Elyon re-sheathed the Windblade, and walked over to the command table, putting this talk of the gruloks to one side. Sir Karter was still setting everything back in its proper place. He seemed extremely fastidious in that regard. Elyon saw the usual laid out across the large pine-wood table; maps, diagrams, battle plans, other information that would help them defeat Vargo Ven and his army.

“You’ve done as I asked,” the prince noted.

“We’ve had plenty of time,” Rammas returned, in his typically blunt way. “You’ve been gone longer than we expected. Thought you were going to come right back.”

“I’ve been busy, my lord.” Elyon pulled up a sheet detailing the enemy’s strength of arms. He ran his eyes down the list of units; swordsmen, spearmen, axmen, archers, mounted units, dragonknights, paladin knights, Sunriders and Starriders, dragons. Against each unit was an estimate of numbers, given in a range. “How accurate are these numbers?” he asked.

“Hard to say,” said Rikkard. “There is only so much we can do with scouting reports. But we expect the different units to be within those ranges.”

The ranges were often quite broad, Elyon saw. At the bottom of the sheet, a high and low end estimate of Ven’s total forces had been listed. “It says here Ven commands up to a hundred and fifty thousand men.” Elyon looked up. “How can that be? He had that number at the Bane, and we’ve killed tens of thousands since then.” Forty thousand at the Bane, he thought. And how many more since? “These numbers can’t be right.”

“They’re not right or wrong,” Rikkard said. “They’re estimates. It’s clear enough that Ven has been reinforced across the Bloodmarshes. That’s the benefit of controlling Death’s Passage…it allows him to rearm and resupply at his need.”

Elyon understood all that. “Then he’s left a garrison at Dragon’s Bane as well? To protect the way.”

“Our latest reports suggest so.”

“How many?”

“Ten, fifteen thousand. Again, that is only an estimate. Some other castles are also under his control. Fort Bleakmire, Castle Crag.”

Rammas’s eyes darkened at the latter. It was his own seat, taken and destroyed. He had left his uncle there in command, along with others who were dear to him. All dead now, like as not. None of that had softened Lord Rammas’s mood, which seemed as foul as Elyon had ever seen it, and that was saying something.

“So in sum Ven might have…how many? Two hundred thousand? Spread across the Marshlands?”

“It’s possible, yes.”

“I wasn’t aware he was occupying castles.” So far as Elyon knew, Vargo Ven had simply been destroying them, burning them out, and leaving them to rot.

“Some,” Rikkard said. “Only those of strategic importance.”

Elyon thought some more. “What about cutting off his supply lines? Starving him out. Would that be possible?”

Rikkard didn’t seem to think so, nor anyone else, by those shakes of the head. “We’d have to win back the Bane to cut him off, and he’s closer. If we try to march upon the fortress, he’ll get there before us. Or else he’ll intercept us and engage.”

“Good,” Rammas said to that, making a fist. “We’re on rations here and the food’s not going to last forever. We destroy Ven’s host, and his supplies will be ours. Food, fodder, all of it. We should march out and meet him while we’ve still got the strength to fight.”

That won some murmuring from the others. The threat of famine was likely to become a major issue soon, here and elsewhere across the north, and gaining access to Ven’s supplies would be a major boon. That’s if he doesn’t simply burn them, Elyon thought. He would not put it past the dragonlord to order all wagons and supply tents put to the torch should he think the battle lost.

Elyon looked back down at the battle plans laid out before him. There were several maps, each showing the position of Ven’s forces and warcamp with different paths of assault. One was extremely direct, no doubt Rammas’s preferred strategy. Another was more elaborate and detailed, with well-thought-out battle formations and lines of attack. That would be the combined work of Rikkard and Killian, with input from Marian no doubt. Elyon had been gone for several days - busy days, in which he had found himself drawn to other matters - but it was clear by these plans that Vargo Ven had not yet made a move to retreat back to the Bane, as Rammas had feared.

He read down the list of units once more. “It says there are two Moonriders in the host.” That alone gave credence to the belief that Ven had been reinforced. There had been no Moonriders at the Battle of the Bane, after all. “Who are they? Do we know?”

“Timor Ballantris of Lumara, and Risho Ranaartan of Aramatia,” said Lady Marian. “They are two of the four known remaining Moonriders in the empire. If there are more, we are not aware of them.”

