Tarwin continued to glance over his shoulder as the prince communicated his thoughts and strategy, watching elves as a nervous cat watched an angry dog. He turned to look at the map when the prince began pointing out locations and relative positions, the spell sword nodded and smiled at the plan. "It seems great minds do truly think alike." He chuckled lightly before looking once more to the Elven forces, they hadn't moved, the impeccably stiff and rigid formation never seemed to budge and he was glad he was not among the soldiers fighting it head on. At last he pulled the reigns of his horse and turned it to face north. "If we are to ride together we will be more organised but if we split up we could cover more angles and strike two places at once, perhaps creating a diversion. Perhaps..." He pointed to a set of tall rocks behind the formation. "One group could take position there and use bow and magic to draw attention to shift away from the front lines engaged in a skirmish and any rear guards they have. Then from the opening the rest of our party could sneak in and find the prince, then it's a matter of kidnapping or killing him, whichever is most appropriate at the time." With a slight shrug he tapped the side of his horse and began to slowly head north. "Whatever the case I'll make a start on the journey, time is of the essence after all." Waving over his shoulder he kicked the steed sharply and set off into a dash.

By the time night had fallen Tarwin had positioned himself in the cover of a set of berry bushes mere meters from the enemy camp. He scanned the area, in the distance he could hear faint shouts and the clash of steel coming from the skirmish. There were a selection of guards patrolling the rear, not many and they didn't appear to be special in any way, at least not to him. The horses had been left a short distance away, out of sight and detection range in amongst a cluster of trees. Hazim was somewhere nearby along with his other allies, they had spread out and were now waiting for the optimal moment to strike. 

Crouching low Tarwin partially unsheathed his sword, keeping it shielded so the faint glow of magic would not be seen, he needed to be ready. His poncho still rested over his shoulders, the material granting him some degree of camouflage, from underneath he pulled out a small hide canteen. He unscrewed the canteen and brought the opening to his mouth before squeezing and feeling the fine mead burning his throat as it went down then warming his stomach in the cool night air. Tarwin gagged slightly, he hated the taste but the curious liquid invigorated him, he'd also spent a small fortune after the merchant had made a particularly good sales pitch and a nomad never wasted money. Wiping his mouth with his hand he replaced the cap and put the canteen away. Now he was ready .