Re: Meanwhile...
Prince Saban, ruler of the Principality of Grand Treal, was not in a good mood. He demonstrated this by slamming his fist into the table for the third time. Garyn, Captain of the Princes Guard, had been counting.
"Blast them! How is this possible?!" Prince Saban growled. His other hand, the one that had not been slammed into the table top, crumpled up another report from his scouts and he turned his scowl to the map that was laid out on the table in front of Garyn and him. "Have you seen these troop numbers, Garyn?!"
Garyn gave a sober nod. "I have, my Prince. They have not been disguising their movements. They want us to see their strength of numbers. Our walls cannot hold them off if they attacked."
"How could they have gathered so many? No army of that size has come into the Marches in ages. No army of that size has been gathered since...I can't remember anytime outside of tales told by Bards." The Prince glared down at the map. "We can't hold them off. There're too many. Our walls will only be a minor hindrance to them. Have you heard of this man that leads them? What was his name? Ymar?"
Garyn nodded gravely. "I have. I wish it were anyone else but him, if the stories are true. He's razed towns and cities in the name of Nymuriel. He means to do the same to us, to Grand Treal. Your Guardsmen stand ready to defend the city, my Prince. We will not let him harm a single..."
A violent sweep of his hand knocked a goblet off of the table, spilling the contents over the floor. "Damn them! They back me into a corner and give me the illusion of choice, but there is nothing I can do."
"My lord. You don't mean to..." Garyn started to say.
"I have no choice. It goes against everything that I believe in but if we refuse, that blasted army will turn Grand Treal into nothing more than a memory." The Prince growled. He threw up his hands in frustration and turned to walk a few paces away from the table. "Maybe if we had time to gather up the armies of the neighbouring...but there isn't time. If I dispatch riders tonight, it'll still take several days to gather up the armies. And Stormhold is in the midst of the power struggle. If the Duke sends his army to our aid, he leaves himself vulnerable to the Barons. This can be no coincidence. Someone has worked to weaken our alliance."
Garyn glanced down at the map on the table, a troubled look on his face. He was prepared to defend his city, even die for it if necessary but as valiant as his Guardsmen were, there were not enough of them to adequately defend the city. "If we pull back from the outer walls, concentrate our defense around the keep." he started to say, grasping at whatever glimmer of hope that he could, but he knew the effort would be futile in the end.
The Prince stood straight, staring up at a banner that bore the symbol of his house. "For Grand Treal to survive, I must give those priests of Nymuriel what they want. I have no choice but to give them your former companions, Garyn." the Prince spoke with a grim finality. The decision made him feel sick and he slumped wearily into a chair. He had been trying to find some way out, but there was none. Everywhere he looked he could see the plot against them.
"I believed them, you know." Prince Saban continued. "At dinner tonight. The way that they spoke, I could feel the weight of their purpose. I dared to hope that they might be able to end this Nymuriel nonsense. In my heart, I wish that I could help them but not when it will cost the lives of thousands. Those damnable priests have backed me into a corner that I can only escape from by betraying those under my roof. Lose my honour or lose my people. I have no choice."
The Prince sat in silence for a long moment, his chin resting on a fist and he stared at the table and the Captain of his Guard.
"I have no choice. But you Garyn. You can act where I cannot." he said slowly. Prince Saban rose up from his chair, his eyes locked onto Garyn. "It just might work. Gather a handful of your most trusted men-at-arms. Here is what you will do..."