As dusk settled over Bastominad, the city’s bustling streets gradually quieted, preparing to embrace the serene atmosphere of the approaching night. Aderon stood upon the balcony, the cool evening breeze tousling his gray-ashened hair as he surveyed the horizon. In the open room behind him, a gathering of minds convened—a council comprising himself, Ravaen, Sevidon, Glaivel, Kaira, and the Trasidian lesser Prince, Yaen Aresa.
As the group delved into discussions concerning the impending siege of Oroz’Kram, his mind wrestled with the challenge of securing surrounding territories to safeguard Bastominad. His gaze lingered on the map spread before them, searching for a solution amidst the tangled web of strategic possibilities.
“My forces currently patrol the south-east quadrant from our camp. Perhaps we could extend our reach into the eastern regions of Termosad, then gradually advance northeast to secure Rondag Pass.” Ravaen proposed, his eyes fixed intently on the map.
He nodded thoughtfully, considering the proposal. “It’s a daring plan,” he acknowledged, “but it would require a significant allocation of resources to maintain control and security of the territory."
Glaivel interjected, his voice laced with caution. “Indeed, the risk of overextension is too great. We must tread carefully."
He turned his attention back to the map, weighing the pros and cons of each potential course of action. As the discussion continued, a sense of urgency permeated the room, each participant acutely aware of the gravity of the decisions that lay ahead.
Ravaen’s arms crossed defiantly as he peered at the map once more, “Isn’t that the point?” he said, his expression a mix of determination and skepticism. “Holding it means they cannot reinforce Oroz’Kram,” he reiterated, his voice firm with conviction.
Glaivel’s rebuttal was swift, his tone tinged with caution. “The problem with that is that they’ll know Oroz’Kram will be attacked if we take it early,” he countered. “If we are to hold the mouth of the pass, we need to ensure we can take Oroz’Kram swiftly. Otherwise, the forces stationed there will be vulnerable. The possibility of being overrun is high,"
Glaivel did have a point. Termosad is a huge territory to start. It is comparable to Huertian at this point, despite the rough terrain, you can consider the territory mainly open, with one exemption, which was the Jagged Pass of Rondag.
He, leaning forward against the table, interjected with a proposal. “Then we should try to close the gap,” he suggested, his voice steady and determined. “Send out a group of tigris units, along with High Eagle and Mystic Falcon units, to capture the positions first. Recent scouting reports confirm a small encampment at the mouth of the pass. If we secure it quickly, we can reinforce it with additional troops later."
“But didn’t you hear what Glaivel just said?” Ravaen cut him off.
Ravaen’s interruption halted Aderon mid-sentence, his brows furrowing in irritation. A flicker of irritation flashed in his eyes. Yet, beneath the surface of his annoyance, there simmered a subtle undercurrent of contempt.
“I wasn’t done,” he stated firmly, his voice betraying a hint of disdain for the interruption. “But if we are going to pursue this strategy, we must act swiftly. We should launch the assault simultaneously with the siege of the citadel, maybe within a two to three day window.”
“That could work,” Sevidon said, his voice barely above a whisper, lost amidst the weighty deliberations.
“What? Speak up,” Glaivel called out, his tone demanding attention.
“I said that could work. But we need to be certain first that the rest of the region is secured. Oroz’Kram is a colossal citadel, so besieging it is no small task,” Sevidon reiterated, his words with a breath of caution.
“We will need more men if that is the case,” he interjected, a note of concern lacing his words. However, he knew all too well the limitations of their current situation. Reinforcements from his northern homeland had only just arrived, and another influx was not forthcoming anytime soon. “We’ll be stretched too thin,” he concluded, his tone heavy with the burden of command.
“You’re right. We need to make do with what we currently have,” Kaira concurred, her pragmatic voice cutting through the tension. “How many troops do we have at our disposal?”
“Based on the current numbers,” Aresa began, his gaze fixed on the current tally sheet before him, “the Empire boasts forty thousand troops, the Sulinhawis ten thousand, the Karinhawis twenty thousand, the Mystic Falcons eighteen thousand, the High Eagles, bolstered by the new reinforcements, thirty-eight thousand, while the tigris number eighteen thousand.” Aresa paused, scanning the room before continuing. “I say we have a decent number of troops. I’m just puzzled how we are still stretched too thin?”
“Termosad is vast. Rotations are essential to maintain troop morale and prevent complacency, especially in enemy territory,” Glaivel remarked, his voice resonating with authority.
