"Mm," Oliver said, noting too the river that ran between them and the bottom of the hill. There were all sorts of obstacles they'd have to navigate before they could even begin to attack the enemy.
"Why?" Nila asked, drawing the eye with her sudden question. With Northman, and Blackthorn, there were half a dozen of Northman's Sergeants, and Oliver's Serving Class retainers as well. Despite the presence of all of them, Nila hardly seemed cowed. "I mean – why is he sat in one place here? There's another town over here that he has to defend, and these two villages.
Do they always keep their men in one place ?"
Northman looked at her patiently, and nodded along with her question. He mustn't have known that she was of the peasant class with how politely he treated her. "Well, lady, I think it'll be because of its central position. The Macalister castle is off over this way, but it's right on the edge of their territory, see? The encampment here lets em' deploy an army wherever they need it."
"Why fortify that place so thoroughly, though?" Oliver asked, echoing Nila's early question. To him, it seemed odd as well. "If it's merely a deployment area… Ah. Nevermind."
"What?" Nila said. "You just suddenly went quiet as though you'd figured something out."
"No, I was thinking about it too simply. The lightly defended fort served as a garrison, because they always intended to assist the towns if ever they were under attack. Now, though, they don't care if the towns are attacked. After all, the man leading them isn't a Macalister," Oliver said. "We're forced to attack them head-on, in a place of their choosing."
It was a grim pronouncement, and only made possible because of the state of trust within that tent. Different though the many parties were, they were united in Oliver Patrick's trust of them. They all knew that it was not a Macalister that they faced, but an imposter posing as one.
"The castle, though…" Nila said. "If defending the towns is no longer a problem, why not simply use the castle?"
"Two reasons I can think of, my Lady," Northman said. "One, the man's men likely don't realize that he is not a Macalister. To abandon the towns by abolishing the garrison and moving to the castle, that would invite suspicion. Shoring up the defence of the garrison seems reasonable, though. Also, the castle is not a large stronghold. It's only really built to hold a hundred defending men.
It isn't as defensible as its title of castle makes it seem."
"I see… By the way, you don't need to call me 'my Lady'," Nila said. "I'm not a noblewoman."
The few looks of surprise that were elicited at that comment were poorly concealed. It seemed that most present were operating on the assumption that she was, given her evidently close association with Oliver Patrick.
"I think it's appropriate, regardless, my Lady," Northman said. "The Captain has clearly got a high opinion of you, and you've a force of your own that you're in charge of. To speak to you without a title would make me uncomfortable."
Nila shrugged. "You can do what you like, then, I suppose."
"Back to the matter at hand," Oliver said, acutely aware that night was drawing in. He wanted to start building a bridge to victory before it arrived – that meant paying the encampment a visit, if he at all could. "Their strength is their position and their numbers. Their weakness is the deceit that rules them. The Macalister men don't know that they've been duped.
Perhaps we can take advantage of that."
"It will be difficult," Northman said, begrudgingly. "The Bastard Macalister was rarely seen, until recently. Few know what he's actually like. And it's common – as far as they know – for him to be seen wearing a mask. Apparently, he got hit by the pox rather badly as a kid. It left his face deformed.
Or so their story goes."
"Too convenient…" Oliver said, grinding his teeth. That idea suddenly seemed further out of reach… But it was still a weakness to exploit. "They're not a unity, regardless, even if we can't exploit it directly, there should come a point when the cracks will start to show themselves…"
"Indeed," Northman said, nodding. For now, it had been the two of them leading the discussion, laying out the groundwork between them, as one would expect from the two highest-placed people in camp. But both of them – if not everyone in the room – were starting to ache for something solid to move on. "So, the situation being as dire as it is, do you have any ideas, Captain?"
"I would hear your ideas first, and then the ideas of the others present here, if they have any. I don't need you to rush to conform to my own plans," Oliver said. "Besides, you've been here longer than me, and you've seen the camp yourself. What do you say?"
"I say, I'm frightened," Northman said, smiling as he said it. "Skullic has sent us on some bloody quests before, but this is the first time I'm seeing such a meat grinder. No matter how long I look at the position of the enemy, I can't see any weakness.
I think it's obvious that with our numbers a head-on attack will fail… But, quite frankly, Ser Patrick, I think you might be able to make the difference up."
"How's that?" Oliver asked.
"Well, with the bandits, you were able to break through them virtually by yourself. If you could create an opening, then we'd stand a chance," Northman said.
"I think you overestimate me, and underestimate our foe. Minister Hod assumes this imposter to be sent from the Capital, on royal commission. He expects a General, at least. Assuming he lets me close enough to attempt to break through his line, my momentum wouldn't carry me far. And even if we did manage to put a hole through their line, it wouldn't be our victory.
We still only have a hundred and fifty men – and we'd be running uphill all the way," Oliver said.