However, they were all of them fine marksmen, and with their sturdy Castovalian bows and excellent vantage point, twelve men could wreak havoc. A hundred archers and a cavalry charge might have decimated Moaradrid's undersized army and ended the war in one fell swoop, but Estrada didn't have those resources to play with. Even chancing her few good bowmen was a terrible gamble. It was a bold move, a desperate trade-off between future gain and immediate disaster. It had purchased Mounteban and his men as much as a minute in which to penetrate the camp, find us, and get out again. It was nowhere near enough, of course. "This is the plan? The mayor is a donkey-bred idiot, and you're worse for following her!" Mounteban didn't bother to respond. He was focused on charging the last distance to the campsite border, and probably wondering how he was going to negotiate the small but well-armed force gathered to cut off our escape.