“Don’t forget some of them have already been assigned to Everess,” Kaira interjected, a reminder of their current commitments.
Ravaen’s audible groan reverberated through the room, a clear indication of his displeasure.
He already resigned himself to supporting Tamiron’s decision. As the new Grand Commander, it would only be right to support his predecessor’s decision. Understanding that he had granted Everess a significant degree of autonomy for a purpose, even if that purpose remained elusive to him, much to his displeasure.
“Considering that, we must exercise caution in how we allocate our troops,” he added firmly, preempting any potential reaction from Ravaen.
“Wait, where are the Orderians in the tally?” Glaivel clarified.
Prompting Aresa to address the status of the Orderians within the imperial forces. “They are indeed part of the Imperial forces,” he confirmed. “And if memory serves, they constitute the largest contingent, with Magisters boasting nearly eight hundred.”
“We don’t need siege equipment if we have them all in the assault, do we?” Glaivel clarified.
Aresa smiled as he responded, “They are the siege equipment.”
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Glaivel puzzled as he was taken aback.
“The Orderians are versatile fighters, essential for various tasks. We still require them, with at least fifteen allocated to each division dispatched, scaling up based on the mission’s scale.”
His words carried weight, reminding the council of the formidable power wielded by the Orderian Magisters. Memories of Everess’ unbridled might flashed through his mind, reinforcing the importance of their presence in any engagement. A Magister’s power alone should be enough to turn any tide of battle into their favor.
“Okay then, for now let us figure out how we are going to do the troops rotation that way we can make the use of them the most,” he said when a messenger entered the room and handed a scroll to Ravaen, the atmosphere suddenly shifted. Ravaen’s complexion drained of color as he read the message, his expression contorting with a mixture of shock and dismay. His hands trembled as he crumpled the parchment in his fist, a silent testament to the gravity of the news.
Concern etched across his face, he pressed Ravaen for an explanation. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he inquired, his voice laced with urgency.
Without a moment’s hesitation, Ravaen gathered his belongings and addressed the messenger with a sense of urgency. “Send a message. Tell them I’m going back,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. With swift movements, he readied himself to depart, his hand instinctively reaching for his sword.
Unsettled by Ravaen’s abrupt departure, he stood up straight, his gaze darting between his departing colleague and the tense atmosphere lingering in the room. A flicker of impatience danced in his eyes as Ravaen seemed to disregard his presence entirely, intensifying the tension in the air.
Seeking to defuse the escalating situation, he subtly signaled for the guards to intercept Ravaen before he could leave. Yet, Ravaen’s urgency was palpable, his voice slicing through the silence with an undeniable intensity. “Let me through!” he demanded, his urgency resonating through the room like a thunderclap.
“Not until you tell me what’s going on,” he replied, his voice firm yet laced with genuine concern as he surveyed the stunned faces around him.
Ravaen’s words thundered across the room, carrying the weight of unimaginable tragedy. “The Temple! Ahktum Temple was attacked!"
Shock rippled through him, mirrored by the bewildered expressions of those around him. His gaze flickered to Sevidon, whose worry mirrored his own.
“The holiest of grounds in my kingdom... defiled,” Ravaen’s voice cracked with emotion, his eyes burning with righteous fury.
“Ravaen, you need to calm down. Let your council handle it,” Glaivel interjected, attempting to temper the escalating tension.
“The council is powerless in matters concerning Ahktum without the king’s presence. And guess who the king is?” Ravaen’s retort crackled with frustration, his point underscored by the gravity of the situation.
“Nevertheless, your presence here is crucial,” he insisted, his voice steady amidst the turmoil.
This is far more than a mere raid. The thought crossed his mind. He found it odd that there was another attack within their borders.
Ravaen’s face contorted with indignation, his voice booming through the chamber. “This is not a petty raid! The Ahktum Temple isn’t just some ordinary place of worship. It’s the heart of Mt. Mjior, a sacred site unlike any other. No one can defile it without consequence. I refuse to stand idly by, Aderon!”
A hush fell over the room as he made his declaration. Then, unexpectedly, he spoke again. “Very well, I’ll permit your departure,” he conceded, causing murmurs of surprise to ripple through all of them in the room. But there was a condition. “However, before you leave, you must relinquish command of the mystic army."
