Chapter 16

Preparations

"Arethor is smart. He isn't naive enough as to allow us to use him…I knew he'd want something in return." Mirrald said in a hushed voice. The council had commenced a few hours ago, and there was very little to look forward to. It would mostly be a garbled mess of diplomacy and battle plans. Nothing that Mirrald hadn't heard in scattered pieces throughout the last few days. Only now things were starting to come to a head, and plans were being unraveled in full.

"And yet you were the one to suggest he come along." Jymtor, the Mouth, muttered back. The two of them stood beside the king, who at the moment was rambling about the militaristic costs of their upcoming endeavor.

"Because I knew he would agree. And he will undoubtedly succeed." The Eye retorted, looking at him with a flare of frustration.

"Oh, Mirrald. You just understand everyone, all the time, don't you?"

"It's my job to seek understanding. As it turns out, Malar thought I did a pretty good job."

"Didn't quite foresee Greyholde, though, did you?" Jymtor said with a wry smirk. If Mirrald had half the brains he did, he would've struck him dead right where he stood. No one could have foreseen the carnage that unfolded there.

"I can't understand that which I can't see." Mirrald responded cooly. It had been true that no word had come from Greyholde for several months following an eerie message sent directly to Tavernkeep. It had read that the Mayor needed to meet with Malar personally regarding something. It was vague, and most of those in Malar's circle at the time had tried to convince him to ignore the message. But he didn't.

"Perhaps. But do you think Arethor feels the same? Or Heathgrim?" Jymtor pushed. He wanted him to get upset. He wanted him to lash out and get himself dragged out of the palace. Mirrald was not going to give him such satisfaction. He realized his first mistake was even engaging in conversation with him to begin with. Foolish Mirrald. A bitter lesson learned time and time again.

…

Two days passed like the blink of an eye. Men were stationed on the walls in heaping masses, making their presence known to anyone watching from the outside. As half the Oak readied to march through dense forest, the rest were preparing defenses around the city's perimeter. Kojok took great pride in his work, and watched over his men with an approving glare. Finally, an ounce of responsibility. He hadn't ever felt this special when he was a Lion.

"Sickening." Uthir said quietly, stationed at his usual spot above the gates. He had been awfully quiet the last few days, Kojok noted.

"Which part?" The captain scoffed. He observed his men place down the wooden spikes along the walls. He wondered why they didn't always have those there. Sure, they weren't pretty to look at, but that was the point after all. Kojok would rather his city be safe than pretty.

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"The greed." Uthir muttered, even quieter. He couldn't help but feel an ounce of responsibility for what happened the other day. All his men, all firing at once. And not a single arrow met Kimers flesh. Better yet? He'd damn near killed one of his own men, and someone he called a friend.

"Suffice to say they won't be reveling in it anytime soon." Kojok meant it as a word of encouragement, and confidence. But it only seemed to further dampen the Gate Captains mood, who frowned ever so slightly. It was his men, had he not taught them well enough? Who cares if he is made of magic, or whatever it may be. He didn't care if there was no logic in his frustration, he failed. And that's all that anyone will notice.

"She was amazing." Uthir looked at Kojok. Not much else needed to be said. The Captain smiled weakly, and nodded.

…

Heathgrim watched the men begin to march out of the front gates of Tavernkeep. It was bittersweet, as he knew he wasn't the one leading them, and yet it still made him proud. The Oak was a proud bunch all in all, their determination not easily wavered. Certainly not when their home had been violated twice now in the span of a few weeks. The Oak would not return until the blood of the Ruiners stained their swords.

"Don't get too doughy eyed yet." Arethor said as he rode his horse up beside the captain. His longing gaze was one that he recognized. Arethor had noticed Heathgrim always looked at his men as if it was the last time he was going to. A habit that no doubt was unhealthy for his well being.

"So much is still unknown," Heathgrim frowned. Soon the two would need to get ahead of the army, and begin their scouting. They would then take turns going ahead, then falling back to inform the frontlines of what they'd seen. And if they were lucky, what they hadn't. "I feel cold." He added bitterly. Arethor knew he didn't mean it literally, and nodded understandingly.

"Let's warm you up then. Come on." Arethor said, putting Judas into motion. Heathgrim quickly followed behind on his own steed, Kiltith. Jotting alongside the army for a good few moments, they eventually breached into the forest and past the frontlines. It would still be a good few days before they reached the center of the forest. That would be mostly thanks to the density of the foliage, and the often overwhelming landscape. Massive hills and craters littered the Marrow. It was often impossible to not find yourself in or on at least one of them. Every so often though there would be a few miles of flat ground, but the trees and thickets never let up. It's what made Tavernkeep so snuggly tucked away from the rest of Riverden. Luckily, it had been thoroughly mapped by many members of the city, and surrounding villages. Expert cartographers often tried to disway the Oak from traveling through it for any purpose, as it could lead to losing entire battalions of men from just getting lost.

But General Scarv was running a tight ship, and his men knew better than to splinter off from the march. They were also deployed with flares in case there were any mishaps. But with the goal that was set in their minds, the only fires they hoped to set were beneath the Ruiners.

"If that damn rain rolls back in…" Heathgrim started, watching the clouds looming overhead. The Storm Conduits had sworn it wouldn't rain, and drizzle at best. But the clouds felt heavy above them, waiting to downpour at its convenience.

"If it does, it would make our lives a lot easier. Muffle the sound of our arrival. Can't say the same for the whole Oak, though." Arethor said with a shrug. He looked over his shoulder briefly as the army stretched further behind them. At the front lines was General Scarv, who happened to be looking directly at him. What was that vague, nondescript expression? Resentment? Or indifference. Sometimes it looked the same.

"Lets go get Scarv some good news, why don't we?" Heathgrim brushed away the concern, looking at Arethor with a forced smile. Just a few hours ago he had to say goodbye to his wife and child, possibly for the last time. Oh how he hated leaving them behind.

"Always expect bad news, Heathgrim." Arethor said plainly, before picking up his pace through the forest.