The Old City

0.75: Exposed

The battle played out exactly as Seneca had expected. The Magnarians had collapsed their right flank—at precisely the time he'd wanted them to do so. With their cavalry plunging in, completely lost in their raging, they hadn't seen that their lone escape path was being cut off.

The Soranians surrounded them immediately, and the skirmish was won with even less bloodshed than Timoleon had anticipated. This might finally earn the man a medal.

Seneca had long since given up on earning one himself—he was too low in the army—but he would help his general achieve that dream if he could. They'd been deployed to this front for three months now and had fended off wave after wave of Magnarian scum with an inferior force, both in size and in training. If such accomplishments didn't earn medals and titles and commendations, then what would?

He found Timoleon musing over a sprawling series of maps. Gods, the man loved his maps. They lay about the table in chaotic fashion, huge reams of paper unfurled in piles. Dozens were buried beneath the one he was focused on now, but you could be sure that if it was necessary, Timoleon could pull the exact map out of the pile to answer your question.

"The battle is won," Seneca said.

"And the glory is yours, my boy. I should have liked to take credit, but everyone knows you adjusted the plan at the last moment with that beautiful feint. I might have seen that if I weren't so damned distracted."

"What are you focused on?" Seneca stepped to Timoleon's side and peered at the map in question. To his surprise, it was of their home: the First Ring of Soran. "Why are you lookin' at this?"

"It feels as though I've forgotten something. Something so very important, but I can't for the life of me figure out what."

"A vulnerability? Is the city in danger?"

"Perhaps, though not necessarily now. I thought of it as I was reviewin' the catacombs. They're similar to our Underground, even the fact that nobody knows who built them."

"If the threat is not around the corner, then we should focus on the war at hand."

"Quite so. The next battlefield is the Golyan Plateau. We must begin preparations immediately. It will be the hardest campaign of the war."

Seneca swallowed heavily. He'd thought this feeling of dread would abate as he gained experience, but it never really went away. The Golyan Plateau was one of the most well-defended outposts on the Continent, and they hadn't even been sure they would be the battalion to take it. Now that the opportunity was before him, he found himself terrified. What if his plans failed? What if his men couldn't execute? What if their intel was wrong?

He pushed all of that to the side then clenched and unclenched his fist. He would find the way through.

Another Rooftop along the Path

This couldn't be goin' much better, Timoleon thought. The soldiers were still marching to the north, straight toward the Black Phoenix stronghold where the Enforcers had failed a few days earlier. This time, there would be no failure. This time, he'd finally be rid of the nuisance that was Marek.

***

This will be slaughter, Marcus concluded. There was no other word for it. The street said that Black Phoenix had lost a dozen grunts in the last brawl, and several of their officers were too injured to fight.