After Lazlo shut the door behind him, the council went for Nasuada's throat like a pack of vicious bloodhounds.
"Half of the army will lose their fingers due to Frost Poisoning. A quarter will be too weak to fight, and what remains of the army will desert their raving leader."
Nasuada came prepared for Sabrae's retort. "If we face Belatona's garrison, there will be no one left to desert. Pitching an underfed army with worn-out armor and rusty swords against a better equipped one is a recipe for disaster. They are twenty thousand soldiers strong. How many Varden are actual soldiers?"
"A few," Jormundur said as he leaned back in his chair. "And they're mostly squad leaders for thugs, blacksmith apprentices and peasants. Some of them know warfare. Others have never been involved in a brawl."
"The surdan relished the idea," Falberd said as he pat Hazelnut on her scrawny head. "With two armies, we may be able to overwhelm Belatona during the Hardest Frost. No caravan travels then, and the blizzard offers perfect cover."
"It also cripples your army and turns them into ranting abominations. The little discipline they learned these upcoming months will falter in the wake of suffering." Sabrae glared at Jormundur and pointed at Nasuada with a small, thin finger. "How much do you care about your people, Nasuada? How long did it take you to trade their comfort and safety for your irrational desire?"
Nasuada's grip around the armrests of her chair tightened. "I care enough about the Varden to see them through their greatest trial. Survival is not the point during the Frost Months."
Hazelnut's strident bark cut off her words. Falberd hushed her with another pat. "She has a point. Mighty as they are, bears are too weak to fend off predators that lurk the forest. That's how their cubs fall prey to wolves."
Sabrae snorted dismissively. "A convenient analogy. From what I've heard, Nasuada also promised to house the Surdans. Is there a better way to make room for an allied army than marching your own?"
"That's a disturbing claim, Sabrae," Falberd said. "The role of the council is to convene and discuss possibilities and solutions. If one of us is above such rules, then this meeting is redundant." His voice gained amplitude until it turned into a shout. "I refuse to be redundant!"
Nasuada shrunk in her chair as Hazelnut bolted from her spot and charged Nasuada. She stopped inches from her chair, snarling and barking like a crazed beast. Nasuada reached for the daggers that rested at her hip and drew them. The hiss of metal against leather scared the bitch into submissiveness.
"To me!" Falberd shouted, exasperated. "Hazelnut, to me."
Jormund removed his hand from his scabbard and rested it on the armrest. "That's what people do during the Frost Months. And the Frost had yet to blanket the land."
A sigh escaped Nasuada. She allowed her tense form to slip back into her chair as she sought the proper words to motivate the council. They had reason enough to trust her. She only had to present the problem in its purest form.
"Feinster cannot house two armies. Our supplies are running low. If Jormundur is right, our people will be at each other's throats before the Hardest Frost comes. That, or we will be at war with our new allies. Only that they will have the city, while we freeze in our tents. It's a precarious position we find ourselves in."
Silence settled over the council. Sabrae began to rummage through her pile of scrolls. Falberd leaned his head against his fist, his expression pensive while he caressed Hazelnut with his other hand. Jormundur's chin pressed against his chest, his dark eyes solemn.
"We have no option but to march. We can either be a pack of wolves, or the weakened bear. A mindless choice, if you ask me," Falberd said.
"Your strategy is inherently flawed," Sabrae cut in. "Suppose Arya spoke the truth. Suppose Belatona is the battleground of urchins, thieves and homeless that were driven mad by the cold. How do you plan to get past the walls without siege equipment?"
"Without?" Jormundur looked dumbfounded. "Can the sea get past walls of rock?"
"It can. Water is capable of many things," Falberd sneered.
"Du Vrangr Gata will find a way," Nasuada said, her tone grave. "I tasked Arya with this duty. She will see us through."
Sabrae's serene laugh filled the room. "Those incapable mages can't even make a fire without breaking a sweat, yet you expect them to accomplish a feat worthy of none other than Galbatorix."
"If they can't, perhaps the surdans will have a way." The ambassador's pleasant smell and his infuriating smile came to Nasuada's mind. He had her, for a moment, with his nonsense talk about names.
Falberd banged the table with his fist to attract everyone's attention. Once all eyes settled on him, he shared urgent thoughts. "They are already sewing tents similar to ours. Surdans gather the knowledge of peasants and lords alike and mold it into their own. This is how they adapted to the lack of spell casters within their ranks."
"Their artificiers are jittery and unnecessarily defensive when it comes to their inventions," Sabrae added. "Not that you'll meet one in person. The surdans allow a restricted few into their ranks. That's called paranoia."
"Or distrust," Falberd disrupted her speech.
"Call it as you may rabbit. Equity is the foundation of an alliance."
"Acidic words corrode one's wits. Speak more of them; your poor mind wilts."
Nasuada rolled her eyes. Sabrae had the habit of delving into useless details. "Tell me about the artificiers and their purpose."