[Orual]

"They are disciplined and well-prepared, Captain. It will take more than a simple ambush to regain our men."

Anhelm's steely eyes were fixed on the camp that lay just before them. He heard the warning of his current second-in-command, Sarandros, but did not heed them as perhaps he might. He scanned the camp, and his gaze fell on one tent in particular. "There," he said, pointing to it with a mud-caked finger. They had ridden hard and had not stopped, and they all showed signs of wear. "That is where they are keeping Astalder."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?"

Anhelm glanced at Sarandros. "Granted."

"There's no way you can know that."

Anhelm frowned. "I just know. I can tell."

"Sir--"

"I need a diversion," Anhelm snapped, changing the subject. "Take twenty of your men and go around that way." He gestured in the opposite direction of the tent. "I will take ten and we will get Astalder." He put a hand on the sheath of his sword. "Give me an hour."

Sarandros knew the question that Anhelm wanted him to ask. "And after an hour, sir?"

"Leave, and start the evacuation of the settlement." The young captain stroked his horse's neck. "I'm going to go down with this ship, but the civilians don't have to. One hour, Sarandros. That's all I can take. One more hour."
He rode towards the tent.