Mundhir nodded at Kylmi, "you may be right... though I have witnessed a dozen brazen lunatics becall the will of false Gods in my time. I am Duranar's Chosen, he has spoken to me through the Prophet of Truth. With his blessing, whatever evil opposes us will never be great enough to overcome me." 

As he finished speaking, he heard, more than felt, the familiar heavy drumming of his heart. The organ was beleaguered, sick, decaying; wrecked by the Ice Venom from over a week ago. For a moment his strength faltered, and he became visibly pained, but then rallied against it. 

He looked at Tarwin, and smiled. "Me and you are of similar minds, young Tarwin. Though I have a slight more to add." 

As if on que, Hazim knelt down, pulled a rolled piece of paper from his tunic, and opened it up over his knee. Mundhir walked over to him, and patted his finger on various places. 

"This is the surrounds of Baalor," Mundhir said. "The ruins are here, Thrandel is there, and we're... we're here." 

"The Elves have no love of night fighting," grunted Hazim. 

Mundhir nodded. "We wait til darkness falls. I will lead my Mamaluks, my strength upholding, into a skirmish against the Mad Prince. With his forces distracted, and he no doubt seeking the safety of the rear, he will be vulnerable. However, you must leave, and you must leave now, if you are to position yourselves correctly prior to nightfall."

"I will go with them," Hazim said. "Been wanting to get at that Elderborn bastard for longer than I care to remember."

"As you will, my friend," replied Mundhir. "Anyway, take this map, and go. The Mad Prince's confidence has blinded his mind, and he has deployed no scouts that my soldiers have seen. You should have an easy time slipping away unnoticed, but just in case, I will have my men drill all afternoon in full view of the Elderborn host. That should draw away any unwanted attention from you, to me."