The victory celebrations in the Vexin capital were short-lived. In the palace's war room, a large, stone chamber filled with maps and the smell of old parchment, the leaders of the new alliance gathered. The victory over the mercenaries felt like a distant, hollow echo. Now, with the King's royal legions on the march, the true scale of their challenge was laid bare.
Damon, Arion, and Kael sat at the head of a long, polished oak table. Around them were the faces of their new allies—the lords who had committed to their cause. Their expressions were a mixture of newfound courage and deep-seated fear.
A scout, a grizzled man who had spent his life in the wilds, was the first to speak. He stood before the table, his report laid out in stark, chilling detail. "My lord, our scouts and spies have confirmed the King's forces are on the move. They are not mercenaries. They are his royal legions, disciplined and loyal."
He placed a few small wooden tokens on the map, spreading them across the plains leading to the capital. "The main army numbers a little over 12,000 men."
A collective gasp went through the room. A young noble, his face pale, spoke in a trembling voice. "Twelve thousand? My father's whole army is only two hundred men!"
Damon, a picture of calm, nodded. "That is why we are here," he said, his voice steady. "We must face reality. We have won a battle, but we now face a full war."
Arion, who had remained silent, pointed to the various banners on the map, representing their new, fractured alliance. "Our Vexin forces number 3,200 infantry and 400 cavalry," he said, his voice a cold, unwavering sound. "The noble houses who have joined us have contributed another 2,400 men."
Kael, whose passion was as much a part of him as his sword, added a final tally. "And House Galen's elite guards number 500 men. Our combined force is now a little over 6,100 men. We are still outnumbered by more than two to one."
A heavy silence fell over the room. The reality of the numbers was a brutal weight. Their bravery had won them a battle, but it was not enough to win a war against such an overwhelming force. The new allies, who had been so eager to join after the victory, now looked at each other with fear and regret.
Damon broke the silence. "A head-on assault is suicide," he said, his words echoing the sentiment of the entire room. "We cannot stand against them on an open field. We must use our wits as our greatest weapon."
Arion, a man of few words but a mind like a steel trap, finally spoke. "We must not seek to defeat them, but to outmaneuver them. We draw them out, stretch their lines thin, and hit them where they are weakest. We use the terrain as our ally once again. We have a network of hidden trails and mountain passes they do not. We lead them into the Whispering Woods, or lure them to the swamps of the Dead Marshes."
Kael, his energy boundless, seized on the idea. "Or we strike their command! A quick, surgical strike on their general. A decapitation of the snake before it can strike."
Damon, ever the pragmatist, offered his own counsel. "My cavalry could harass their flanks, cut off their supply lines, and force them to march without rest. We can weaken them before the final blow."
The room, which had been filled with doubt, was now filled with a new kind of energy. The leaders had a week, no more, before the King's legions would be on their doorstep. The war was about to become a very different, and much more dangerous, game. They had a plan, and they had a chance, but they needed to choose a single path.