The Old City

0.79: Lost

The Golyan Plateau. Five years ago.

As the shadows grew dim, Seneca reached for a third candlestick. He rubbed his eyes, then struck his flint.

A new light. Another map. They were all starting to blend together.

They couldn't stay here on the Golyan Plateau. Winter was setting in. They had too many mouths to feed, and more were coming. Command had told them not to retreat, not to allow even one inch of this gained territory to be retaken. But there were not enough supplies to last.

Somehow, Seneca had to figure out a way down the other side.

Or rather, up it. There were many plateaus here, each more perilous than the last. The nearest one, probably uninhabited, stood another two thousand feet above them now.

He reached for his mug and tried to drink, but realized it was empty. They'd run out of tea too.

"When was the last time you slept?"

Timoleon stood just outside the doorway, leaning against its frame, wearing the same torn coat he'd stolen from a dead farmer a few days earlier. He looked tired.

"I don't remember. Probably nodded off earlier today at some point."

"I can have you reprimanded for that if you like. A formal citation."

"Your choice, sir. It's either the occasional nap or we stay up here until the thaw in five months."

"Still haven't figured that out, son?"

"It's not so easy to get thirty men up a mountain when they're already half-starved."

"Unfortunately, I left all the easy problems back at base camp. The hard ones, I've asked everyone else to figure out. It's up to you and me to solve the impossible ones."

"That's pretty depressing, sir."

"Welcome to leadership. What's the problem you're workin' on right now?"

Seneca searched his maps and pushed one toward Timoleon. "We have too many people and not enough rations to make it up or back down the mountain."

"We have found wares in the crypt. Enough for all of us to manage for a few weeks."

"It's too far and we don't know if there are more supplies up that far. Half of these plateaus are uninhabited—not just by humans. There's no game. Barely any flora, so there's no cover from the wind and snow."

Timoleon looked at the maps and smiled. "Sometimes, my boy, you have to look at a problem from a different perspective to find that an impossible question merely had an obscured answer."

He placed his finger on the point on the map which indicated the castle. He took Seneca's candle and lifted it and as he lifted it the long shadow cast off his finger began to shift.

Seneca began to see it. The path forward.

There was, hidden in the winding paths, buried under blankets of snow. This map showed the topology. Yes, the next plateau was two thousand feet above. But this second map showed the buildings, and there was one just a thousand feet up, just fifty miles away, where they could post a few men to act as an outpost. That base had seemed too far out of the way on the second map, but when lined up with the elevation, it was actually perfect.

How hadn't he seen that before? Perhaps he did need some sleep.

Once that base was secured, they could transport more supplies between the castle and the outpost. The only question was, who would they send to capture the second base?

"How did you see that, sir?"

"I have spent plenty of sleepless nights seekin' answers in the maps and logs. You know what needs to be done now. Try to sleep and then tell me your full plan tomorrow."

Timoleon left, leaving Seneca in the waning candlelight and no longer tired. He had the distinct impression that he'd known the way all along.