I showed them a small wood-and-iron trunk that had come from Drylliad weeks earlier, then ordered the two strongest men to carry it to the ridge overlooking the former lake bed. As we walked, I explained in more detail the risks and challenges ahead. If the Mendenwal army had the sense of fungus rot, they were watching for our attack. So although the hill to the side of the dam was steep and slippery, they would have to descend it silently and in darkness, using little more than their wits and past experience with near vertical ground. Beyond that, they would have to lower the heavy trunk with them on ropes, and then wait until my signal to use it.
“Tell me you can do this,” I said. “Everything hinges on you tomorrow.”
The three men vowed with their lives to succeed. I had their loyalty; now I could only hope for their safety. We had no second chance if they failed.
Once they left, I returned to the camp where Mott stood with the heads of my armies, awaiting orders.
“How many men do we have here?” I asked.
One of my men responded, “Nearly a thousand, sire.”
“Then I want our one hundred weakest men. Poorly armed, but on horseback.”
“To sacrifice?” another captain asked doubtfully.
“Not at all,” I countered. “To be the heroes of Carthya. They will win tomorrow’s battle for us. When the moon is highest, have them meet outside my tent.”
“What about the rest of us?” Mott asked.
“Everyone else should prepare to ride. We fight tomorrow.”
I started to leave, but Mott caught up to me. “Jaron, your plan sounds reckless and dangerous. And if I know you at all, then it’s probably impossible too.”
“That sounds about right.”
He chuckled. “Are you ready for what’s coming?”
I smiled as I glanced sideways at him. “I am ready. Yesterday’s battle was only a distraction from Vargan’s larger plan. Tomorrow, the drift of this war is going to change.”
I managed to sleep a little more that night, though I was already awake when a vigil came to tell me the one hundred men were gathered. Over a thick layer of chain mail, I wore a deep blue brigandine embroidered with the gold crest of Carthya and with metal plates riveted to the fabric to protect my arms and torso. Mott thoroughly disapproved of the outfit. He wanted me in full battle armor, but it was too heavy for me, especially since I still lacked the full strength I’d had before my time in Vargan’s camp. Besides that, I was neither the biggest nor the strongest in this battle. My only hope was to be the quickest, and for that, I needed light armor. In better news, Mott informed me that my horse, Mystic, had been sent to the camp in anticipation of my arrival. I was thrilled for that. Mystic knew me well and would cooperate better with my plans than another, less fierce horse. I dismissed Mott to prepare Mystic for the ride while I finished getting ready. All that remained was to strap on my sword and whisper a request to the devils not to interfere with my plans.
Except this time, that didn’t seem like enough, and my thoughts turned to the saints. When I was younger, the priests had always frowned and murmured to one another when I entered the chapel each week. Admittedly, that may have been because I rarely let pass the opportunity to make loud jokes to my brother about their tedious sermons. The priests said I wouldn’t get any favors from the saints until I took their sermons seriously, but I tended to believe the saints were just as bored with their sermons as I was. Besides, I’d never considered myself the type of person the saints would be interested in helping anyway. As I thought about the coming day, I hoped I was wrong about that.
In the quiet of my tent, I reflected on what the priests had said about the afterlife. The idea that those who had passed on remained a part of our lives, eternally watching over us, appealed to me in a way it never had when I was younger. And if the priests were right, then Imogen must be a saint now, as well as my family. The saints would help me. Imogen would make them help me — I knew she would. So for the first time ever, I had no worries about the tricks of the devils. I would ride into battle on the wings of the saints.
As I strode from the tent, Mystic’s reins were thrust into my hands. I climbed astride and immediately noticed Mott already on his own horse.
“What are you doing here?” I asked him.
“It’s all very shameful,” he said. “It turns out I’m one of your one hundred weakest men.”
“You’re not.”
“I’m afraid it’s true.” Even as he spoke, Mott couldn’t resist smiling. “It’s a source of great embarrassment, Your Majesty, and I beg you not to question me about it any further.”
I chuckled again, and then rode to where all the men could see me. “My friends, what we are about to do is not the battle of your forefathers, nor the time-tested strategies of the past. It has never been done, or to be fair, never been done successfully. But that is what will make us great. You will tell your children and your grandchildren of this moment. In your old age, the last smile on your lips will be the memory of what we are about to do. Your commanders undoubtedly told you that I wanted the weakest of our armies to ride with me here today. Be grateful that you were chosen, because it is through the weakest that the strong arm of Carthya will wield its strength. My friends, we ride as the weak always will: quietly and without drawing even the attention of the sleeping bird to our path. Follow me.”
Only a few dim lanterns highlighted the grave expressions of the soldiers, but I saw Mott’s face well enough. He smiled at me with a look I’d seen before: He thought me the biggest fool he had ever known, and hoped that very quality might save us all. I hoped so too.
I led the way along a trail I had studied earlier that day. It would take us from our camp overlooking the valley down to the floor through a narrow pathway largely obscured by thick trees and tall shrubbery. It would eventually empty out not far from where I intended to lie in wait for Mendenwal.
Our group traveled in complete silence. Of course, the horses made plenty of noise, but as was common in the nights here, wind swirled throughout the valley. As long as we were careful, our sounds wouldn’t carry all the way to Mendenwal’s camp.
By dawn, I sat upon Mystic’s back at the far end of the valley floor, easily within Mendenwal’s grasp. Mott was at my side and one hundred of Carthya’s least impressive soldiers sat on horses behind me. What they lacked in skill, they made up for with confident postures and calm stillness.
The scouts of Mendenwal saw us at first light and quickly rode back to their camp with shouts of alarm.
“They’ll gather their armies now,” I announced. “Everyone stay ready and wait here.”