We found Quintus at the bridge. The fleeing praetorian, sadly, had not misled us as to the massacre – Quintus had only a hundred or so men and women left out of those he'd mustered in the square. Fortunately, Jamar and Constans were amongst them, but it still meant that we'd lost the vast majority of an already meagre force. Quintus assured me things weren't quite as bad as it looked, as he'd despatched part of his army to assist Lord Karov in evacuating any civilians between here and the city wall.
With the fallen either unwilling or unable to press the attack, Quintus had taken the opportunity to rally what troops he had. He'd sent runners to fetch soldiers from the already-denuded towers, and begun fortifying the south end of the bridge with barricades hastily formed from carts and market stalls.
Arianwyn offered to help, but Quintus insisted we both get some rest – to the point of threatening to have us escorted away if we didn't go willingly. It seemed hubristic to argue when there was clearly a lull in events, so we reluctantly found a quiet corner and snatched a few hours of fitful sleep.
I was eventually awoken by Jamar's insistent hand on my shoulder. "What time is it?"
"Mid-morning, or at least that's what the clocks say," he replied. "As you can see, they and the world appear to be in serious disagreement."
He wasn't wrong. There was no natural light in the sky, only the dead colours of Otherworld. There was mist too, I realised with a sinking feeling. It wasn't quite so heavy as on the Estrina's northern bank, but it was definitely on the move.
"When did the mist rise?"
"A few minutes ago. That's why I woke you." He looked across at Arianwyn. "I see you've acquired other bodyguards."
Jaspyr and Fredrik sat watchfully on either side of their new mistress. I realised that Jamar would have woken Arianwyn as well, but for fear of provoking her guardians.
"They're hers, not mine," I said. "They seem quite safe."
"Forgive me, savir, but it is not their safety that concerns me." It was a poor joke, but I was grateful for the effort.
"Where are the others?" Arianwyn asked, without opening her eyes. Clearly she'd not been as asleep as we'd thought.
"Constans I haven't seen for some time," said Jamar. "The commander sent him to do so something, though I don't know what."
"And Quintus himself?"
"Is pacing restlessly behind his defences," Jamar replied. "I think he worries that we don't have enough men."
Arianwyn opened her eyes and sat upright. "We don't."
"Indeed, savim. But it is unhelpful for him to make our plight so clear to his followers." The havildar plainly disapproved.
"I'm afraid that's just Quintus' way," I said "He may berate and belabour his underlings, but he'll seldom mislead them."
"Most admirable, I'm sure. I think he wishes this command had fallen elsewhere. His worry is not so much for defeat, but because he fears defeat will come about through his own actions."
"He's told you this?" asked Arianwyn.
"No, savim, he has not, but I've seen it before. At times, it is just the nervousness before battle that haunts all sane men. At others..." Jamar trailed off. It was impossible to miss his meaning.
I rose to my feet. "It doesn't matter. Quintus is the best we have. Mikoi Endrov was the last of the great Tressian generals, and he died at Callastair."
"I know," said Jamar. "I killed him."
Arianwyn's hand flew to her mouth.
"I didn't know that," I said.
He shrugged. "There's no reason why you should."
As ever, Jamar tactfully avoided a much-deserved criticism. Killing Endrov made him a genuine hero and I should have known.
Instead, he turned to Arianwyn. "He was a credit to your republic and he died well. Let us hope the same can be said of us." He shrugged. "Actually, my prince, there's another choice – beyond fleeing in disgrace – that we'd be wise to consider."
"I think I'd like to talk to Quintus," I said hurriedly. I knew exactly what Jamar was getting at and I wanted no part of it.
Fortunately, Jamar didn't press. "Of course, savir. I'll take you." He looked questioningly at Arianwyn.
"I'll catch you up." Her furrowed brow told me she was intrigued by what Jamar had wanted to say but, for once, was too polite to enquire.
