rooster is out strutting?”
The General spoke in a way that made it clear that he didn’t really believe what he had suggested a moment ago. “They have to hold that bridge no matter what happens here. If we break the siege, we’ll be able to march right into Westland.”
“Oh, we’ll break the siege, General,” King Jarrek said, with confidence. He turned to Lord Greenwich. “How many men did you estimate Glendar had left in our city?”
“At best, twenty four hundred, a few hundred more on or around the bridge, maybe.”
“We have as many, if not more, men inside the walls with us!” Marshall Culvert blurted out, his overly optimistic enthusiasm showing again.
His city guard had been routed in the streets. He was as bitter as he was embarrassed by the fact. Those men had not been trained to handle a full scale attack on the city. They were there to protect the people from each other, not from an invading army. That was the job of General Coron’s men, most of whom had been too busy dealing with the myriad problems associated with Summer’s Day to muster a defense. Marshall Culvert didn’t blame the General. His men had put up so little resistance, that they may as well have not been there. They mostly died in vain. He manfully accepted his share of the blame. He took no comfort in the truth, and he lustfully wanted to break the siege. He wanted to take back some of the pride that had been stripped from him.
“I’ve got three hundred men up at High Crossing, maybe a few more.” General Coron offered. “They retreated into the lower Evermore, on the Leif Greyn side when the Westlanders turned north. If we can get word to them, they should be able to at least break through the encampment where the fargin Lion’s men went into the mountains.”
“I can help you there, your majesty.”
Targon, who had been listening intently, finally spoke. His voice was deep, and radiated a sort of confidence that was greatly needed among them.
“Not only with getting orders to those men.” Smoothing his robes, he stood and faced the window, where the other wizard was brooding. “I can help protect them when they sack the encampment, and with the help of my colleague, Keedle, we can communicate, and make sure that the arrival of those men here is timely to your cause.”
“Yes,” the General nodded, and mumbled under his breath as the plan formed in his head. The idea that it was put there by the Witch Queen’s Wizard was lost on him.
The King was about to ask the General to share his thoughts, when Keedle spun and strode towards the table. The look on his face demanded that he be heard next. King Jarrek gave him a nod and steepled his fingers, intent to listen to his trusted old wizard’s words.
“When you send your men storming out the gates, General, I’ll make them appear to be twice as many as they really are.” Keedle’s anger made his word sharp and cold. “If King Jarrek will allow it, I’ll take the outer wall, so I can be over them, and wreak as much havoc as I can manage. I’ll draw the attention to me. With Targon coming with those other men to catch them from behind, and my surprises, we should be able to break the siege, and take our city back with minimal losses. At worst, we could run the cavalry right over that pavilion tent, and crush the young Westland dog in his sleep.”
“Now you’re the one being optimistic,” said General Coron.
Though he would love nothing more than to flatten the cocky young bastard just as Keedle had suggested, the fact remained that they didn’t hold the outer wall anymore. A charge out of the secondary gates would allow the Westland King enough warning to be long gone by the time they got there. He shook his head side to side.
“I have no doubt you’ll be able to do as you say, but we can’t run all of our men out of the secondary gates, Master Keedle. It will take at least half of them to hold the castle, if something should go wrong. Even fifteen hundred wolves would have a hard time taking on all those fargin Westlanders. It’s almost two to one.”
Keedle’s brows narrowed, as he realized the truth of the General’s words. Even with two wizard’s working together, two to one odds would be hard to overcome in open battle.
“We mustn’t forget about Pael,” Targon said in his deep voice. “The Westland wizard is no mere conjurer.”
“I pray I get the chance to face Pael!” Keedle said hotly. “This whole attack stinks of his rotten influence.”
“General,” King Jarrek spoke, then placed his steepled fingers to his chin, and pursed his lips for a moment before continuing. “If it were an even battle, man for man, so to speak, do you think this plan would work?”
The General’s nostrils flared, and his chest swelled proudly.
“Man for man, your Redwolf Army can beat anyone.”
“So, if I allowed you to march out of here into the city with two thousand men, with Keedle’s help, and Targon, and the men from High Crossing to surprise the Westlanders, you think you can come out victorious?”
“I’m sure of it,” The General said flatly.
“Of the thousand men who stay behind, I think four hundred should be left inside the gates,” said King Jarrek. “The rest should be our best archers, and they should take to the secondary wall when you go out, to keep your men from getting trapped between the secondary gate and the outer walls. Once your men are clear, and into the city, they will be shut out, General Coron. As I’m sure you’re aware, this is an all or nothing sort of gambit.”
The General had to fight to suppress the smile. He could never remember loving his King’s boldness more than he did at that moment. Jarrek, he decided, was a warrior through and through.
“I will proudly lead them myself, Your Highness.” He stood, and bowed his head in respect. “I understand the risks fully, and relish the chance to overcome them.”
“I want all of you to think on this plan while we break our fast,” King Jarrek told them. “Keep in mind that we don’t have to do this. We can just sit, and wait for a better opportunity to present itself. If we have to, we can wait out the whole of fall and winter.” He rose from his seat, and ran a hand through his dark hair. “But don’t forget those of our people that Glendar marched south. They might not have the luxuries that we have. We have to get them home.”
After they had eaten, and had time alone to think, the King took a consensus of the men’s thoughts on the matter. All of them agreed. The plan was sound, the situation would probably never be more opportune, and they had to do something about the women and children King Glendar had sent south before they were sold into the Dakaneese slave market, or worse. They were all fairly certain that Westland would soon send in reinforcements. Right now, the odds were surmountable. They might soon become impossible.
King Jarrek privately decided that he would ride out, with his personal guard attachment, through a secret exit way. The expert swords would be needed, and he wanted to get his own steel into the enemy as badly as anybody. He ordered the plan to be executed, and the wheels of the Kingdom of Wildermont’s fate clicked into motion.
Young King Glendar was enjoying the company of the wife and daughter of one Wildermont’s most prestigious merchants. Outside his tent, six of the bloodiest, most ruthless men Glendar could find in his troops after the battle for Castlemont City, stood guard. They weren’t bloody now. Glendar had given them the pick of the armaments and weapons that had been collected from the many smithies and armories around the city. They were now his personal guards. They stood brilliantly in the hot summer sun, in gleaming chain, and plate mail, under a pair of Westland’s biggest banners. The weapons were newly forged and razor sharp. A few were works of art, with extreme value. They were the envy of the Westland troops that remained in Wildermont. Their only duty was to protect their King, and with their very lives if necessary. They had pledged to do so with their own blood.
Inside the tent, Glendar was just finishing up his present business. The shade that the canvas provided did little to cool his sweating body, and the aroma of many couplings hung heavy in the thick air. He had taken, or been offered, in some cases, the virtue of many a Wildermont woman while he waited for Pael to return.
He had done exactly as Pael ordered, and sent the bulk of the women and children south to O’Dakahn. Of course, he had handpicked the ones that he fancied, and imprisoned them at a wealthy nobleman’s mansion near the city’s edge. The Duke, or Lord, or Regent, or whatever title the man held, didn’t mind. His head was drawing crows on a pike in the house’s yard. Tonight, very soon in fact, out of sheer boredom, King Glendar was going to
