Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1000(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 667(@300wpm)
But if I had let him leave, he and his entire army would be heading to certain death and Bellcross would still be lost. He and I both know it.
“I do not pretend to have all the answers, and I fear there are no good ones for this. If anyone has a suggestion, now is the time to speak up.”
There is a painfully long pause.
Oh, how I wish Atticus were here now. He never hesitates to offer an opinion when battle is involved.
“We could take our stance on the other side of the rift. Take down the bridge if needed,” Kienen calls out from the corner, silent until now.
“And abandon all of Islor? Cut ourselves off from ever returning?” I say.
“While cutting off this army from expanding beyond this border,” he counters. “Alive in Ybaris seems better than dead in Islor.” He adds, “In my humble opinion, Your Highness.”
Which is how all of Islor’s citizens will be left if we desert them. “That sounds like a worst-case scenario option, but I will keep that in mind.”
He dips his head. “We may find ourselves there soon enough.”
“How do we hold the rift?” Gaellar asks. “If we remain in our current position, with a battle coming from both sides, we are doomed.”
“I know. That is why we can no longer hold the rift. Not actively, anyway.”
“You are suggesting we let the beasts crawl out, unchallenged?” Radomir’s brow furrows.
“When you see firsthand what is coming, you will understand. We need all the blades we can get. And Gaellar is right. An enemy force of that size will drive us right into the rift.”
“What about bringing Ybaris’s soldiers and casters into Islor?” Romeria studies Kienen and Solange to gauge their reaction.
Solange frowns. “And where would we make our stand?” Something tells me the Shadow would rather remain on the other side of the rift, and I can’t blame her.
“Lyndel.” Jarek steps forward, studying the map of Islor. “They obviously took it as a battle advantage. We’ve reclaimed it from them. Now we use it to our advantage. Refortify it with the help of Mordain.”
“Lord Telor, your thoughts?” I ask.
“Lyndel is not built to hold an army that size.” Though he’s not arguing with this idea.
“That is why we split our army and hide the rest in here.” Jarek taps Eldred Wood on the map. “Come up from behind and fight them on two fronts, with casters on both sides. Force them to spread out.”
I bite my lip as I consider this plan. The very northwest tip of the woods is a few hours’ ride from Lyndel. With an army that size moving in, the battle may reach such a distance. “That could work. Elisaf? Thoughts?”
My ardent friend shakes his head. “We need more blades.”
“I know where we can get them.” Romeria gives me a knowing look.
I sigh. Twenty thousand, if my brother’s word is to be trusted. “I suppose it is time we repay the east a visit.”
53
Atticus
Cook fires glow on the plateau ahead, giving away the Kierish and eastern forces in the growing dusk. “I have had my men set camp there many times, when we were here at harvest, fending off your raiders.” Though I never traveled with this many. “It is a good choice.” There is a deep bowl surrounding the area. Few forces would stand a chance against the one who holds the higher ground.
“I am so glad you approve.” King Cheral smirks. “I suppose we Kiers know something of strategy too.”
Baymeadow’s bell toll in the distance announces the evening hour. Lights mark the wooden wall that surrounds the village. Most who live there are farmers. Normally, they would be asleep by now, so they could begin an early day of tending to the fields. I doubt they rest well lately, though, with an enemy army stationed within an hour’s ride.
More than anything, I would like to stroll through those streets like I have done many a time. Maybe if I’m on my best behavior, the king will let me venture in tomorrow.
A shout sounds in the Kierish tongue, and a scout steps out from behind a boulder, an arrow notched in his bow. I assume, a demand that we announce ourselves or die. By my count, a dozen soldiers hide strategically up the hill, ready to fire with the order. All Kiers. I do not know what they put in their water—besides the poison that wreaks havoc on their crops—but their soldiers are all substantial brutes.
King Cheral unfastens his cloak to reveal his finery without a word.
The scout’s eyes widen. He drops to his knee, uttering apologies, I presume.
“All right, usurper king. Let us see how your people receive you.”
“Your land is beautiful,” Satoria muses, sidled beside me as we wait for King Cheral to return from receiving his general’s brief. “I can see why you would want to lead the army that protects its borders.”