‘Corvus is cut off in Fifth Circle,’ he snapped instead, ‘and the officers he was hoping to capture are leading the defence of the breach on the other fucking side of the city. We’re likely to lose him too if word reaches Mace that Corvus is in there.’
Skerris squinted into the pre-dawn gloom at the torch-lit breach. ‘All right. Then we take Mace and take the breach.’
‘Oh, aye, we just take Mace, do we?’ Galtas grunted. ‘How fucking exactly?’
‘Men and artillery and blood and steel, the same as always. Your friend Crys Tailorson is up there too, by the way,’ he added, as though dangling a mouse for a hungry cat. ‘Rivil boasted that the East Rank would meet the Mireces in the centre of the city. Perhaps we should do just that. Storm the breach and then press on, no stopping, surge through the city and cut down everyone we come across. Rivil wanted us to preserve as much of his city as possible; I don’t see we have that problem any more. Unless you have a pressing desire to do otherwise?’
‘Rivil wanted a city to rule, it’s true. Perhaps Corvus doesn’t deserve one.’ Galtas’s stomach rolled with sudden acid, sudden anger. ‘Well, it looks like we’re out of other options, doesn’t it? Very well, I agree. We take Mace, take this wall, and then we join up with Corvus. I’ve little doubt he’ll head for the temple district at some point – we can meet him there.’ He squinted at Skerris. ‘You’re a general, I know that. But you still take orders. You will take them from me from now on, not from the Mireces. Yes?’
Skerris adjusted his belt over his massive gut with thoughtful deliberation. ‘As long as your orders put the faith and victory first, we won’t have a problem. Milord.’
Galtas nodded and turned to inspect the assault on the breach. Despite his words and promises, he’d no intention of seeing Corvus on the throne. Not now. Not ever.
A high vantage point, a bow and quiver, and Galtas would do his patriotic duty and prevent a Mireces ruling Rilpor. As for who would eventually take the throne, well, Galtas was a war hero and the confidant of kings. There were worse choices.
CORVUS
Fifth moon, dawn, day forty-three of the siege
Guardsman’s entrance, Fifth Circle, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
Rivil won’t be pleased I’ve fired his palace, Corvus thought. Oh, wait. He grinned and rolled his shoulders, his nerves settling as his confidence grew. They were in, and they were alive, and no one was currently trying to kill them.
The Wolves had fled. Outnumbered and outfought, they’d retreated to the tunnel to First Circle with Fost in pursuit, then barricaded the gate and run back to the East Tower with their tails between their legs. They’d left a fair amount of dead behind them, though, their own and Corvus’s. The Lady’s will.
Corvus’s guide, an East Ranker, was adamant. ‘Guardsman’s entrance into Fourth Circle. Nobility aren’t fighters; they’ll die easy. Gold, jewels, coin. Food, water. It’s all in Fourth. Ain’t nothing here in Fifth but a trap, but get into Fourth and we’ve got options.’
‘I would’ve thought it’d all be in the palace? The gold?’ Valan grunted, stretching his back. He turned from the Ranker to check the approach behind him, check Corvus was still there, still safe. Corvus met his eyes and winked.
‘What’s your name again?’ he asked.
‘Runt, they call me,’ the Ranker said. ‘And the treasury is in the palace, aye, but it’d take a week to break in there even if you hadn’t just set it on fire. Nobles though, well, they just leave their coin lyin’ around in heaps. Take a few of ’em hostage, the rest’ll be clamouring to surrender. Once one Circle falls, the others’ll follow soon enough.’
‘You know a lot for a lowly Ranker,’ Corvus put in, though in truth he didn’t much care. Controlling the coin and food might bring the city to its knees, but Corvus wanted blood and conversion, sacrifice and vengeance. He wanted to make Rilpor bleed for a thousand years of apostasy, a thousand years of contempt. Enough food for his army and enough coin to quiet the East Rank, and he’d be happy. This wasn’t about land or riches, no matter what the enemy or even his allies thought. This was justice and the gods’ glory.
‘I keep my ear to the ground, Yer Majesty,’ Runt said, sniffing. ‘It ain’t difficult.’
