General Jurrg was irritated that his scouts had apparently been spotted and killed, and that he now must assume that his army’s presence was also known to the enemy. Irritating as it was, it was not really a problem. The city was in sight, and they would attack as they’d planned. Whether the defenders knew of them or not was not that important; in fact, given the short time interval, it really made no difference. His forces would rush city gates, make an attempt to take the walls, and would then likely fall back, unsuccessful. If the city fell, so much the better; if not, they’d move on as planned.
The orge mage, almost 8 feet tall in his crimson and black armor, rode a massive warhorse, and was surrounded by his top lieutenants and personal guard – not that he really needed the protection. The city was in sight, only a few miles to the north on a relatively bare plain, a few small farms and houses in the general vicinity. He’d issued orders to 1st Battalion to form up for the frontal assault, putting the penal company at the head of the van, and arraying his archers at their flanks. 2nd Battalion would act as the reserve, and make sure to make a good show of taking part in the second assault. 3rd Battalion, under the command of the officer many rightly assumed was Jurrg’s protege, had another job, and had already split off from the main force.
An attack on the city would like likely prove fruitless, and would result in some losses of men and material and some time. But those men were expendable, supplies were replaceable, and the time had already been accounted for.
Aside from the many weeks in the muck of the swamp and the resulting saddle sores and moldy toes, this campaign was going very smoothly. The general was pleased, and allowed himself a brief, toothy smile.