Jamar and I passed through the waiting soldiers, whose mix of praetorian, constabulary and regular military uniforms made them appear almost as rag-tag as the fallen they would soon have to fight. There were even a few Thrakkians, testament to how wide and desperately Quintus had cast his net. What he'd promised to pay them, I didn't dare think.
All told, our defenders probably numbered three hundred men. Arianwyn was right: it wasn't enough to win. However, with the approach choked by the narrowness of the bridge, and with the advantage of the barricades, we perhaps had a slim chance of prolonged survival. Though most refuse to admit as much, the fortunes of war turn on survival more commonly than victory.
The bridge over the Estrina wasn't so dizzyingly high as the Lionhead bridge over the Silverway, but it was just as broad. Indeed, in times past, houses and shops had been sited along both flanks, and still left enough room for the enormous supply wagons to pass side by side. The dwellings were long gone, dismantled when the roadways were expanded, and the truth of the matter was that it would take more than fifty of our defenders to form but a single line from one side of the bridge to the other.
This bridge was one of the oldest structures in the city. Repairs had been made piecemeal, by closing as little of the roadway as possible whilst engineers shored up the weathered arches and worn pilings. The bridge had stood in that battered state for hundreds of years, and its resilience had become a source of Tressian pride. I, on the other hand, saw none of this redoubtable character. Perhaps I was an unromantic foreigner, but I couldn't see beyond the gaps in the facing stones, and the poorly-repaired crack running through the nearest of the three arches. I shuddered to think what state the foundations and piers were in.
Quintus was pacing across the bridge's neck a short way in front of the barricades. These had grown notably since I'd seen them last, and were now easily twice my height at their lowest point. The outward edge bristled with blades and sharpened stakes, turning a formidable obstacle into a lethal one. Or at least that would have been the case against a mortal foe. How it would serve against the fallen, I had no idea.
The only soldiers further forward than Quintus were two unarmoured sentries he'd stationed on the far bank. Their only job was to shout a warning, then flee – if they could.
With Jamar's help, I scrambled up the barricade's inner slope and carefully picked my way down the other side. Jamar's descent was much quicker, yet somehow more dignified. I blamed my wakeful grogginess, but knew in my heart that my bodyguard possessed a physical confidence I'd never match.
"Morning, my lord. I shan't say 'good morning', as I don't like to wilfully lie." Quintus' voice was quiet – too quiet for his words to carry past Jamar and myself. At least he'd ceased his pacing.
"Things are as bad as that?"
"Things are, if anything, worse," Quintus replied bluntly. "Karov's got the half of my men and he's evacuating the streets between us and the wall, but we're talking thousands upon thousands of citizens being driven reluctantly from their homes, and ordered to leave a city that they'd always been led to believe was the safest place in the world. On balance, I'd rather have my job than his."
"What about the districts north of the Silverway?" Jamar asked.
Quintus grimaced. "I can't do anything for them. If we're lucky, I've enough men to buy Karov some time if the enemy come south. If I bring the fight to them, or break through to the north, we'll be slaughtered in no time at all. They're not entirely defenceless – there are the garrisons of the northern lighthouses, the guards stationed at the Pit, and goodness knows how many militiamen watching over private estates. There are three towers in that area alone, which probably gives them more soldiery to call on than us a
t this point. If organised, they might stand a chance of holding the crossings."
"And who's going to organise them?" I asked. "Avanov's probably cowering in his estate."
"He'd not be any bloody use even if he weren't," Quintus said grimly. "No, I've sent Constans north to see to that. Hopefully he'll get there and back unmolested."
I found the idea ludicrous. "No one will follow Constans into battle."
"You think I don't know that? No, I've sent Constans to speak to someone who can." He sighed. "Our enemies aren't the only ones who can make deals with the dark."
It was now painfully clear who he was talking about. "Solomon. You're releasing Solomon."
"I don't see I have any choice. Like it or not, he has as much reason to fight as we do, and he's capable of leadership – when it's in his own interest. The worst that'll happen is he'll run, which won't leave us any worse off than we are now."
