They had their own catapults mounted on the walls, but they were much smaller than the weapons Cyrus could bring to bear, and he kept his forces well clear of their range. By the end of the second day under the gruelling attack, the gates were stormed - not by Cyrus, but by a riotous mob desperate to flee a city that was rapidly becoming a death trap. The Raiders were forced to beat back their own people. A dozen or more died in the fracas; some trampled, others killed by the Raiders defending the gates from the mob. Damin ordered a curfew and threatened execution for anyone caught out on the streets without good cause.
It was later that night that he returned to his rooms, hoping to snatch a few hours' sleep before dawn and the next crop of crises emerged. Adrina was asleep when he arrived, and he stood in the moonlit chamber watching her through the flimsy curtain draped over the bed against insects. He'd not seen much of her lately and was a little surprised at how much he missed her. Pregnancy agreed with her, he thought. It was as if the budding life inside her had imbued her with some indefinable inner peace. She had always been beautiful, but now she was stunning. With a faint smile, he thought of the constant stream of potential brides that Marla had paraded before him over the years, glad now that he had held out for something truly worth fighting for.
Although he had made no sound, some instinct of self-preservation must have warned Adrina that she was not alone. Her eyes opened and she started a little, only relaxing when she realised who it was that stood in the doorway.
“I didn't mean to wake you.”
“I wasn't really asleep,” she replied, stretching languidly. “What time is it?”
“Late. Very late.”
“Then you should get some sleep. We'll still be under siege come morning.”
“I knew I could rely on you to cheer me up.”
She pulled back the curtain so she could see him more clearly. “You look tired.”
“Really? I only feel exhausted.”
“Was it that bad today?”
He nodded wearily as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Part of him wondered if it was worth taking his boots off. In a few hours the sun would be up and he'd only have to put them on again. Another part of him was trying not to recall the trampled bodies he had seen at the gate.
“I'm beginning to wonder if I should have accepted Cyrus' offer.”
“Surrender? Damin, you can't mean that!”
“I could save a lot of lives.”
“You'd be ending ours.”
“Cyrus offered us exile.”
“And you believe him?”
He saw the look of fierce determination in her eyes and smiled wearily. “No, I don't believe him. And don't worry, I haven't given up yet.”
“And if you do, it won't be Cyrus you have to fear,” she declared. “I'll run you through myself!”
He didn't doubt that she meant it. With a yawn he lay down beside her, fully clothed, as she moved across the bed to make room for him. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he felt fatigue wash over him. He closed his eyes with relief.
“Damin, if you're coming to bed, you could at least take your boots off.”
“I haven't got time to sleep,” he murmured. “I'm just going to rest my eyes for a moment.”
She moved into the circle of his arms and laid her head on his chest. He could smell the fresh scent of her hair and feel the slight bulge of her belly against his hip.
It was the last thing he remembered until Almodavar burst into the bedchamber next morning to inform him that Cyrus was breaking down the walls.
CHAPTER 33
Cracks appeared with the first hits. The walls were made of fragile chalkstone and had never been designed to withstand a serious attack. When Damin heard the news, he rode out to see the damage for himself. He was no engineer, but even he could tell that they would not last long.
“Call up the Collective Guards,” he ordered Almodavar. “Have them reinforce the troops on the walls.”
“You want me to take them off riot duty?”
“Riots are going to be the least of our problems shortly,” he said, as the crash of a boulder striking the wall made their horses rear in fright. The crack he had been examining widened alarmingly. A few more direct hits and it would be large enough for a man to walk through.
He turned his horse and cantered back through the streets to the palace, distressed by the devastation the bombardment had caused. There were blackened buildings everywhere he looked; others had crumpled under the weight of the boulders dropped from the sky. He avoided looking at the people. It was too hard to confront the fear in their eyes, the agony of their grief. Cursing himself for a fool, he wondered if he should have attacked sooner - tried to break out of the city and take the battle to Cyrus on open ground, where he at least would have had some freedom of movement.
He should never have put so much faith in R'shiel.
Another boom sounded, and his horse reared again, but this was a different sound to the solid cracking of stone against stone. The noise came again and he looked at Almodavar with a puzzled expression.
“That didn't come from the walls.”
“It sounded as if it came from the harbour.”
Another boom rolled over them as Damin spurred his horse forward. The sounds became more frequent, like a constant wave of thunder. As he neared the palace, the faint smell of smoke was drifting on the still air. But it wasn't ordinary smoke. It had a flavour he did not recognise. He flew from the saddle and ran up the steps into the palace and through the main hall to the balcony overlooking the harbour, gripping the balustrade in astonishment.
The sight that greeted him left him speechless. Three of the ships that had been blocking the harbour entrance were in flames. Behind them were a dozen or more warships. Fardohnyan warships. The booming sounded again as flames shot out from the nearest ship, and another of the blockaders fell victim to the Fardohnyan cannon. The ship in the lead headed for the gap in the sinking blockade line and sailed majestically through, her oars dipping and rising in a flawless rhythm.
“The Fardohnyans,” Almodavar remarked unnecessarily.
“They believe in cutting things a bit fine,” Damin agreed, finally finding his voice. The relief he felt was so intense he felt faint with it. “Where's Adrina?”
“I'm here, Damin,” she said, stepping out onto the balcony. She was smiling fondly as she pointed to the ship in the lead. “That's the Wave Warrior.”
“Your father's flagship?”
“R'shiel has outdone herself.”
“Does that mean Hablet has come?” Almodavar asked.
“Gods, I hope not,” Adrina muttered, stepping up to the balustrade. “Do you have a looking glass?”
Almodavar produced one from a pouch on his belt and handed it to her. She placed the tube to her eye and trained it on the ship. Then she laughed and lowered the glass.
“What?” Damin asked impatiently. “Is it your father?”
“No. It's better than that. He's sent my half-brother, Gaffen.”
Damin refrained from telling her how relieved he was that he would not have to confront her father. They watched the ship sail forward, heading for the dock below the palace. As it neared the wharf the oars banked sharply, turning the ship into the dock.
“Come on. Let's go and greet our new allies. We've about an hour before Cyrus breaks through the walls.”
“That'll make Gaffen happy. He'd be dreadfully disappointed to come all this way and not have someone to fight.”