Ravaen’s eyes narrowed, his anger palpable as he strode forward to confront him, their faces mere inches apart. He could feel the heat radiating from Ravaen’s fiery gaze, the intensity of his fury burning bright.
“What gives you the audacity to demand control of my forces?” Ravaen’s voice dripped with contempt, prompting his guards to tense, readying their weapons. With a gesture, he ordered them to stand down, seeking to defuse the volatile situation.
“I’m not asking you to hand command to me. Choose whomever you deem worthy to lead your aerial forces,” he replied calmly, as he ignored Ravaen altogether and surveyed the map once more.
Ravaen’s incredulous stare lingered, as if grappling with the unexpected turn of events. Finally, he turned to Sevidon, the weight of responsibility settling upon him. “You’re in charge until I return,” he declared with a solemn nod.
With that, the doors swung open, and Ravaen stormed out, his guards trailing in his wake.
Sevidon’s remark cut through the tense atmosphere, drawing his attention away from the map. The weight of his words lingered in the air, stirring a pang of introspection within him.
“Compassion has its place, Sevidon,” he replied, his gaze drifting across the sprawling landscape depicted on the table map. “But in times of crisis, practicality must prevail. Our priority now is resource allocation. With this unexpected obstacle, certain commanders will need to rise to the occasion.”
His eyes shifted to Aresa, considering the suggestion. “Perhaps assigning him additional units would bolster his efforts,” he mused aloud, nodding in agreement.
As Kaira’s voice joined the discussion, he turned his attention to her. “This must be a good time to wait for Graveloth’s response about the Iron Kingdom’s decision,” he conceded, tapping his fingers against his chin in thought. “We can’t afford to delay our actions, especially now. We must press forward with the mop-up of the outlying territories to secure our position before advancing towards Oroz’Kram.”
Kaira nodded in acknowledgment, her agreement mirrored by Sevidon’s silent acquiescence.
“Perhaps, we should ask Tamiron for his opinion?” Glaivel suddenly interjected. He, and the others, looked at him. “What? He is still part of this, right?”
Glaivel’s suggestion prompted a collective pause, his words hanging in the air like a lingering question mark. He considered the idea for a moment, weighing its merits. “Tamiron’s counsel could prove valuable,” he admitted, acknowledging the significance of their former comrade’s insight. “He remains a part of the assault, despite recent events.”
The weight of Glaivel’s words hung heavy in the air, each member of the council silently grappling with the implications of his suggestion. Their exchanged glances spoke volumes, a tacit acknowledgment of the validity of his point.
After a pregnant pause, he found himself nodding in reluctant agreement. The hint of resolve that seeped into his voice was a testament to his acceptance of the necessity of the course of action proposed by Glaivel. “You’re right,” he conceded, his tone tinged with determination. “Tamiron’s perspective may indeed offer a fresh insight into our current situation.”
As he scanned the faces of his companions, a flicker of doubt crept into his mind, like a shadow obscuring the clarity of his thoughts.
Breaking the pause with a question, he inquired, “Have we received any word of Tamiron’s arrival at Melgrace yet?” His words hung in the air, unanswered, the silence reverberating through the chamber.
Returning his gaze to the map, frustration gripped his chest like a vice. The absence of a response only confirmed what he had dreaded: they would have to wait for Tamiron’s arrival before seeking his counsel.
The realization settled over him like a heavy shroud, casting a shadow over their plans. With each passing moment, the urgency of their situation seemed to intensify, the weight of responsibility pressing down upon him like a leaden weight. Yet, despite the uncertainty that lay ahead, he knew they could ill afford to falter now. They would have to bide their time, weathering the storm until Tamiron’s counsel was sought, with the promise of clarity and direction.
All that lingered now in his mind was, did he truly need it?
The weight of their predicament played incessantly on his mind, akin to the relentless gusts of sand and dust that swept across the Huertian plains—imperceptible yet omnipresent.
As the dust trailed the imperial road in the Huertian plains, Tamiron rode alone atop his beast of a steed, Amagar. The days became less gloomy as he journeyed westward towards the imperial capital through the Huertian Principality. In the distance, the city that he once razed slowly came into view, rising from the horizon. Drawing a deep sigh, his gaze lingered on the winding river of Saksoni, a sight to behold like a string of diamond necklace upon the canvas of the savannah. Melgrace stood out, rebuilt and its prestige restored, a crowning jewel of Huertian, carrying with it the lingering memories of destruction he brought to her in the recent past.
End of Chapter XI