I saw his point, but I didn't like it. Arianwyn would like it far less, I was sure, so that'd be another piece of information I wouldn't volunteer. "We are what circumstances make us."
"I wasn't asking for your approval." But Quintus was relieved to get it, nonetheless – a little of the tightness faded from his voice. Quintus wanted this command no more than I did, and was relieved to share its burdens where he could.
I glanced down the bridge to where the sentries waited. The mist was thickening by the minute. The attack was sure to come soon. "How long do we need to hold?"
"As long as we can."
I eyed up the barricades. "That might not be very long."
"We'll just have to make it count. I've marksmen on the rooftops, so we shan't want for supporting fire. I've told Nierev..."
"Nierev? She's here?" I wouldn't have thought her fit to fight.
"She's here. That Zorya of yours can work wonders. I wouldn't call Nierev fully healed or anywhere near, but her house is only a few streets behind us and she point-blank refused to leave. Packed her family off as soon as I told her what was going on, but insisted on staying herself. She's not terribly mobile, so I've given her command of the marksmen. I've ordered her to make every shot count, so don't be expecting a hail of fire."
The crossbow's not a fast weapon anyway. I'd have much preferred a few companies of Hadari longbowmen, but that wasn't an option open to us. "If Nierev's here, where's Zorya?"
"Around," he said evasively. "She'd an idea I thought worth a try."
He went on to explain exactly what Zorya had proposed. Jamar roared with laughter and clapped Quintus on the back with enough force to stagger him.
"That's certainly ambitious," I said.
"Aye." Quintus eyed Jamar with mild reproof. "I think it might work, and she was most insistent. Nobody follows orders any longer." I tried to picture Quintus and Zorya arguing, and decided I was glad to have missed that particular spectacle.
A shout from one of the sentries drew my eye northward. A lone figure appeared out of the swirling mists. Constans.
He ran across the bridge to join us. He doubled over as he came to a stop, braced his hands upon his knees and drew in a pair of deep breaths before speaking. I'd not seen him so worn out before, even when we'd run across the city the previous day.
"Pull your sentries back." The words came between rasping breaths. "They're coming."
"How many?" asked Jamar.
"Several thousand, at least."
Quintus beckoned to his sentries, then addressed Constans. "All of them? There are none going north?"
"Not that I saw. But father always enjoyed breaking resistance where he saw it was strongest. Right now that's probably us."
"Droshna was your father?" Jamar rumbled.
"I was adopted," Constans clarified testily. "Look, if we're to stand around discussing genealogy, can we at least do so from the illusory safety of the barricade?"
The sentries hastened past, and we followed in their wake. "Did you reach Solomon?" I asked Constans.
"Yes. He said he'd think about it."
"He said what?" roared Quintus.
"Relax. He'll do it, if only to prove his superiority. It doesn't much matter now." My eyes followed Constans' outstretched finger to the far end of the bridge. The fallen had arrived.
Whatever the doubts Quintus had entertained, vanished with the sight of the enemy. He was bellowing as soon as his feet touched cobbles, ordering his men into place with a confidence that was wholly convincing. I saw now that he'd divided the defences into five roughly equal lengths and given command of each to a sergeant of praetorians. These men and women – whom I guessed had at least a century and a half's worth of experience between them – wouldn't be easily dismayed, and would know how to react to the battle's challenges.
I examined Quintus' soldiers as they took their positions. They were nervous but determined, and I doubted we could have found a better force had we the pick of Tressia's scattered armies. Of course, it helped that Quintus had doubtless palmed the less reliable off on Karov to help with the evacuations. What we had here were warriors who had chosen to fight, whether out of duty or out of the knowledge that every moment bought with their blood was another moment in which their families could escape.
All except the Thrakkians, of course. They were in this solely for the money, but I had no worries about them. Once their loyalty was bought, Thrakkians fought to the end. I'd seen them do so on many occasions. Honour – to say nothing of their prospects of further employment – demanded no less. And there would be a lot of gold to share between the survivors – Quintus would have seen to that.
