Touch Of Fate
/ Touch of Fate 191 Dangerous Ideas
That wasn't even including the losses they'd suffered from the redirected meteorite, which had struck to the northeast of camp, obliterating a large section of their supply train which hadn't arrived yet. The death toll was estimated in the hundreds, but the more pressing concern was the loss of rations and material. While they could still continue the siege, there was new time constraint to be concerned with now.
He glanced over at Jiri, who was sitting nearby, also looking utterly spent. "How is Nurenal?"
"Recovering. It's been a long time since he's had to throw around that kind of mana that quickly. That Dragonknight wasn't pulling any punches. I don't think I need to tell you, but that spell he used is troubling." She replied with a sigh.
Even without the sheer devastation such a spell could do, that the young mage had access to rare of magic of that kind was a cause for concern in and of itself. He knuckled his forehead for a second, before asking. "So, what do you think?"
She took a deep breath. "Honestly…..I think we're going to lose, as things are now. Our spies indicate that the city has been able to raise close to thirty thousand fighters, mainly composed of a mix of city guards, students, mercenaries, and conscripts. Thanks to the University, they should be well supplied with skilled martial artists and mages, as well as talented administrators and logisticians. With Alexander Portrarian in command, it will be difficult to seize the city by normal means."
"Even though we outnumber them nearly two to one, those defenses will make it tough." He murmured while staring at the tall and impenetrable edifice. Now that the enemy was aware of Nurenal's spatial abilities, he supposed it would be far more challenging to send an infiltration force over.
"There are a few solutions we could try, but I will need time to plan and implement those contingencies, especially now that we are aware of the Dragonknight's status as a high Tier 3 mage." She frowned as her mind rapidly simulated dozens of scenarios for seizing the city, but she kept coming to the same conclusion. There simply wasn't enough information to formulate a clear plan of action.
[What I wouldn't give to have a better idea of what he was capable of.]
According to their sources in the city, the individual claiming to be Erasmus the Dragonknight, was most likely a student at Almirn University, by the name of Michael Rasmussen. While there was no clear evidence linking the two, the actions of the Almiran government clearly suggested the connection. Mike, as he was frequently called, seemed to be a talented and capable student with a very limited background as an adventurer. Beyond that, he was basically a blank slate, almost as if he'd simply appeared recently.
That he was also sponsored by Count Graveston of Almir would normally imply that he was some kind of agent or ally of the Serpent. However, everything Jiri new of the legendary leader's methods made it hard to believe he would place such an obvious piece on the board in preparation for their invasion. The Dragonknight was far too flashy and ineffective to be the count's servant. As hard as it was to believe, she was starting to suspect that the dangerous man was actually some kind of distraction from the true threat. Although she had no idea what that might be.
It was also still slightly possible that he did indeed represent the Dragonknights as a whole, and if that was the case, this war was as good as lost. However, she was inclined to think that Erasmus was operating independently for some reason that was, as of yet, unclear.
"There are a few solutions to our situation that we might be able to pursue, but I would like more information about the supposed Dragonknight before we make any big moves. Without knowing the full extent of what he is capable of, I can't plan a successful method of capturing the city." She said, after a lengthy internal debate.
The Marshal nodded, "There isn't much more we can do in a clandestine manner, but perhaps we can provoke him into taking serious action. It might also give us a chance to take him down…" He trailed off, lost in thought. It could work, but there was a great deal of risk involved. Not the least of which was the danger of investing too many resources in overcoming a single enemy. They still had that thing the Duke had brought, but Kiertesan hoped that there was never cause to use it.
Jiri grimaced at a sudden thought. "I think our best bet might be to go straight to the source, so to speak."
The old man cocked an eyebrow at her, "Oh?"
"Well…according to the reports, this Michael Rasmussen has close companions. With the right preparation, and Nurenal's assistance, we could bring one of them in for…questioning. It could also serve to antagonize the man into taking action." She suggested in a quiet voice.
"Hrm…" Kiertesan grumbled, the idea was a bit distasteful, but if they needed the information...
"Get with Nurenal and Barns, see what you can come up with. I'll make my decision once you have a concrete plan."
Jiri stood, and saluted, before walking off to start the process. Knowing her, she would pull an all-nighter, but come morning, there will be an airtight operation ready for his approval. All it would take was a simple yes, to set things in motion.
