“Shee him in the shilvery mishts, my lord…” the old wizard hissed as specks of spittle stippled the surface of the scrying pool. “He plansh another attack!”
Irovetti, with his Oni general at his side, looked into the pool and watched as ‘Thing Zion’ discussed another raid into Pitax with the other Mistmooks, as he had taken to calling them.
“They burned our art, and killed my men. My people suffered. Clever, I must give them that…but it shall not…not!…be repeated!” Irovetti blurted out, his upper lip quivering with rage.
“General! Proceed with our response as planned!” he shouted as he pointed at the massive Oni, who grunted and nodded. “Thuvish! I think it’s time we let them know about our….guest…”
Another man, clad in fine, light armor, nodded curtly and motioned for a junior officer to his side. A few whispered words later and the younger man walked briskly from the room. The king returned to his ravings, issuing orders, consulting his maps, and receiving reports from his military and civilian leaders.
Later in the meeting the doors opened to admit the junior officer, who brought with him three other men: two burly guards and one disheveled, beaten prisoner. The prisoner, mostly dragged by his jailers, was a mess: missing teeth, split lips and a swollen-shut left eye, and torn, filthy clothing. Dragged to the large map table, he fixed his one good eye on the king defiantly.
“Give me his hand! What good is a famed archer with no fingers? King for a day, fool for a lifetime…you chose your allies and cause poorly, Kincaid…” The Oni’s kukri knife shined briefly in the firelight before descending quickly on the man’s hand.
This takes place within a day or so of Zion’s attack on Pitax. Note that, obviously, the kings know nothing of this – yet. By about 10 days after the Myralanna attack, however, the kings are confident enough that there are no more Pitaxian forces wandering around the realm. Scouting within the Narlmarches turned up stragglers from the battle with the Dragoons, and other than that nothing there or in other areas.
Scouts from the Myralanna Regiment, still in Freeton, report seeing enemy scouts in the distance, and some evidence of possible distant troop movements (dust clouds, smoke trails), but nothing definitive, and no enemy contact. All’s quiet on the western front, it would seem.