Chapter 43 - scouts and steel
A new energy buzzed through the air after the king's urgent words, cutting through the lingering strain.
Liam leaned forward, abandoning his fork as the spark of an idea pushed past his simmering frustration with Kael. His voice came out rough but firm, breaking the low murmurs around him.
"We're chasing shadows with Maltheris. They've got troops parked everywhere, wearing us down. What if we scout them out, hit those stationed bands hard and fast? Clear them out, and it gives us room to brace for whatever they're really planning." He tapped the table with a knuckle, the wood giving a dull thud. His cloak rustled, still carrying Lorvayne's grit, and his eyes locked on the king with a resolve that drowned out his earlier anger.
The king's gray eyes lit up, and he sat back for a moment, one hand stroking his beard quickly before stopping. A grin spread across his face, rare and genuine, as his deep voice rolled out warm with approval.
"That's a brilliant idea, Hero. Turn their own game against them. Scouts to find the bastards, strikes to gut them quick, and we buy ourselves time to face the real blow." He leaned in again, excitement sparking in his tone, and nodded sharply.
The crown tilted faintly on his head, catching the firelight as he glanced around the table. Generals perked up—scar-cheek flashed a faint grin, burn-neck uncrossed his arms—and the girls watched closely.
Kael's green eyes narrowed, taking it in, while Liam felt his chest loosen just a bit, the king's praise smoothing over his earlier fume.
Liam pressed on, his voice steady now as he fleshed out the thought. "We send small teams, fast riders who can cover ground quick. They find where these raiders are holed up then we hit them before they can move again. No big battles, just clean cuts to keep their scouts blind and their plans tangled." He traced an invisible map with a finger across the table, his eyes flicking to the generals for a moment before settling back on the king.
The fire popped in the hearth, wine gleamed untouched in the cups, and the room waited as his idea took shape—rough around the edges but solid at its core, aimed straight at Maltheris' feint.
Scar-cheek spoke up before Liam could go further, his gravelly voice cutting through as he rubbed his scarred cheek—gray hair glinting in the glow. "I've noticed something from their attacks—Graveth, Slymere, even Lorvayne. They always come from the northwest, same angle every time. Suggests they're all in one place—big camp up there—and they fan out when it's time to hit us." His eyes narrowed, a faint grin tugging his lips—years of battle sharpening his observation—and the room shifted, heads turning his way.
The king's grin faded into a thoughtful frown, and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice came slower, piecing it together.
"Northwest, you say. If they're all in one camp, that makes it easier to eradicate the threat—find that nest and burn it out. We send scouts that way first, strike the heart, and scatter whatever's left."
He paused, his eyes narrowing as he tapped the table again—wood echoing softly—then added, "But we plan for it being wrong too. If they're spread out instead, we have to hit them all at once." His gray beard shifted as he nodded to himself, excitement tempered with caution—the plan taking root.
Liam picked it up, his voice steady as he fleshed out his thought. "Small teams then—spies and fast riders to scout northwest first, pin that camp if it's there."
The king leaned forward, his gray eyes sharp as he swept the dining hall table—firelight flickering on his crown. "We'll send spies northwest at dawn—light riders with keen eyes—to confirm Scar's hunch about their camp," he said, his deep voice firm and decisive. "Troops station at the border towns—Graveth, Slymere, Lorvayne—ready to move. If that camp's there, every blade marches northwest to burn it to ash. If it's not, those troops scout out and destroy whatever bases they've got lurking in their zones—river forks, hills, coast trails—all of it." He tapped the table once, wood thudding—gray beard shifting—plan set with no room for doubt.
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Kael leaned forward, armor creaking faintly, green eyes steady and voice calm but pointed. "Set a bait near Lorvayne too—fake a supply run to draw them out—and flank them when they bite. Cuts their numbers either way." His green gaze flicked to Liam, then the king—no smirk, just steel—tightening the plan.
Lysandra's silver voice cut in, cool and precise—her hair catching the glow. "Scouts need signals—smoke or flags—to call strikes quick if spotted," she said—silver eyes steady—efficiency sharpening it. Selene grinned, leaning forward—crimson eyes glinting. "Let me lead a flank," she said—tail flicking—chaos her gift. Erynn spoke softly, green eyes bright—golden curls framing her. "Small heal teams near each strike—keeps our riders up," she said—staff tapping faint—care weaving in.
The king slapped the table, wood jumping as a short laugh escaped. "Teams ride at dawn—spies and scouts hit northwest first—if camp's there, we burn it—if not, the troops stationed in the other regions will begin their roles—Lorvayne bait after." He stopped, hands on hips—gray eyes blazing—Maltheris' feint cracking.
Burn-neck shifted in his seat, his bald head catching the firelight as he rubbed his scarred neck—voice gruff with a flicker of doubt. "How do we keep all this quiet? Spies, scouts, troops moving—Maltheris catches a whiff, and they'll bolt or hit us first." He leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the king—knuckles cracking softly.
The king grinned faintly, gray beard twitching as he sat back—voice steady and low. "We move soft—spies ride as traders, troops shift like routine patrols, small batches. Night marches where we can. They won't see us 'til we're on 'em." He tapped the table—wood thudding—confidence firm—plan cloaked.
Liam nodded slowly, voice low with grudging respect. "It works"he said, his eyes on the king and then turning to Kael.
Kael's green eyes met his—steady—then flicked away—adding quiet, "Spotters catch runners—buys us weeks." Red hair dimmed—collaboration stuck.
The king sat, chair creaking—voice firm. "Master plan, scouts ride at light, Maltheris won't see it," he said, his gray eyes sweeping the firelight as it danced, his resolve hard—Eryndor moved—team forged—plan set.
