“How many jars do we have?” General Kaffe asked, looking at his adjutant. They were standing in the war encampment and the entire army was on high alert. General Kaffe had sent men after Colonel Vava to request reinforcements but none of them had returned.

Right now, the only reason why the Plateau’s forces have not been completely decimated was because of a letter he had received from a Lawrence Carstein. No one in the camp recognized the sigil of the Owl upon the seal.

The letter had detailed exactly when and where the Gerheist army was going to attack, the estimated troop strength opposing and that General Kaffe must not fall before reinforcements reached him.

But what reinforcements?

“Two hundred jars, General,” the adjutant replied, looking at his notes. They were of course, talking about boiling vats of oil.

In preparation for the enemy encounter, General Kaffe had placed traps all along the approaches of the plateau, hammering stakes into the ground to hamper cavalry advances and placing archers there to shoot them down.

After several costly attempts, the enemy has opted to surround the camp, hoping to starve him out. A possibility that is very likely.

War? General Kaffe and his men were ready. However, the rest of the Carminian military not so.

They had food and provisions for thirty days. General Kaffe, by his own calculations, was assuming the worst – That the skilled enemy would smash Colonel Vava’s new defensive line and dash straight for the capital. In this case, should he order a breakthrough?

“Get me 100 more. We should have enough oil to boil for that. We got not much to cook anyway,” General Kaffe scoffed and the adjutant nodded, sighing. At this point, an officer walked up to the general timidly-

“What is it?” General Kaffe asked and the officer mumbled, “Uh, sir… There’s a man wanting to see you… He says he has a message from Lawrence Carstein?”

General Kaffe, upon hearing that, immediately demanded loudly, “Where is he? Bring me to him at once!”

The officer, anxious and timid, bowed and the two of them made past the medic’s tent which was crowded with the injured and tired herbalists, past the guard posts and into the general’s tent.

In the tent was a man in brown robes befitting that of a noble and a small pudgy belly. He was rather tall, and there was a sword affixed to his waistband. He had made himself rather comfortable, already seated and drinking what was undoubtedly wine from his waterskin.

“Ah, General! I was asked to deliver this to you!” the man beamed as he saw the general, taking out a letter. The same type of letter that had an owl sigil.

General Kaffe accepted the letter with two hands and dismissed his adjutant and assumed his seat as the commander of the camp, at the head of the table.

“Sorry, your name is…”

“Ah, my name is not important. I answer to Black Bay Village and the City of Tears, that is all that is important. I suggest you read the letter now, General,” the man smiled and as he reached across the table for the apple on the plate, General Kaffe noticed the calluses on his hands. Even though he was dressed well, it seemed that the man was putting up quite an act. It was the hands of a man used to battle.

“How did you get past their lines?” General Kaffe asked and the man smiled, not replying as he munched on his apple.

“One person is easier to sneak past than an entire army, General, I suggest you perish the thought.”

The man laughed, taking another swig from his waterskin.

The General, slightly annoyed at the man’s behavior, eagerly opened the letter. The letter’s contents were brief but to the point.

Dear General Kaffe,

If you are reading this, it means that my man has managed to reach you. He will be of great aid to you as a means of conversation between you and I.

I am Lawrence Carstein’s second-in-command, we will meet in due time. The news is that the reserve army’s use has been rejected. The banners are being rallied and Lawrence himself will lead the elite soldiers of the realm to your aid.

Hold on, hold strong and hold fast.

The spirits of the men of the Kingdom of Carmine do not break easy.

Regards,

Roland Ritz

The letter’s contents were worrying and comforting at the same time. The most powerful army was not coming to their rescue but a group of squabbling lords that will take days to band together, a few more days to decide who the coalition leader is and another few days to reach the battlefield.

Upon reaching the battlefield, they will spend another few days deciding on who is the vanguard before finally going to battle and losing most of the time.

That was the problem with nobles in general. They talk too much and listen too little. General Kaffe’s only hope is that Colonel Hassan or someone with actual skills in commanding to be at the forefront of the General Staff instead of all the sycophants who have no doubt already begun to make plans to liquidate their properties and flee somewhere where they can continue their life of debauchery.

“Sir, when will your lord’s reinforcement come?” General Kaffe asked the man who folded his arms.

“Oh, soon, I hope. I don’t think the encampment can really take a full on and relentless attack from the Gerheist army.”

“A student of war are you?” General Kaffe asked and the man roared with laughter, so much so that tears flowed down his eyes.

“Ah, no. I usually stay behind the curtains of a show, behind the doors of taverns and whisper things from behind a chair. I’m afraid I’m no good in general.”

General Kaffe smirked.

“If all of Lawrence Carstein’s men are this capable, I think he alone may sort everyone out.”

“You know what?” the man looked at General Kaffe seriously.

“I think he actually might.”