The Harshini bowed solemnly. “I am aware of that, Your Highness. And now, if I may be excused, I will return to the Collective to speak with Farandelan and Joranara. I will need their help for this task.”
“Of course,” Damin agreed. “And again, I thank you.”
As soon as he was gone, Adrina walked around the desk and pushed a stack of rolled parchment out of the way, so she could sit on it. Her expression was insufferably smug.
“So, how do you like my first official act as High Princess?”
“Not bad.”
“Not bad! It was a stroke of genius!”
“Yes, it was. But you already know that. I'm not going to inflate that ego of yours any more than it already is by admitting it, though.”
Adrina laughed. Despite the siege, despite Tamylan's death and everything else that had happened to her recently, Damin had never seen her happier. She was finally in her element, he realised. She had power and respect and the ability to use that awesome intellect for something other than causing trouble. Hablet had been a fool not to recognise what he had in his daughter. Then again, he might have actually seen her potential and banished her to Karien where he thought she could not threaten him.
Her laughter faded after a while and she became serious. “It's only a temporary measure, Damin. We can't ask the Harshini to call fish into the harbour indefinitely.”
“I know. But every day we hold out is a day closer to help arriving.”
“You still believe R'shiel will be able to convince my father to send help?”
“If anybody can, R'shiel can. It's simply a question of how long it takes. She knows the urgency of the situation.”
“Personally, I don't see why she couldn't just stay here and throw a few fireballs around like she did in the Defender's camp in Medalon. That would have softened Eaglespike's spine quick enough.”
“She wants peace, Adrina,” he reminded her. “Besides, throwing fireballs around might cow Cyrus into submission, but it would more than likely burn my city to the ground.”
“And you think a running battle through the streets of Greenharbour is going to be any less damaging?”
“No. But I've some control over the way a battle goes. R'shiel has no control over where her magic lands.”
“Do you think she'll ever be ready to face Xaphista?” she asked.
“I hope so.”
“If she fails,” Adrina warned, “we'll spend the rest of our lives at war. I've lived with the Kariens, Damin. I've heard what they preach. Xaphista won't be content until the whole world is on its knees before him.”
Following the Harshini summons, the fish netted in the harbour kept the city fed for another few days, but that problem was quickly replaced by another, more urgent dilemma, one that even outweighed the threat of imminent starvation. To make matters worse, it was an enemy Damin had no idea how to fight: garbage.
Normally, an army of slaves was employed to remove the refuse of the city and dump it outside in a vast old quarry several leagues away that had been disused for decades. But the garbage wagons were full and there was nowhere to go. Damin refused to let them dump it in the harbour and had ordered the rubbish burned instead. That would have worked if the refuse was dry, but in the humidity of Greenharbour, nothing ever dried completely and the burning could not keep pace. So the garbage piled higher in the streets and ten days after the siege began, Kalan came to him with the first reports of disease spreading through the poorer quarters of the city.
He ordered the affected areas quarantined, but it only served to slow the spread of the disease, not stop it. The Harshini, who were naturally immune to human ailments, worked tirelessly healing the sick, but there were only three of them - not enough to keep pace with the plague. Sorcerers from the Collective worked beside them until they either dropped from exhaustion or succumbed to disease themselves. He had seen Kalan only twice since the outbreak, and both times she had been haggard with fatigue.
He'd had a blazing row with Adrina when she decided that she should go out and help, claiming it would enhance his position as High Prince no end if his wife were seen to be caring for the sick. Her pregnancy was just beginning to show and even if he hadn't been terrified at the thought of her catching something, he was not going to let her endanger their unborn child. She had reluctantly given in, and only then when he reminded her of the danger to their baby. The atmosphere had not been pleasant since. Adrina was like a caged leopard, prowling around the palace, feeling useless and frustrated. But he did not resent her mood - he felt exactly the same way.
On the fifteenth day of the siege, Cyrus sent a message under a flag of truce. The messenger was let in through the postern gate, and proved to be Serrin Eaglespike, the Warlord of Dregian's younger brother. He was escorted to the palace followed by the curious stares of a population weary of the siege and hopeful that the young lord's presence heralded the end of their ordeal.
“My brother offers leniency, my Lords,” Serrin informed them as he stood before Damin, Narvell, Rogan, Tejay, Toren, Adrina and Princess Marla in the main hall. He handed Damin a parchment sealed with the Eaglespike crest - Cyrus' formal terms for surrender. Damin didn't even bother to open it.
“In return for what?” Rogan demanded.
“Lord Wolfblade must surrender the city, abdicate the throne, and agree to exile in the country of his choice. You, my Lords,” he added, addressing the other Warlords, “may retain your provinces, provided you agree to swear allegiance to Lord Eaglespike immediately.”
“Cyrus must think we're bored,” Tejay remarked. “He obviously sent Serrin here for a bit of light entertainment.”
“This is not a jest, my Lady.”
“It is from where I'm standing,” Tejay laughed. “Send him back to his big brother, Damin. Preferably a piece at a time.”
“Tempting though the idea is, Lady Lionsclaw, he's here under a flag of truce,” Damin reminded her. “If you want to cut him into little pieces, you'll just have to wait until he comes over the wall.”
Serrin glared at them in disbelief. “Don't any of you take this seriously? You are surrounded and starving and yet you make jokes! You cannot hope to hold out for much longer.”
“What we hope for is not your concern,” Damin told the young man.
“And that is your answer to our terms?”
“This is your answer.” Damin tore the unread document to shreds and threw the scraps at Serrin. “Go back and tell your treacherous brother and his allies that we do not deal with traitors. Instead of wasting his time figuring out the terms of my surrender, he'd be more gainfully employed putting his own affairs in order. I hear that's the wisest thing to do when one knows that their death is imminent.”
“You will regret this, Wolfblade,” Serrin warned.
“Not nearly as much as Cyrus will,” Damin predicted.
The following day, the bombardment began.
Greenharbour's walls were more decorative than defensive, and the only thing that had kept the enemy at bay thus far was Cyrus' willingness to wait. Once the war engines were rolled into place, however, Damin knew it was simply a matter of time before the walls were breached and the armies of Dregian and Greenharbour poured into the city.
But Cyrus did not attack the walls immediately. The boulders and burning pitch he lobbed into the city landed at random, killing any soul unfortunate enough to be in their destructive path. At first, Damin thought they were merely testing their range, but after two days he realised it was a deliberate attempt to further demoralise the people. The bombardment went on relentlessly, day and night, and the death toll mounted.