The two lords lapsed into momentary silence. "I would choose to make our stand here," Pip Berlid declared with sudden conviction. "It's like a maiden's first blood—an inevitable circumstance that brooks no evasion. However," he paused, drawing a measured breath, "if we permit the Godmans to penetrate as far as Phyal before mounting our resistance, we effectively transform both the capital and its surrounding settlements into battlegrounds. We need not elaborate on the civilian casualties that would follow beneath the Godman war machine. I've witnessed their handiwork in Crivi, and I'll not stand idle while they repeat such atrocities on Cynthian soil."

  "It appears that spirits truly possess the mystical power to alter a man's convictions," Ricard Pafaheim observed with a wry smile, pouring modest measures for them both. "Our stand must be made at Wafflo, Pip, with every soul we can bring to bear. If Wafflo is lost, then Pafaheim becomes our last bastion. And should the worst befall us there, should the very gates of this city be sundered, then we bleed them in every street, every alley, until not a single Pafaheim sword arm can be raised in defiance."

  "Agreed."

  "To execute such a strategy effectively, we must transform our defensive posture into offensive advantage." The Duke of Pafaheim scratched absently at the graying eyebrow above his left eye. "My tactical approach is thus: When the Godmans launch their initial probing assault, we shall conserve our field forces, relying primarily upon wall-mounted catapults and archer contingents to repel them. Absent supporting artillery, they will inevitably withdraw."

  "Unless they advance their siege engines alongside their assault force," Grand Pip nudged his vessel forward meaningfully. "You comprehend my concern."

  "I understand your implication full well. Yet, to my eye, those Godman trebuchets are wheeled merely for the ease of battlefield deployment, not for being galloped into position behind a cavalry charge at twenty leagues the hour."

  "I cannot assert this with absolute certainty," Grand Pip conceded slowly. "But I fervently hope your assessment proves accurate."

  "Even should their siege engines advance with their main force, countermeasures remain available to us. The wall-mounted catapults possess superior range—in this aspect, at least, we maintain tactical advantage."

  "Our own advantage is not so clear-cut, Ricard. The Wall of Cynthia stands a full three hundred and twenty feet tall. From that dizzying height, one must first discern the lay of the Godman host below, and then attempt to pick out their siege engines from amongst the throng. It is like searching for a single white pebble on a vast, grey shore."

  Ricard adjusted his posture thoughtfully. "I cannot dispute your observation. When hurling projectiles from such heights, precision targeting becomes largely theoretical. Whether our stones find their mark depends entirely upon Goria's divine disposition."

  "I shall offer fervent prayers for her benevolence today. Let us proceed with our analysis. Should the Godmans survive our artillery barrage and arrow volleys, what subsequent actions do you propose?"

  "Our response then must be fluid, dictated by the ebb and flow of the battle. If the Godmans cross the no-man's-land and their rear shows thin or no fresh legions arriving, we continue to harry them with arrow-fire from the ramparts, then commit the men stationed in the Wafflo sector to meet their charge. If, however, strong reserves are seen to be moving up in their wake, then I too shall send forth riders from Pafaheim to stiffen Wafflo's spine -- horsemen, mainly."

  "Why cavalry specifically? Our mounted strength is limited."

  "I anticipate the Godman offensive will similarly emphasize cavalry operations. Combat in the rural environs surrounding Wafflo demands mobility above all else. More critically, mounted troops offer minimal tactical advantage within Pafaheim's confined urban environment."

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Grand Pip immediately grasped the underlying implication. "You're already formulating contingencies for defeat, Ricard."

  "Are we not both men who plan for winter even in the height of summer, Pip? And was it not you who first painted the grimmest picture?" the Duke of Pafaheim countered, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

  "Having initiated this path of speculation, we might as well continue its course." Grand Pip matched his companion's expression. "Suppose they receive reinforcements, overwhelm our position at Wafflo, and advance to our very walls. Would you continue deploying forces beyond the gates?"

  "Absolutely not." His response brooked no equivocation.

  "Even should the Southerners position themselves within arm's length of our gates?"

  "It is precisely because the gates would lie within their immediate grasp that I would ensure they remain sealed." Ricard's features hardened, though Grand Pip discerned profound anguish beneath his resolute exterior. "I shall dispatch every available reinforcement to support Wafflo's defense, but should the Godmans approach too near the city proper, I will order the gates barred regardless of the hellscape that might unfold beyond. Wafflo's defensive perimeter lies scarcely six miles from our gates—I cannot risk the Godmans glimpsing open portals. Such a gamble exceeds acceptable parameters for any commander."

  "…Agreed," the Earl of Berlid cut in, his voice gruff before Ricard could say more. "But to those fighting tooth and nail beyond those barred gates, it will taste like the bitterest betrayal."

  "Every soldier comprehends the inherent risks. I shall offer them the opportunity to choose their path, to decide with full volition. Only when no volunteers present themselves will I resort to direct orders."

  "...Let us hope circumstances never deteriorate to such extremes."

  "Indeed." Ricard Pafaheim traced his palm from chin to throat, feeling the coarse texture of his salt-and-pepper beard. "Who among us would desire such an outcome?"

  "...And should fortune abandon us entirely, and the gates fall despite our efforts..."

  "Then we shall mobilize every available combatant, engage those Godman elements that have penetrated Pafaheim's perimeter, and attempt to reseal the breach. Should these efforts prove insufficient, we will exact maximum casualties while contesting every inch of the city. I am confident Sir Loyes has formulated his own contingency plans for such an eventuality. We have provided our counsel and fulfilled our obligations; the ultimate strategic determination rests with him. At this critical juncture, we cannot afford further strategic disputes or command restructuring—such actions would only further undermine morale. However, one principle remains incontrovertible—"

  "We cannot rely upon reinforcements."

  "We cannot rely upon reinforcements."

  "Compose yourself, Pip." The Duke continued, "Circumstances may prove less dire than we anticipate. The Godmans might never penetrate even to Wafflo's defensive lines. All possibilities remain open—we must orient ourselves toward favorable outcomes while maintaining contingency preparations."

  "Have you considered..." Grand Pip's expression suddenly became inscrutable. "The possibility that the Godmans might employ... arcane methods during their assault?"

  Ricard sat bolt upright as if an unseen hand had jabbed him in the spine, his own hands coming to rest, fingers steepled, upon the scarred tabletop. "What prompts this particular speculation?"

  "During the Battle of Crabberg, reports indicate that Godma deployed magical capabilities."

  "You speak of that… that bolt from the heavens that sheared the great tower of Sylvwood Hall in twain?"

  "That represents merely one instance. I've heard accounts describing walls of ice, pillars of flame, tempestuous winds—phenomena that defy conventional explanation."

  "I possess neither expertise in such matters nor capacity to predict Godma's intentions regarding their deployment," the Duke of Pafaheim admitted candidly. "They might choose to replicate their supernatural successes from the Crivi campaign, or conversely, they might hesitate, recalling the chaotic consequences magic precipitated there. The operational principles governing such forces remain fundamentally opaque to most."

  "The sorceresses understand them," Grand Pip asserted. "Individuals like our court mage, Lady Monica Dunston. And consider the sorceress covens that accompany the Godman military apparatus—the lightning at Crabberg originated from their rituals. I fear that should the Godmans encounter significant resistance, they might direct these arcane energies against Cynthia's gates. Consider: if lightning can shear a tower in half, a marginally more powerful manifestation could potentially breach even the formidable Gate of Cynthia."