‘So we get into Fourth Circle and we’ve free rein?’ Valan checked.
Runt sniffed again. ‘Nah. Circles’re divided into districts, so there’s walls and big fancy gates splitting them into sections, like spokes on a wheel. No one tell you any of this? Rivil just sent you in blind, did he? Cunt. Anyway, district gates’re more for show than security, made to be pretty, not functional, at least in Fourth. They’ll only be guarded by the City Watch and a few swings with a ram would bring ’em down, I reckon. If they’re even locked. Nobles’re arrogant. Some of those gates probably haven’t been closed in years. You won’t have too much trouble getting through, I shouldn’t think.’
‘All right,’ Corvus said and waved them on. ‘Get this gate open. We came for Mace and we haven’t got him, so we go with the backup plan. House to house in the noble quarter. Kill everyone – men, women, children, servants, dogs. Everyone. Blood for the gods, to wash the Dancer’s stain from the stone. Then burn it. Fear and despair will win us this city, and with Fifth and Fourth both alight, their seat of power is lost.’
Valan’s eyes were gleaming in the dawn light and Corvus punched his fist into his palm. ‘Then the temple district. Stupid bastards’ve put all their holy places together, makes it easier for us to rededicate them to the Red Gods. Take the temple district and the one next to it, the one with the gate into the killing field,’ he snapped his fingers.
‘Merchant quarter,’ Runt supplied.
‘Right, take the temple and merchant quarters and fortify. That’s our base. We launch assaults from there until Skerris takes the breach, then we go all out and meet him in the middle of whatever’s left. Our feet are on the Path.’
‘Our feet are on the Path,’ Valan echoed, his teeth gleaming white in the gloom of the gateway. He slapped Runt on the back. ‘Let’s fucking do this.’
The battering ram was made of the posts from the royal bed lashed together. Corvus didn’t hold out much hope for it, but if the gates were as weak as Runt insisted, it might be enough.
They were bloody and bruised, filled with rage and religion, and they could smell riches. If Runt was right, no one was expecting them to come through here. It should give them more than enough time to make an impression on Rilporin’s noblest families.
Corvus grimaced as the ram team ran at the gate and bounced off it, the oak rattling in its frame. But half a dozen solid blows later and the gate was splintering, twisting and squealing on its hinges even as the ram started to come apart. The team backed out of the way and set to work fixing it while others finished smashing the gate with axes.
The advance party went through, weapons ready and shields up. They slid out of sight and Corvus held up a clenched fist for silence. They waited, tense, for screams and the clash of weapons, but there was nothing.
Runt looked back at the king. ‘Whoever was on duty either died of fright or scarpered to raise the alarm. Wonder which it could be?’ His grin was evil and unconcerned.
‘I suspect the latter,’ Corvus said, his tone sour. Runt’s nonchalance was starting to piss him off. ‘Let’s go. Fost and his lot will have to catch us up. That’ – he pointed to the fierce glow of the burning palace and the sparks drifting on the dawn breeze – ‘is going to tell everyone exactly where we are. So let’s not be where they think us.’
Valan got into position in front of Corvus and led him through the gate. Fourth Circle was quiet, seeming deserted, and they paused to take in the spectacle of wide-open streets and enormous stone buildings, each one a home for just a single family. The longhouse in Eagle Height could have fitted inside any one of them three times over.
‘Squads of fifty,’ Corvus hissed and the order was passed. ‘Take a house each, keep it quiet if you can, move fast. Blo
od and fire.’
‘Blood and fire,’ the Mireces echoed, savage grins splitting their faces as they peeled off down the streets, climbing broad stairs to ornate front doors or wide windows full of expensive, but so very fragile, glass.
The first sounds came – windows shattering, axes in doors – the first shouts, the first screams. ‘Looks like we’ve woken the neighbours.’ Corvus laughed. ‘Come on.’
The sun was a finger’s width over the horizon, not that you could see either through the black smoke of the burning palace. In the end, Fourth Circle had defeated them through its sheer size, and as the time passed Corvus had decided that making for the temple district was more important than killing rich folk. They’d taken the gate into the cloth district of Third Circle and fought a brief and one-sided battle against the shopkeepers and stall-holders who lived there.
