have possibly summoned him in
order to help supplement their knowledge regarding the terrifying creatures?
Was this banter about a battle long since over merely a tool the knight-marshal
intended to use in order to gauge Marik’s understanding of warfare, and thus
see how reliable any information the mercenary presented might be?
If so, then Marik needed to put forth a good showing.
It would help later when he tried to make them understand how truly horrendous
the monsters were. He bent his full concentration on the miniature figurines.
“The reds and blues must be preparing to fight each
other after all. I thought they were banding together against Basill’s
greens. If the south wasn’t united against Basill yet though, then perhaps
not.”
“Argus Yylan was embroiled in his generations-long
dispute with the Reeocks at the time.”
Marik nodded, this time in thought. “With the tree
clusters scattered around the valley, the greens might still be out of sight of
the other two,” he muttered, brooding over what he saw. The presence of the
knight-marshal faded from his awareness. “But they couldn’t stay hidden for
long…no commander worth his bread would fail to put out scouts to watch for
enemy flankers moving in.
“Of course, the reds and blues seem to have started
fighting already. If they knew the composition of the enemies well enough in
advance beforehand, then once they located all the elements, the scouts
wouldn’t range too far afield. It might be possible for a third party to sneak
a force in closer once they were occupied with each other…”
The knight-marshal said nothing. He watched Marik
move around the table, peering at the various pieces. For all that he intruded
on Marik’s shifting awareness, he might have been a granite statue.
Marik tapped the side wall of the diorama with his
fingers, seeing the situation for what it was thanks to the minute information
the old veteran had graced him with. “That must be it. These two…old enemies
for generations. They were meeting to fight each other, not the Galemarans.
Basill must have been moving south to bring the war against the Tristans.
But…”
His head swiveled between the green forces and the
others. “He didn’t have many men with him. The first Arm, Faustus, he was a
clever one. Maybe they came on the fight by accident…or maybe not. If they
knew one of the Tristans they meant to subdue was about to go through a battle,
then maybe they inched closer to the fight, meaning let them weaken each other,
then take out both of them. That’s still very risky, though…”
He straightened from a leaning crouch, fingering his
chin. In a louder, stronger tone, he stated. “That’s what I would do. I
would hold my forces back, getting as close as I dared. I would try to
position my men in the best place to make a hard strike when I thought the
situation best suited my purposes. When one side had been reduced to a
fluttering rag, then I would hit hard and fast, attacking whichever was the
stronger first. After I wiped out their main strength, I would be able focus
my men on stomping out the largest pockets of resistance on down.”
“A wise strategy, if your goal were to utterly
eradicate your foe,” the knight-marshal stated, jolting Marik from his
musings. “But such was not Basill Cerella’s goal, was it?”
Marik felt a flush crawl over his face at the rebuke
buried in that steely voice. He maintained his view despite it. “Not to kill
everyone, no sir. But he faced a massive enemy in the Tristan warlords. He
needed to whittle their strength, perhaps to wipe out the first few southern
strongholds in order to make them see he meant business.”
A shrug met this, as if the response to the
challenging question were unimportant. The knight-marshal’s eyes returned to
the display. His lack of words prompted Marik to continue, hoping he were not
shoving his feet
order to help supplement their knowledge regarding the terrifying creatures?
Was this banter about a battle long since over merely a tool the knight-marshal
intended to use in order to gauge Marik’s understanding of warfare, and thus
see how reliable any information the mercenary presented might be?
If so, then Marik needed to put forth a good showing.
It would help later when he tried to make them understand how truly horrendous
the monsters were. He bent his full concentration on the miniature figurines.
“The reds and blues must be preparing to fight each
other after all. I thought they were banding together against Basill’s
greens. If the south wasn’t united against Basill yet though, then perhaps
not.”
“Argus Yylan was embroiled in his generations-long
dispute with the Reeocks at the time.”
Marik nodded, this time in thought. “With the tree
clusters scattered around the valley, the greens might still be out of sight of
the other two,” he muttered, brooding over what he saw. The presence of the
knight-marshal faded from his awareness. “But they couldn’t stay hidden for
long…no commander worth his bread would fail to put out scouts to watch for
enemy flankers moving in.
“Of course, the reds and blues seem to have started
fighting already. If they knew the composition of the enemies well enough in
advance beforehand, then once they located all the elements, the scouts
wouldn’t range too far afield. It might be possible for a third party to sneak
a force in closer once they were occupied with each other…”
The knight-marshal said nothing. He watched Marik
move around the table, peering at the various pieces. For all that he intruded
on Marik’s shifting awareness, he might have been a granite statue.
Marik tapped the side wall of the diorama with his
fingers, seeing the situation for what it was thanks to the minute information
the old veteran had graced him with. “That must be it. These two…old enemies
for generations. They were meeting to fight each other, not the Galemarans.
Basill must have been moving south to bring the war against the Tristans.
But…”
His head swiveled between the green forces and the
others. “He didn’t have many men with him. The first Arm, Faustus, he was a
clever one. Maybe they came on the fight by accident…or maybe not. If they
knew one of the Tristans they meant to subdue was about to go through a battle,
then maybe they inched closer to the fight, meaning let them weaken each other,
then take out both of them. That’s still very risky, though…”
He straightened from a leaning crouch, fingering his
chin. In a louder, stronger tone, he stated. “That’s what I would do. I
would hold my forces back, getting as close as I dared. I would try to
position my men in the best place to make a hard strike when I thought the
situation best suited my purposes. When one side had been reduced to a
fluttering rag, then I would hit hard and fast, attacking whichever was the
stronger first. After I wiped out their main strength, I would be able focus
my men on stomping out the largest pockets of resistance on down.”
“A wise strategy, if your goal were to utterly
eradicate your foe,” the knight-marshal stated, jolting Marik from his
musings. “But such was not Basill Cerella’s goal, was it?”
Marik felt a flush crawl over his face at the rebuke
buried in that steely voice. He maintained his view despite it. “Not to kill
everyone, no sir. But he faced a massive enemy in the Tristan warlords. He
needed to whittle their strength, perhaps to wipe out the first few southern
strongholds in order to make them see he meant business.”
A shrug met this, as if the response to the
challenging question were unimportant. The knight-marshal’s eyes returned to
the display. His lack of words prompted Marik to continue, hoping he were not
shoving his feet
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