Ed Greenwood - Cormyr

“Mabel has revolted so many times before that they have it down to an art form,” said the duke bitterly. “The merchant livestock and caravans have been pulled north, and the paddocks are empty. Gondegal will likely have mages in the outbuildings, or missile-armed troops. Most of the townspeople have emptied their basements and are willing to wait out the duration there. The temples have been stockpiling food and water for a long time, it seems, and triple guards stand over all the wells.”

One of the mercenary captains, a rough barbarian from the lands north of Phlan, broke in with a snarl.

“Bah! Then let us burn this ready fortress to the ground and slaughter all within its walls. Let their pyre be a warning to others who might think to thwart your king’s will!”

A silence descended on the table as if a lid had banged closed. Vangerdahast broke away from the throne and drifted down along the table until he stood next to the barbarian captain. The mercenary looked to other faces for support but found none. All he saw was shock and indignation.

Vangerdahast put a heavy hand on the barbarian’s shoulder. “The reason,” he said, pressing down with a grip like the tightening gauntlet of an armored giant, “is that the folk in that city are Cormyreans, regardless of who leads them. They will be treated as loyal citizens of the realm until such time as they choose to actually raise arms against the Purple Dragon.”

“But if they are in rebellion, haven’t they…?” asked the mercenary wincing, his words cut short by the increasing pressure on his shoulder.

“They are our people,” said the wizard through clenched teeth. “Half the army would desert if they had to fight their own brothers and cousins. We will treat them accordingly.”

He released the mercenary captain, who exhaled and rubbed his shoulder. The mage had more power in his hands than mere wizardry.

“As has been said, Mabel rebels with astounding regularity,” said the king softly. “Yet it has always returned to the shelter of the Purple Dragon’s wings. One thing the long history of this land has taught my family is that creating grudges only perpetuates our difficulties.”

He met the eyes of the mercenary captain and added, “Let me remind everyone present that this attack is no excuse for pillaging and looting. No one is to set any fires except by order. If the person fleeing from your sword is a civilian, he is a target you will not strike at, molest, or maim ‘accidentally.’ I’ll consider that clearly understood by all of you, see that your men also clearly understand the punishment they’ll face if they forget such things.”

One of the militia leaders piped up. “Can’t we convince just one of these loyal Arabellans to open the gates for us?”

The king shook his head. “They are cowed by Gondegal’s swords and his popularity. Once battle is joined and we rout a few of his stalwart swords, the populace will rise on our side, but for the moment, all of them are lying low. The folk here are fickle, but dependably so.”

One of the wizards asked, “What about the noble houses? Have they thrown in with Gondegal?”

Bhereu spoke up in reply. “A few of the minor houses have, the Immerdusks and Indesms being the most prominent. The Marliirs, the largest Arabellan house, have remained loyal. Most who bear that proud name are under house arrest now, keeping a few of Gondegal’s troops busy guarding prisoners rather than manning the walls.”

“Most of what we know about what’s going inside has come from the Marliirs,” added Thomdor. “Magical reconnaissance has been largely ineffective.”

“On that note,” said the king, “this is the battle plan for the morrow.”

Vangerdahast nodded and waved his hands. A series of purplish blocks appeared on the table, outside the walls of the model city. As the wizard spoke, the blocks moved toward the walls.

“The militia will form on the left flank and mount a feint attack on the High Horn Gate and northwest wall, while the mercenaries will make a sally against the South Gate, more to draw fire and force a committal of defenders than to earnestly take the gate. The bulk of the army, on the right flank, will move along the long southern wall. The intent is to make Gondegal’s forces think the bulk of our army is moving to the East Gate, to attack there. In fact, the forces under the duke will move farthest east, the forces under the king will stand to the center, and the forces commanded by the baron will assemble at the western end of the front.”

Small blocks detached the from the larger ones and swept around the city to east and west. “Light cavalry will break off at this point and cut off both east and west gates, to provide an impediment should Gondegal’s forces choose to bolt. They will include a few war wizards. Our main body of forces will hold the majority of our mages, the baron, the duke, and His Majesty.”

A series of small flashes appeared along the southern wall, in front of the largest block. “The war wizards will bring down the wail in this area with lightning bolts and instruments of blasting. There is a potential for severe damage in the buildings immediately north of the wall, so while the first wave secures the area, the forces who are to penetrate the city must get past any ruin and move swiftly. Later we can examine the fallen buildings for survivors.”

“Goodbye, Wink and Kiss,” muttered Thomdor, thinking of his favorite tavern, located on the far side of the wall that was to be breached.

“With the walls blown,” the wizard continued, “the main force will split up. Thomdor’s men will take the South Gate and let the mercenaries in, together, they are to cleanse the breached area of hostile troops and hold it-in particular, holding any relatively unblocked streets and emptying the buildings along those streets, in case a route of retreat is needed. Bhereu’s forces will enter the city and move to the East Gate, to take it-but even more importantly, to contain any enemy troops mustered there. The king will lead the main body across the city, to the Citadel of Mabel, to surround it and to try to force its gates. If we surprise them and move swiftly enough, it is likely we’ll snare most of Gondegal’s army in the city proper, before they can regroup at the Citadel.”

“And if they do manage to gather at the Citadel?” asked the mercenary captain.

“Gondegal can hold out in Mabel indefinitely,” said the king. “But unless he has substantially more food, plans, and men than we think he does, he cannot hold the Citadel for long if we hold the city around it. The signals you already know, pass on the orders to your subordinates and let all see to their weapons and prayers. We’ll march before the sun crests the horizon and launch the attack at dawn.”

A messenger in bright mail arrived to say the allied Sembian troops had arrived and were already complaining about their accommodations. The king smiled thinly and declared the meeting at an end. Chairs scraped and men rose, talk rising in the usual babble, the Purple Dragon pointed at his two cousins and at the wizard. They remained as the others went out.

“A solid plan,” said the king.

“Working with your suggestions,” the wizard said, “mated to the thinking written down in the court war files. There are table-sized piles of plans for attacking Mabel. Even during years of peace, it was a common practice for military scholars to attack a model Mabel with tin knights and dice.”

Azoun glanced at the city model, then folded his hands before him and steepled his fingers. “The question is,” he said slowly, “what happens afterward?”

“General amnesty,” Thomdor replied.

“We get Gondegal and his chief subordinates and hang them for their crimes, then use the treasure he’s looted for reparations,” added Bhereu.