"Count Maskem is known to be a feared Commander… but true enough, I suppose he isn't feared enough to make use of even those odds. And the word was that he was on the path to losing, after doing battle for weeks… But, a gold tier quest, Lady Farseer… That's what you said. Can you truly go so far as to promise it?" Ser Icon said. His was the face of a desperate man.
"I do promise it," Penelope said. "But more importantly, he does," she pointed to Vol. "He knows far more of the battlefield than Count Thrush possibly could. He knew that Thrush would go where he did – and he predicts that Crawford will be crushed, in his attempt to defend it. In other words, if he's right, it's only us that you have to rely upon. What do you have to lose, Ser? You presented to me a terrible outcome, and you yourself declared that you would lose already. Give us command of this battlefield, and Vol Crooked-Tooth will see you to victory."
