“Let it be known to all present, this has been one of our greatest failures,” said Elion in the main hall, now filled with high-ranking Wardens, generals, and every adult member of Blood Denegis.
They had all gathered there earlier, as an hour had passed since the two people from Tarn Village arrived, and they had to get ready to devise a plan.
“It was our mistake,” Elion began, as he looked over the room, “to pull back the Wardens from the Golden Forest because every report told us the same lie. That the Iron Line is coming from the opposite side, without being able to infiltrate our domain with a smaller group.”
“My Lord, any intel on how large this second group is?” asked one of the Wardens.
“None at all. All we know is that there are many. As for what ‘many’ means in this situation, I’m not too keen on finding out. For there is no time, and I would rather attack with all the men I can muster and overwhelm the enemy than look down upon them and send my army to certain death.”
“I agree with you on this, Father,” spoke Valar, who also received nods from the people in the room.
“But My Lord, how are you so sure the army that attacked Tarn Village is the Iron Line and not a different army?” asked the same Warden.
“They wear the same masks, my Good Sirs, iron helms that swallow their faces whole. No mouth to speak, no nose to breathe, only two black slits where the eyes should be. Just enough to see. Nothing more. That’s what gave them the name of Iron Line. So, either they are part of the same army, or a fake one, made to make us believe they are the same. In any case, our path is clear. They have to be defeated.”
With the silent nods of agreement passing through the room, Elion paced slowly, then faced them once more.
“They struck Tarn Village beneath the cover of night, slipping through a forest left unwatched. Perhaps they’ll try the same again. Or perhaps they’ll wait. Long enough to plan, long enough to strike harder. But it won’t matter.”
He looked across the gathered faces. “Because we are ready. We are already rallied.” Nᴇw novel chapters are publɪshed on novel(ꜰ)ire.net
His voice dropped to a murmur. “Now tell me, how do we repay such kindness?”
Blanc watched in silence as he sat near a wall of the hall, lost in his father’s speech and thought.
His father’s question hung in the air, drawing a heavy silence over everyone in the room, as their minds began thinking of an answer to his difficult question.
“Dear,” whispered Celine, who stood next to him, holding his hand, “what do you think?”
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“Me?” Blanc said, surprised. He played with her fingers, silent for a moment. “I think any plan we make now might not hold later.”
“Why do you say that?” she asked, watching him closely.
Blanc took a while once more before replying, “The issue I have is the unknown number of soldiers. ‘Many’ can mean a hundred in the eyes of a commoner, but so does a million. Either way, I’m sure they did not use even half of their forces to take Tarn Village. So, whatever number we all think of, it might be safe to double it, just in case.”
“Fair,” Celine nodded after thinking, “And do you have any plans?”
“None worth mentioning. You?” Blanc asked.
“I haven’t been taught as much about strategy as I hoped I would by now, but I can fight in whatever plan is decided,” she smiled.
“Do you plan on fighting?” he asked, shocked at hearing her words.
“If that handsome head of yours thinks I will be watching on the sidelines while you fight, you are gravely mistaken,” she replied, serious.
Blanc watched her for a while before nodding in agreement, “As long as you are careful and don’t do anything dumb to risk your life, fine.”
“I don’t plan on dying. I love life,” she smiled at him.
And with a kiss on her forehead, they once more focused on the meeting that was still ongoing.
“Father,” spoke Valar first, breaking the silence, “If I may.”
“Go ahead, Valar,” nodded Elion.
“I fear that a direct march to intercept the enemy is the only worthwhile way of defeating the enemy. Four more villages neighbor the Golden Forest; we cannot allow these warmongers to burn them all to the ground.” Valar explained.
Elion stood silent at his son’s idea, as he kept pacing.
“While Lord Valar’s idea makes sense,” interjected an older man, older than Elion even, one of the most elite commanders the Wardens had, “I would suggest fortifying Duldera and the Mansion as much as we can and let them come to us. A defensive battle might give us more advantages if their number is greater than ours.”
Elion nodded once, slowly.
"Both plans have merit," Elion said, his tone heavy with thought. "But each holds flaws."
He looked to Valar and the others backing the first idea. "A direct march would leave Duldera in the hands of a hundred men. The city may be a fortress, but stone walls mean nothing without swords to defend them."
Then his gaze shifted. "And Ibes, your genius is undeniable. Your plan would be sound, if not for the fact that millions of enemy troops are expected at our gates within days. A drawn-out defense may bleed them, yes. But it could stretch for weeks if we are lucky. We cannot afford to hold on one front while leaving our rear exposed."
He paused, then concluded, voice resolute, "No. We must strike hard, and we must strike fast. End this before our allies arrive, so we can open the road for them and turn all our strength toward the true enemy. If we allow ourselves to be surrounded, we’re finished."
Elion’s explanation made too much sense for all present to contest it. His military genius has been proven time and time again in the past.
So not one of them dared to speak again without a better plan ready on their tongue.
Minutes passed, as whispers were exchanged between people, trying to figure out how to proceed, until the eyes of one person went wide as he was deep in thought.
A risky plan that he shared with his fiancée. With just a nod and a smile from her, he found the courage he needed to speak up.
“If I may, Father,” said Blanc, facing all who were present.