Page 57 of A Crown of Lies

“Aye.” Ewan nodded and folded his arms. “They’ll come down through The Scar.”

The Scar was a narrow glen through which the Leigh River flowed. It was sparsely populated this time of year. In the spring, the sheep and goat herders would take their flocks up into the mountains and stay in various cabins set up throughout The Scar.

“That gives us two options,” Ieduin said, picking up a piece that was supposed to represent Greymark’s forces. “We can march to the far north and fight them in The Scar. It’s narrow enough that they won’t be able to make their larger numbers count as well. However, we’ll be stretching supply lines to their limit, and they might come behind and cut us off. If there’s any rain or snow, this valley is going to be mud already, but a battle is going to turn this entire area into a bloody kill zone. The advantage will go to ranged fighters like archers and mages at first, but once the two sides clash, we’ll lose that advantage and just start hitting our own people.”

“Plus, we risk tainting a major water source,” Ewan pointed out.

Ieduin nodded. “There’s that too. The Leigh feeds into the Allit River. If that’s contaminated, we lose the primary source of drinking water for the whole north, and it’s a long march back without water.”

“What’s the second option?” Rowan asked.

“Dam the river.” Ieduin traced his finger down the Leigh, stopping at a narrow point. “We do it here, upriver. That cuts off their water supply without affecting ours. They’ll be forced out of The Scar, either into the mountains, where they don’t want to go, or here.” He moved his finger west and tapped a dark spot on the map. “To the Wytchwood.”

Rowan lifted his eyes from the table, meeting Ieduin’s. “Do you know why it’s called the Wytchwood?”

Ieduin shrugged. “Because it’s full of wych elms?”

“They say a witch is buried there, and that she curses any who enter her woods,” Ewan said. “I tried to tell him that. Tried to tell him that no Greymarker I know of would ever set foot in the Wytchwood, let alone shed blood there.”

“We can use that to our advantage,” Ieudin insisted and gestured to Ewan. “I’m told Greymark isn’t the only place where that story is told. Trintan children are put to bed with stories about the Wytchwood witch. There won’t be a soul among the enemy who isn’t terrified of going in there, but we won’t give them a choice. And once we have them where we want them…”

He put both hands flat on the table, leaning forward. “Archers and mages in the trees. Tripwires running between the trunks. We have the mages cover the forest floor in a thick mist and start making sounds at the edge of the wood. We can herd them, force them into smaller groups and then take them out, twenty, thirty at a time. Imagine being trapped in a haunted forest, deep in the mist. You can’t see and the only thing you can hear is your own men screaming as they die.”

Ewan snorted. “And I said imagine getting a single Greymarker willing to do any of that.”

Ieduin threw up his hands. “Maybe we should just wait for the Wild Hunt to appear, then? I’m sure a well-equipped, trained professional army is no match for a death god and some ghosts.”

Rowan tapped his chin, considering. “How long will the dam take to build?”

“You can’t be considering this, Rowan!” Ewan exclaimed.

“The men will march where they are told to march,” Rowan growled back. “If the spirit of a witch resides in the Wytchwood, then she is one of us, and she will understand. We will make our appeasement, and we will march to the Wytchwood to engage Trinta on our terms. Now, how long will the dam take to build?”

Ieduin and Rixxis had a quick, quiet conversation while Ewan stared Rowan down.

“Two days once we get there,” Rixxis confirmed. “We’ll send a team of Crows ahead with some of your builders at first light. Their army will be slow to progress. We’ll meet Trinta in the Wytchwood in a week’s time.”

“Then you have that long to ready the three hundred men we’ve provided and come back with a solid battle plan.” Rowan leveled a stare at Ewan. “Anything else to add?”

Ewan pushed away from the table and left the room, slamming the doors closed behind him.

Rowan deflated with a sigh, leaning against the table.

“I know this isn’t easy,” Ieduin started.

The king held up a hand. “Ruling a kingdom shouldn’t be easy. I’m here to make difficult decisions, and to do what is best for Greymark, not to appease one man, however good a friend he may be. You clearly believe in this strategy.”

“I do,” Ieduin confirmed.

Rowan stood, rolling his shoulders back. “I have placed Greymark’s defense in your hands. I must trust your judgement. You will have the men you need, and you have my full support.”

“Thank you, sir.”

He waved Ieduin off. “Don’t thank me. You’re the one who’s still responsible for this. But let’s put this mess behind us for now and see to our guest in the Great Hall, shall we?”

The Great Hall was close to the library. Two guards stood at every door leading into it. They saluted Rowan at his approach and opened the doors, holding them for Ieduin and Rixxis.

The man sat at the table closest to the roaring fire, a gray blanket tucked around his shoulders. Someone had treated him to a hearty stew, bread, and ale. Still, he didn’t have much more color in his face than before. Flecks of coppery brown streaked his silver hair. The stranger had a kind, fatherly sort of face that made Rowan take a near-instant liking to him.

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