Now they jogged along the street with shields on their backs, weapons in one hand and lit torches in the other. Many of the district’s goods were stored in long, low warehouses, and as the Mireces passed each one, they threw torches through doors and windows. The crackle of flame and heat pressed against their backs as they advanced.
They were approaching the gate into Second Circle when the clash of arms erupted and Corvus skidded to a halt behind Valan’s out-flung arm. ‘Wolves and Rankers,’ a Mireces gasped, legging it back around the bend towards them. ‘Good few hundred, looks like.’
‘Shit,’ Corvus said. By not pursuing the Wolves out of Fifth, he’d given them time to regroup and find backup. Now they had to fight them all over again. ‘The Lady’s will. Kill them.’ The man bobbed his head and vanished back around the corner. The noise of battle increased. The thousand he’d brought into the city numbered far fewer now, but he still had more than half, surely enough. He grabbed Runt. ‘You. Another gate into Second?’
Runt shook his head and wiped soot from streaming eyes. ‘Next gate to Second is on the King’s Way. It’ll be fully fortified and heavily guarded. It’s here or nowhere, Sire.’
Corvus chewed his lip and then nodded. ‘Valan, we break through here. All of us, full assault, no reserve.’ Valan blew out his cheeks but didn’t argue, passing the word fast and low.
‘Let’s go. Runt, with me. We need your knowledge of this fucking rabbit warren.’
‘As you say.’ Runt shrugged and pulled his sword. They broke into a jog, and then into a run, and then they swept around the corner and into the fight.
MACE
Fifth moon, morning, day forty-three of the siege
Gatehouse, western wall, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
Second Last is lost, towers and all. Double First will be theirs by dusk. The palace is burning and the nobles’ quarter has been sacked.
The wall’s lost. Two Circles are lost. But is the war lost?
As he hunkered down with his back to the gatehouse stones, Mace suspected it just might be. There were no reinforcements. Durdil and Yarrow were dead. Dorcas – poor bastard – had lost his other eye and was raving in a hospital bed somewhere. He had no idea where Renik, Tara or the Wolves were – just had to hope they were alive and safe – and Mireces were loose in the city and digging in. Colonel Edris was in the hospital, his leg missing from the knee down, and not expected to last the day.
Vaunt was still with him, reeling on his feet with fatigue, concussed and bleeding, and Crys was … Crys was frightening the living shit out of Mace. He’d seen Crys fight before, skirmishes, brawls and all-out battles, but he’d never seen anything like this. He moved with a grace that shouldn’t even be possible, sliding out of range of weapons, edged steel missing by a hair’s breadth, seeming to hear attacks before they occurred. And the eyes …
The enemy fell at his feet like wheat, the men around him made monsters or heroes simply by his presence. Mace knew he was one of them, moving to a will other than his own. Crys hadn’t saved Mace’s father, but he’d almost singlehandedly held the breach through the long hours of the night and into the dawn, soldiers dying as though just to garner his approval. That had to count for something.
If Mace put away his grief and his rage, it did mean something. It meant everything. It means he’s who they’re saying he is.
Archers were holding the rubble wall perched on top of the breach, and everyone else was poisoning First Circle’s wells and setting fire to the grain stores, filling the tower rooms and stairwells with rubble, piling furniture and rock against the doors to hold them closed, doing everything possible to prevent the Mireces having an easy way into the city. Down the scree of the breach or not at all, those were the options.
Mace fished a filthy square of linen from inside his breastplate and used it to dab at the burst blisters on the side of his face and down his neck. The pain was unrelenting, maddening, gnawing at his bones and brain until it was hard to concentrate. And gods, he was so shitting thirsty.
A rope appeared from above, snaking on to the flagstones in front of him. Mace stared at it, uncomprehending, and seconds later Crys slid down it and landed with a soft thump.
‘Gatehouse is sealed and the catapult is disabled, Commander. I’ve left a candle stub burning in a pool of pitch and soaked the engine itself. Hour or so and the whole lot will go up. Not sure how much damage it’ll do, but better it be destroyed than it ends up in enemy hands.’