It sounded piteously few. “Are there more moonbears on the mountain?”

“Most likely. As with the dragons, not all wish to be bonded. But their numbers have always been fewer.”

And greatly so, Elyon thought. Unless there were hundreds of moonbears stalking about the heights, the dragons had them severely unnumbered. “And who leads the empire’s forces here? Is Sunlord Avam still alive?”

“We believe so,” said Rikkard. “There are no reports of his death, at least, and we know he survived the Bane.”

“Is there any way of getting a message to him?” Elyon asked. “Without Vargo Ven knowing.”

That raised a few eyebrows. “Why would you want to do that?” Rammas asked. “You’re not thinking of parleying, are you?”

That was exactly what Elyon Daecar was thinking. “The Agarathi may never agree to a ceasefire, but the men of the empire might. They are not in thrall to Eldur, as the dragonfolk are. There must be thousands of them, tens of thousands, who do not believe in this cause.”

“The same could be said of any army,” Rammas said to that. “Most men are mustered against their will. They want to stay and tend their farms and families, but a spear is shoved in their fist and they’re pushed on down the road to war. This is no different. And you’d be barking up the wrong tree with Avam. He’s a Patriot of Lumara. There’d be no getting through to him.”

Elyon nodded, taking the point. He had met Avar Avam during the parley before the Battle of the Bane, and had heard the hate in his voice. That one will never submit to a northerner. “Another commander, then?” he offered. “Who is next in line after Avam?”

“Moonrider Ballantris, we think,” said Rikkard. “Sunlord Avam is Piseki, and of a Solasi line, but Ballantris is Lumosi, born of Lumara, a moonlord in his own right, and has no affiliations with the Patriots.” He looked over at Lady Marian, who seemed the authority on this subject.

“Timor Ballantris is one of Empress Valura’s most loyal subjects,” she informed him. “He is, moreover, the most fearsome warrior in all of the empire, and the greatest active Moonrider. It may be that when he arrived, he took command of the empire’s forces, in place of Sunlord Avam. If you want to seek a conference, he would be the man to speak to.”

Rammas was shaking his head, not liking where this conversation was going. “Forget all that. We have our battle plans, and Ven’s out there waiting for us. What else is there to talk about? Let’s just march out there and meet him.”

And give Agarath the All-Father the show he craves, Elyon thought. “My father believes we should wait.”

“What? Why?” blustered Rammas.

“Because rushing into action needlessly is not wise, my lord. Our urgency to act was based on the fear that Vargo Ven would leave. He hasn’t, and likely won’t. In time he may even grow frustrated and assault us here, which would give us the advantage. And these numbers…”

“Forget the numbers,” said Rammas. “We have two men for every three or four of his. Those are good odd for us.”

“And dragons?” Elyon looked down at the sheet once more. “There is no number written here.”

“There can be no number with dragons,” Rikkard said. “If there was a battle in King’s Point, right now, would you consider yourself a part of it?”

Elyon frowned a moment, before puzzling out his meaning. “Any dragon within a hundred leagues could join the fight,” he said, nodding. “I appreciate that, Uncle. But you don’t even have an estimate.”

“We were waiting for you for that. An aerial scout will go a long way to confirming these numbers.”

That was fair. Elyon had told Lady Marian he would perform a scout of his own, and he would. “I’ll see it done,” he said. “Though not now. The skies are too overcast for me to get a good enough view, and it would serve to wait for clearer weather.”

“That could take days,” Rammas said. “What are we to do in the meantime?”

“Train, strategise, prepare.”

“But not act.” The red was rising up Rammas’s thick neck, veins pulsing. “The time is now, my prince. If we do not act, the dragon could return, and we will have lost our chance.”

“That is one of my father’s fears, Lord Rammas,” Elyon said. “There is a concern that the Dread will bear down upon us when we expose ourselves beyond these walls. We have spoken of the risk of being attacked by dragons on the march. An acceptable risk, perhaps. But not if that dragon is the Dread. Here at least we have the protection of the towers and battlements and ballistas. But out there, no. He would obliterate the entire army.”

“Or he may not. I thought you were going to fly across the sea and check.”

“I did,” Elyon said.