The Old City

0.48: Bait

"We have waited long enough," spat Arkades, who was continuing to sharpen his blade though it had been razor-fine an hour ago. He was on edge – they all were. They had been cooped up in this barn for eight days, and Arkades's sentiment was echoed by many in their squad. They trusted Seneca's judgment, it was hard to wait when there were Magnarians to kill just meters away.

"I say when we move," Seneca replied. "We have not waited this long to move at the wrong moment."

"You still haven't said when the right moment is! If they amass any more men, we won't be able to take them. When will be the right time?"

Seneca poked his head through the door to look at the southern ridge and projected his senses over it. A weary camp of Magnarians had settled at the bottom of this ravine some days ago and were gathering in greater numbers to launch an attack. They would have to overtake this elevated region if they had any hope of maintaining a longer offensive this deep in Soranian territory. If they made it to this point, the bastards would have free reign of the Golyan Plateau and access to the Baymont. This was as far as they could be allowed to march without truly endangering the city; it was the last place Soran would have a geographical advantage before they were back at their own doorstep.

"A little while longer," Seneca promised. "The moment is not ripe. They have marched for days to reach this point and more come in every day. We must wait until they have greater numbers, until more of them are gathered in this one place, before we strike."

"And what if we can't overtake such a force?"

"We shall not lose, my friend." Timoleon's voice echoed through the barn. Having taken a blade to his ribcage, he needed to rest but with anxiety rising, his calming leadership was needed more. "You and I have never known good odds. By the gods, even this time we live in is ripe with misfortune. Our fathers did not know war, and with any luck our sons shall not know it either. What lies beneath that cliff is an enemy four times our number, yes...but we have known worse odds our whole lives and overcome. You would not stand here were you not resilient in the face of poor odds.

"Seneca and I have led you to great victories over stronger and larger opponents. Do not lose faith in us now. He does not know when the time to strike is because we must wait for the rain to pass. My weather man says two more days, but it could be four or even more. When it does, we shall burn them out. We shall sear away the very memory of their encampment."

Arkades looked from Timoleon to Seneca with a surprised look. "This was your plan?"

Seneca nodded. "You must seize every advantage you can muster, especially when the odds are bad. We have the high ground, and they are trapped within a thicket. Over the next two days, our scouts must identify their Water mages and mark them for early deaths, lest they counter our flames. In the panic, they won't know what to do and they will try in vain to escape, but we shall plant explosives in layered perimeters around their camp so that none shall leave. I need three volunteers to sneak in during that chaos and grab as many of their documents as you can. Anything that seems important needs to be saved, so we can track other regiments."

This was far from the 'noble' battles they had fought in the past. It was more akin to hunting unwitting prey, and they knew it. There was little honor in fighting this way, but as Seneca relayed his strategy, his men grew in confidence. They remembered why they supported Seneca – for whatever he lacked in honor, he refused to lose in battle. With every word, they realized he had ensured victory while minimizing their own losses.

"Three or four days," Arkades agreed, speaking for the men with one voice. "For your strategy, we can wait that long."

The Blackalley, two hours later