain turned away to ponder on the queen’s comments.
“If there are any objections to that, it needs to be discussed now, before we proceed,” the queen added.
Barosain traded looks with the rest of the table, then turned back to the queen and bowed his head.
Jularra remained focused on him for a moment before straightening back up. She extended her hand to Korden, imploring him to continue.
“Yes, of course. Let’s see. Robain has five hundred heavy horse—”
Jularra broke in again. “No need to break the rest of it out by county. We can confirm those specifics later.”
Korden’s jaw tightened.
“Just give us the totals by unit type.”
Korden offered no acknowledgment and went straight to totaling figures. As Korden began reading off numbers, Jularra totaled them as he went.
“All together, that’s… twenty-seven thousand, three hundred? Almost ten thousand more than Brinnock.”
Jularra tilted her head and rolled the numbers around in her mind while the lords reviewed the parchments, just to be sure.
“Well, we definitely need all the cavalry,” she said to the room. “That’s our smallest contingent.”
She took her next batch of thoughts internally as the nobles hovered over the stack of parchments, picking through them like buzzards on a deer carcass and tossing them aside like spent bones. Jularra strained to not be distracted from her own thoughts by the excuses and posturing taking place at the table.
“I believe these numbers are mostly accurate,” Maccail blustered first. “At least for my forces. But I was fairly sure I had at least another five hundred horse. I’ll have my marshals confirm our numbers to be safe.”
The queen didn’t bother turning to acknowledge him.
“And my numbers seem to be a bit low,” Barosain added with haughty disbelief. “Where did you get this information from?”
Korden stepped up with a hard grin. “Each county provided their own estimates, my lord.”
Barosain’s face wrinkled. “Well, they must be out of date. Like Maccail, I will have my forces confirmed.”
Latham stood up and pushed his chair backwards. He arched his back and stretched as he spoke.
“Other than a few…”
He paused, gently teasing his fellow lords.
“...minor discrepancies, I believe there are no significant errors in these estimates, Your Majesty.”
Jularra turned to the table and took a moment to look each man in the eye.
“Then are we agreed? Are we united?”
A few of the men turned their heads, quickly weighing the disposition of the others, but the answers came quickly. With baritone and bass booms, the room rang with a confident combination of, “Yes!", "Aye!” and, “We are!”
The queen clapped her hands in approval. The lords turned to each other to shake hands and grab shoulders.
Then the volume in the room leveled off. The initial energy from being united in their plan was smothered by the severity of their decision. Smiles crumbled and handshakes fell, and each of the lords shuffled back to their seats and prepared to decide how they would send their people to die.
Six
The second council left Jularra simmering in a lumpy stew of conflicting emotions. On one hand, she was relieved that the council had agreed on such a significant decision. On the other hand, it was a decision to go to war. Where the hope of supplying her people with much-needed food brought her peace, the imminent death of some caused her pain.
But she was done with that for the night. There was nothing left on her agenda, and she would make sure no one tried to put anything else on it. She was on a mission. That mission was drink.
The corridor made her feel better as she stomped along, echoing her burdened footsteps as if reassuring her that she was in the right mindset—a mindset of debauchery. The light from the torches bolstered her excitement to drink as she approached, but the darkness in between each torch tried to make her feel guilty. No. Fuck it, she thought. This day is over.
Jularra approached