Mace nodded dumbly. ‘The Mireces are to our south, in the temple district.’ He gestured and Crys followed his finger to see the new blooms of smoke darkening the sky.
‘They’re burning the temples?’ he asked, his voice hollow. ‘The temples?’
Mace’s shrug barely rattled his pauldrons, he was so tired. ‘Looks like it. Better those than the housing districts. Better the temples than a lot of places.’
Crys’s lips were white but he gave a jerky nod of the head. ‘Orders, sir?’
‘First Circle is lost.’ It didn’t sound any better coming from his scratchy throat than it did in his head. ‘We retreat, prop Second Circle’s gates and start the defence all over again.’
The words tasted bitter, and he coughed into his hand. So thirsty. Crys saluted and stepped sideways. ‘Where are you going?’ Mace demanded. ‘We need all hands to secure Second Circle.’
‘If we’re abandoning First Circle, we need to make sure the siege engines are disabled or destroyed in every tower, not just the gatehouse. Don’t want them turning our own artillery on us.’ He pointed. ‘I’ll nip up through First Bastion – they haven’t quite closed it off yet – and make my way around. Could use some help, you’ve got anyone to spare.’
Mace closed his mouth and dabbed at the blisters again. I should’ve thought of that. Father would’ve thought of that; he’d have ordered it done by now. He always could see the bigger picture.
He waved Crys away. ‘You find ’em, you can have ’em,’ he said. ‘Dancer’s grace, Major, especially if you’re going south.’
Crys grinned and, Mace would swear, winked. ‘Don’t you worry about me, Commander. Get safe in Second Circle and I’ll see you in there in time for supper. Oi, Weaverson!’ he called and the young lieutenant limped in his direction. ‘We’re surrendering First Circle, so we need to disable the engines in the towers.’
Mace saw Weaverson’s face drain of blood. He didn’t blame him one bit.
‘Get a decent bunch of lads and head north, all right? North One and Two are yours, East Tower if you can make it, then get your arses into Second Circle and have a breather. You see any of ours on your travels, you send them inwards too.’
The youth brightened and Mace nearly smiled; the northern wall had seen precious little action throughout the siege. Not only were the towers in good repair, but no enemies had been spotted moving in that direction since the wall had collapsed. Chances were good they’d be unhindered and alive by the end of the exercise. More than could be said for Crys.
The pair separated and loped off in opposite directions. Mace supposed he should get up. Father wouldn’t be sitting here while everyone el
se did the work. Durdil’s dead face swam into his vision and Mace felt another flare of pain, from inside this time. How did you keep going, Da? How did you never let anyone see your despair? Did you despair?
‘Incoming!’ The shout was high and full of fear and it sent a message to Mace’s legs that his brain hadn’t been able to. He was up and running away from the gatehouse, out into the killing field, spinning to look up in the direction of the call. A rock tumbled through the sky, sailing over the breach and smashing into shrapnel on the flagstones a hundred strides from Mace. Men screeched as splintered stone cut into them in a deadly hail.
‘Treb?’ he bellowed, adrenaline narrowing his focus down to the threat and suppressing his grief in a surge of clarity.
‘Treb,’ came the confirmation. ‘They’re bringing her up to the wall for a better angle. She’ll be loosing into Second Circle soon enough.’
‘Bastards,’ Mace muttered, staring along the wall. There was nothing they could do. The wall was falling; the catapults were shattered, burning or being destroyed. They had nothing to send back at it. ‘Enemy on the breach?’ Mace called up, focusing on a problem he might be able to solve.
There was a pause long enough for him to begin picking his way through the rubble in preparation to begin the climb. ‘Couple hundred!’ came the yell, strident and panicked.
Mace stared without seeing as he ran the numbers, soldiers poised for his order. Those were their mates up there, brothers in arms, family. Every single one of them wanted Mace to give a particular order. And every single one was terrified that he actually would.
‘Can you hold?’ he roared, fingers tight on the hilt of his sword. If they say no … if they say no we’re going to have to go up there.
‘Shit … yes, Commander. Yes, we can hold. How long?’
‘As long as you can give us,’ Mace shouted, ‘but for fuck’s sake give us some warning before you pull back.’
‘Understood.’
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