If she said it was a necessary move, he believed her. The woman had never once failed him.
[Yet, why do I feel like this is a mistake?]
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Morris sighed with relief as the column finally came to a halt. They had been pushing hard all day, and he was frankly exhausted and saddle-sore. He pitied the infantry, who had to rely on their feet to bring them this far. He didn't miss that part of his time in the perpetually poor Order of the Wheel.
While his aides began setting up camp, Morris dropped from the saddle, wanting to confer with his father now that they had reached a familiar landmark. They were following the road that ran along the northern edge of Wyrmrest Lake, and had finally reached the small fishing village of Jathton. This meant that they were roughly one quarter of the way around the lake. Despite the hurried pace, it was still going to be a long trip to the capital.
Looking back at the long columns of the coalition army, that were still in the process of breaking down into a formalized encampment, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride. This force was something which hadn't been seen in centuries, an alliance of three races marching to defeat a common enemy. Being a part of this was like witnessing history in the making.
It didn't take long for him to track down the new headquarters, since his father's subordinates had somehow managed to put together the command tent in the time it took him to walk over. With a nod to the guard at the entrance, he stepped inside.
Count Graveston was reading a ragged strip of paper in the light of a simple candle. While his features held the usual level of dispassionate unconcern, Morris thought he saw the faintest hint of anger. Without glancing up, his father addressed him, "Ah, right on time. We have preparations to make."
The count, having finished reading the contents of the scroll, held the document to the candle's flame until it had burned to ash. Turning, he walked over to a table dominated by an unrolled map, and pointed at an insignificant speck along the northern shore of Wyrmrest Lake. "I'm leaving you in command of the majority of our forces. I want you to continue to follow this road until here." He indicated a crossroads that would lead them southwest to the capital. "Set up camp, and await further instruction."
Morris blinked, slightly overwhelmed. "Wait, what are you talking about? What about the capital? Aren't we marching to its relief?"
"Things have changed." Was all his father said, while gathering a few items and leaving the tent.
Morris followed him in a growing rage. "And what will you be doing?"
"I will be taking most the Graveston house troops and a few of the knightly orders, and pursuing another objective. At the moment, you do not need to know the details. Follow your instructions, and the city will be saved, that I can assure you of." The count replied coldly without bothering to turn around.
"That's all well and good, but the only reason this army formed in the first place, was because it had the Serpent of Almir at its head. What's going to keep it from disintegrating once you're gone?"
Despite its relatively unified appearance, the coalition force was actually fragmented and disorganized, especially when it came to the Almiran fighting forces. Knightly orders, religious organizations, militia groups, and dozens of minor nobles were supplying the majority of the human troops. Normally, these competing factions and personalities would have been at each other's throats, but the authority of Almir's most accomplished general made them fall in line. Without that unifying influence…
The count stopped, and fixed Morris with a cold glare. "You will figure it out. If you don't, the country is doomed."
With that, he started moving once more. This time he wasn't followed.
Morris sat down heavily on a low stone wall that some farmer had likely thrown up decades ago. He knew his father was likely pursuing the best course of action in the given circumstances, but it was infuriating that the count still felt him unworthy of knowing any aspect of the plan. That he was to simply do as he was told.
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With a sigh, he let go of his anger, at least for now. He'd long ago learned that nothing his father did was without purpose, so even provoking him must be part of some twisted plan. Anyway, he had a much more pressing matter to concern himself with.
Could he really manage what his father asked of him?
It wasn't that long ago that he was a lowly lieutenant in the Order of the Wheel, barely responsible for a handful of soldiers. To be put in charge of an army of nearly a hundred thousand, even for a brief period of time, was…terrifying.
In the throes of his existential crisis, he failed to notice the sunset, as the fiery light painted the lake in resplendent hues. He also didn't notice the sleek shapes that interrupted the scenery.
A fleet of ships was pulling into the meager harbor provided by the fishing village. Morris would quickly recognize them as warships of Theldon design, once he started paying attention. It was hard to tell from this distance, but they bore the trademark dragon-headed prow of the Barren Isle. Already, some of the smaller vessels were approaching the docks, in preparation for picking up their passengers.
Chapter end
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