Deliberations were no longer than they needed to be.
A decision was made before dawn.
Liam stood with his senior commanders around hastily assembled maps, the pre-dawn darkness broken only by essence-light crystals that cast everything in cold blue glow.
"Ashford garrison blocks optimal route," Commander Torven reported, his finger tracing the direct path south. "We can bypass through eastern valleys, but that adds eighteen hours and puts us on terrain that's vulnerable to ambush if they realize we're avoiding engagement."
"Alternatively," Zara continued, her analytical mind processing tactical variables, "we assault the garrison directly. Fourth Order intelligence confirms fifteen hundred troops, mixed composition, fortified but not impregnable. Estimated casualties: two to three hundred if we commit overwhelming force quickly."
