"Over here." Cyrward leads Inric to a tree standing some way away from the road, with enough bushes around it to be a passable hiding place. The fens are not overburdened with trees. "This is the position," he says, gesturing to the tree and the road beyond. "We'll engage along this road, and we expect the reinforcements to come from the south-east."
"It will suffice." Inric is already feeling tense, even though his whole aim is to prevent any combat actually taking place. He stands ready by the tree, and Cyrward hurries away.
The guards keep walking, Wil among them, until the quiet air is split with fierce shouts and angry war cries. From either side of the road, hidden by brush and water, the rebels rise up, brandishing their weapons. Some wield staffs, a few have daggers, and some carry farming implements, but they look no less fierce. The guards cluster around Wil, ready to fight at last.