“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.