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THE TELMARINE army is seven thousand strong to our meager ten hundred, and we don't need a smartass dwarf to remind us of that. The sheer amount of armoured men gathering across the plains is enough to solidify our obvious disadvantage in numbers. They're spread out and organized in ten battalions at the edge of the wood, marching with flags held high and towering war machines at their backs.
Edmund shifts his weight anxiously beside me, watching as a sixth trebuchet emerges from the trees to take its place amongst the infantry unit. Six trebuchets; six ballistae. It's never-ending.
The cavalry appears next, filing past the footsoldiers to line up along the head of the army. Miraz isn't planning on a long-lasting siege — he's ending the war today.
"Your Majesties," comes a voice from behind us. I'm beyond relieved to have Glenstorm here.
The Pevensies and Caspian all turn around to greet the centaur, who had been summoned to the war room council meeting. Behind him, the remainder of the Narnians are filtering inside to take part in the meeting.
Glenstorm inclines his head, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword. "Our scouts in the northern woods are all accounted for and have returned with their reports. There are additional troops in the trees from here to the river, and they speak of Miraz being crowned king."
That bastard. I spare a glance at Caspian, expecting an angry response. But his expression is controlled and his voice even.
"The council will have coronated him after the attack," he says. "We must come up with a plan quickly. Is everyone here?"
"Yes, your majesty. They've all just arrived."
"Thank you."
Glenstorm nods and retreats into the war room while Caspian looks to each of the Old Kings and Queens, waiting for them to enter first. The Pevensies step inside the How after the army general. I stay where I am on the archers' post a moment longer, sparing a last glance across the plains of Beruna at the Telmarine army.
Seven thousand, I reckon, echoes Trumpkin's voice in my head. Now what are we going to do against seven thousand armoured Telmarines? Throw nuts at them?
I turn away from the mocking, black rows of soldiers marring the grass, the bandaged wound on my arm burning like the sun. Caspian catches my eye as I do so, communicating a silent reassurance as he gestures for me to follow the others.
Inside the stone walls of the How, Glenstorm, Rainstone, and Diomedus have taken their places between the pillars lining the wall. In the corner nearest the army general is Bultitide, looking terribly nervous and on the verge of sucking his paws. Electrus and Nausus are present as well, standing against the wall opposite the centaurs. Reepicheep is perched on the stone map table in the room's center, with Trumpkin leaning against its edge, appearing deep in thought.
