Olivere’s eyes flickered, and the man withdrew his head from where it had been leaning forward, the wicked light in his eyes smothered. “Green Hill is a fortress. You’ll spend months trying to lay siege to us-months you don’t have. The Army of Actaluere is already in motion and will fall on you sooner than you expect. We have watchers in the hills by the bridge, and we were informed of your arrival the day you set foot on our shores. We’ve been watching you since you camped by the bridge, indulging in your pitiful excess by lounging for an entire day after your journey.” Olivere’s lips turned up in a cruel smile. “The King of Actaluere rides with an army of ten thousand men, ready to meet you on the field of battle. Your pitiful force stands no chance.”
Cyrus leaned toward Olivere and beckoned that the envoy should lean closer to him. “Last month,” Cyrus whispered, “I went up against an army of one hundred thousand with only a few hundred.” He pulled back, a coarse, soulless grin on his face. “Do you think your ten thousand scares me?” Cyrus looked to Odellan and ignored the slightly stricken look on Olivere’s face. “See him safely back to his horse.” He focused on Olivere, stared the man straight in the eyes. “Warn your liege. I have more at my command than you can possibly weather.”
Cyrus watched the envoy be led away as Ryin Ayend joined him, still yawning and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “What was that all about?” the druid asked.
“The Baron who’s in charge of the nearby holdfast captured one of our scouting parties during the night and is threatening to kill them unless we leave these shores,” Cyrus said.
Ryin froze midway through stretching an arm over his head. His tanned face became hard lines in a moment, mouth slightly open. “I take it that you bypassed calm reflection of peaceful remedies to this situation? You mean to show him the error of his ways by burning his home to the ground, yes?”
“Is that going to be a problem for you?” Cyrus gave the druid have an icy glare.
“Not necessarily,” Ayend said. “But I do think we should consider options that might result in less conflict before rushing headlong into battle.”
“I asked him to release our people,” Cyrus said.
“Did you ‘ask’ politely or was there some component of a threat attached to it?”
“Now, Ryin,” Cyrus said, all too patronizingly, “you’ve known me long enough to recognize that when someone threatens me, or any of my people, they’re not going to get much in the way of politeness in return.”
“Aye,” the druid said, voice cracking, “that’s what I was afraid of.”
The news spread through the camp as the army was awakened, and Cyrus found himself surrounded by the other officers. The last embers of the fire had begun to die down, and Cyrus ignored the last few logs that he could throw upon it. Curatio was pensive, as was J’anda. Longwell and Odellan spoke in hushed tones at the edge of the knot of officers. Ryin and Nyad huddled close together, as if for warmth, but no words were exchanged between the two of them. It was Terian who watched Cyrus with a certain intensity, who finally broke the morning quiet.
“So we break down the walls, take our people back and drag our enemies’ entrails from their still-writhing bodies?” The dark knight’s face was twisted, spiteful.
“I’m not opposed to that if it comes to it-save for perhaps the grisly entrail removal portion of it,” Ryin said. “But are we certain there is no other way?”
“They could give our people up peacefully before we get there,” Terian said, “and then we walk inside and drag their entrails out of-”
“They’re in a keep,” Ryin said, shaking his head. “Are we really prepared for a siege? This could take weeks or months.”
“No, it won’t,” Cyrus said, cutting across the words of argument that came from J’anda and Terian before they could begin. “In Arkaria, it might take that long. But this is Luukessia, a land that has never known magic, yes?” He looked to Longwell, who nodded in confirmation. “This will take less than an hour.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to discount the power of spellcasters since I am one,” Ryin said, staring at Cyrus with a sort of scornful distaste, “but I don’t think they add as much to sieging a castle as you might think.”
“Ever laid siege to a castle?” Terian asked, looking at Ryin.
“Yes, once,” Ryin said, his arm wrapping more tightly around Nyad, almost defensive. “In the Northlands, when I was with my old guild. A group of bandits had taken it by subterfuge and we were employed by the Confederation to help lay siege to it. It took close to a month. We magic users had little to nothing to do during the time, just sat back and waited.”
“The other side had magic users as well?” Cyrus said. “To put up defensive spells on the ramparts to block invasion, and such? Because that would be the only reason they wouldn’t have used you in the siege, assuming your leader was competent.”
“You mean … oh, I see,” Ryin said, nodding his head. “Oh. Oh, my.”
“Yes,” Cyrus said with a thin smile. “The possibilities are near-endless. Rally the army. We march as soon as they’re ready.”
Campfires were doused, packs were gathered, blades were hoisted, and the army was moving minutes later. Cyrus was at the fore, with the officers and Odellan riding in a tight-knit group around him. “This will be a two-pronged attack,” Cyrus said. “The first prong is the army at the gates. The other is a smaller group of veterans.” He turned to Odellan. “You’re on gate duty.”
Odellan’s eyebrows raised. “Where will you be?”
“With the other prong, cutting into their delicate entrails.”
The day was sunny and bright, an absolute contrast to Cyrus’s mood. It was as though all the darkness he had carried with him had been given shape, the mournfulness turned to rage and now pointed at a target which he could feel good about spearing with his blade. They crossed over hills and through valleys, until at the crest of a ridge a castle appeared in the middle of a green, grassy valley below.
It was surrounded by a moat, with a curtain wall almost thirty feet high the entire way around. There was a drawbridge that began to rise as they drew closer, with a little village less than a mile away from the walls. Cyrus saw a stream of people in the village square, a hubbub of activity, as though they were evacuating, heading south in a cluster.
“Do they think we’re going to attack their town?” J’anda asked. “We’ve been so nice to their countrymen.” The sun was high overhead, beating down upon them.
“The smallfolk who are left unprotected in villages tend to bear the brunt of any war in Luukessia,” Longwell said. “They likely believe we will act as every other invading force would and start by sacking the village.”
“Keep our people clear of the village,” Cyrus said, measured neutrality in his tone. “It seems to me those folks had nothing to do with their Baron’s decision to commit suicide, so we’ll have no part in wrecking their lives.” He looked back at them. “Pass the word. I don’t expect we’d need to worry about it with a seasoned Sanctuary army, but these people are new, some of them may be from armies where that was permissible and I want them to understand-anyone sacking, looting, burning or raping will be killed and left to rot in this land-that sort of behavior is simply not tolerated in Sanctuary.”
“But we can sack, loot, and burn the castle, right?” Terian looked around. “Right?”
“That depends on how the Baron responds to our arrival,” Cyrus said.
They followed the road outside the village. The cool mid-morning air still bore the chill of the pre-dawn even though the sun shone down on them now, casting shadows through the pines that were scattered along the path. The smell of the trees filled his nose, the sharp scent as present as the crunch of the needles under the hooves of their horses. The army marched behind Cyrus, and he looked up at the white stone curtain wall, shining in the sunlight, and saw heads peeking from behind the ramparts. The castle had towers at each corner, and across the battlements Cyrus saw spears poking up. To lay siege to this castle in a traditional way, I’d need siege towers, catapults … and lots of time. But I have no time to spare for bastards such as these.