Quintus took position in the centre of the barricade. I chose to make my stand a short distance to his left. That he hadn't thought to give me any orders was a subtle sign of respect, or possibly an indication he thought I wouldn't obey them anyway. Jamar stood with me. I thought about sending him to reinforce the barricade's right flank, but decided against it. He wouldn't readily be sent away, and I realised I was far happier to have him close at hand.
Constans took up position beside Quintus, his face once more set with that distant expression I'd seen him wear ever since Malgyne had broken through. Only Arianwyn didn't take a place on the barricade. She joined the fifty or so praetorians Quintus had kept in reserve. Jaspyr and Fredrik prowled at her side. I couldn't fault Arianwyn's reticence – as the mists had risen, her magic would have slipped away. She should have left, joined Karov's evacuation, but I knew she'd be no more willing to run than Nierev. Or the rest of us, for that matter.
At the other end of the bridge, the fallen horde shambled into view. Despite Droshna's pretensions, this was no army, just a mob of wicked-hearted and black-eyed creatures with a shared goal. Then again, our uniforms were just as mismatched and no banner flew above our heads. I'd not been in a formal battle for at least a year, but still the absence of any standard struck a jarring note.
Droshna himself marched at the head of the horde. He was tall, much taller than I – a veritable giant. He, at least, moved with a semblance of pride, but then Droshna had never been short of that particular quality, if legend was believed.
His was a deeply scarred face, the legacy of many battles won and lost. Despite the scars, there was a dark charm to his rugged looks, which I suppose might once have been considered handsome. However, the malice in Droshna's soul had long since twisted his countenance into something malevolent. Even had his skin not borne the pallor of the fallen, his expression alone would have betrayed him as a man beyond all redemption.
A great black sword lay across Droshna's shoulder, a weapon of such size that I doubted even Jamar could wield it effectively. Droshna swung the blade clear as he reached the halfway point of the bridge, resting the weapon's point on the roadway, and placed his two massive hands on the crossguard. The fallen horde came to a halt behind him.
"Pathetic." Droshna's voice sounded as if it issued from the very roots of the mountains. "First that rout in the square. Now you cower like rats. The Republic has fallen far." He spa
t on the roadway. "Is there not one amongst you who'll face me? Redeem a measure of your ill-spent pride? Defeat me, and this ends. Is that not a prize worth fighting for?"
Jamar shifted restlessly. I knew he was thinking of accepting Droshna's challenge, even though nothing good could have come of it. But then, so was I. Even the chance that Droshna would be true to his word made his offer worth consideration.
"Nobody moves," bellowed Quintus. "Nobody accepts that challenge." His eyes were fixed firmly on Droshna.
I heard murmuring, but no one defied Quintus' will.
Droshna laughed. "So Tressia chooses only the old and unfit for high office these days? Your heart must seethe at the men and women you led to their deaths today. Will you not come down and fight for redemption?"
It was now Quintus' turn to look tempted. I knew how badly he bore the burden of those already slain. I couldn't let him accept that challenge. But I couldn't think how to stop him without compounding the problem. If I held Quintus back, the Tressians would see their commander humbled. If I accepted the challenge in his place, I'd be dead in moments.
Fortunately, another chose to solve the matter for me.
"And why should any of us care what Droshna the liar thinks of us?" Constans planted his feet atop the barricade and shouted the question across the silence. "Droshna, the warrior so mighty he attacks only when he's certain he can't lose? Droshna, a man famous only for breaking every vow he's ever made?"
Droshna's face clouded with anger. "Who dares?"
Constans threw his hood back and laughed. "One who knows you better than any other."
Droshna face contorted like a beast's. Then, with a clearly superhuman effort, he forced his wrath back. "Still having difficulty choosing a side and staying true to it, my son?"
"Not at all," Constans shouted back. "My place is wherever you're not." He paused, then continued in a louder voice, an actor delivering the finale of a great play. "Now, if you're done talking us to death, let's get to this. Or will you slink back to your master and confess that a rabble of unfit, cornered rats was too much for the mighty Droshna?"
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