After a little while, (Patreon)

we all got dressed and climbed onto the porch of the scrying tower, to survey my troops and look over the battlefield.

The army waved cheerily as they digested their penultimate meal before they would go into battle.

"That ravine will offer fine protection from archery fire coming from the walls," Ms. Thomson explained as she pointed out details of the terrain.  "And the archway there where that streamlet emerges might make a fine avenue of infiltration.  Over there the masonry is weak; see how the blocks are slightly uneven?  If we could get a battering ram over there..."

As she talked on, I indulged in daydreams of victory banquets, and redecorating the throne room.  I was practically King already!  There was no way the city's defenses could be organized quickly enough to stop my army!  When I had slipped out of Albric Tor, the city was in a state of utter confusion, with pie fights in the streets and mayhem everywhere.

Suddenly a baglute sounded, the city gate opened, and a huge number of armed elves began pouring out.  At the head of this throng were Marshal Theronmyathus in full armor and waving a sword, Queen Edessa in some exotic Caer Adland battle panoply and brandishing a magickal staff, and Vulpsmarshal Sweetcheeks in full armor with a morning-star dangling from his gauntleted hand.

"ADLER YOUNG!" Theronmyathus screeched across the field.  "I charge you with Regicide, Fratricide, Treason, Rebellion, Insurrection, and Bad Manners!  Disband your army and surrender your person to me, and I promise you shall receive a fair trial."

"How in the Netherhells?" Thomson gasped.  "They must have skipped a meal!"

"They can't do that," I protested, as my visions of an easy victory evaporated.  "Can they?"

"ADLER'S THE RIGHTFUL KING," Burnside yelled as she brandished a cleaver from her Elfintory.  "AND YALL BETTER BELIEVE HE DON'T SURRENDER!"

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