Azreal was the first to drop to his knee before their prince. Endellion followed suit, feeling the damp of the grass soak into her leather trews. For some moments Amon Tugha stood and stared southward, ignoring his Elharim bodyguards and the Khurtic chieftains in his thrall. All the while one of those hounds stared as the other noisily cracked at the bone in its jaws. Endellion glanced up as she waited; noticing that the bone the animal dined on belonged to no beast, but was the thigh bone of a man.
‘Rise,’ said Amon Tugha, without turning around, his golden eyes still fixed on that city as though it were built from all the jewels of the Riverlands.
The Elharim both stood and Endellion glanced to Azreal, who gave no sign as to what was going on. Were they just to stand here admiring Steelhaven from afar? They all knew why they were here; they had watched the city for days without so much as a single arrow fired in anger. What now?
‘My ships from across the Midral have arrived,’ said Amon, finally. ‘Their bombardment will begin at sunset. It will be our sign to attack from the north.’
‘About fucking time,’ growled Brulmak Tarr in the guttural Khurtic tongue. Endellion thought it foolish of him to speak unless spoken to, but it was clear Amon Tugha had learned to give his savage warriors some latitude to their behaviour in recent weeks. They were barbarians and would never adapt to the traditions and manners demanded of Elharim warriors.
Amon Tugha turned, and Endellion saw him smiling, the blond spikes of his hair all but shining atop his handsome face, the ritual scars and burns to his chest and arms livid against his bronzed flesh. ‘I know you grow restless,’ said Amon. ‘All of you have fought hard for many days only to be stopped in your tracks when our goal is in sight. Tonight your patience will be rewarded. The waiting is over.’
Endellion could have laughed at that. Though they had been camped here for almost six days the Khurtas had done little waiting; instead fighting and fucking amongst themselves as though their lives depended on it. It was rumoured Brulmak Tarr had already killed a dozen of his own men, such was his impatience for battle.
Amon Tugha looked to Azreal. ‘How go our preparations?’ he asked.
‘We will be ready, my prince,’ Azreal replied. ‘The siege engines will be completed by sundown. The location to the west of the city has been found, our warriors are already making the preparations you ordered.’
Amon Tugha nodded. ‘Good. It is important we begin our attack now. We can wait no longer. The Father of Killers has failed and the queen of this city yet lives. I will see Steelhaven fall and take her crown with my own hands.’
Despite his master’s words, Azreal shook his head. There was something he wanted to say, something that Amon Tugha might not want to hear. For a moment Endellion almost reached out to stop him, but it was too late.
‘My lord, I must ask,’ Azreal said, his head still bowed. ‘We have the advantage. The city is cut off from land and sea. This kingdom is riven by feuds and the other nobles within it will not come to the city’s aid. So why attack? Why make such a sacrifice when we could wait them out? Starve them? Put them on the offensive or force their surrender?’
Endellion could hear one of the Khurtic war chiefs snort in derision at the notion they would starve their enemy rather than fight, but she was more concerned with Amon Tugha’s reaction. It was rare he would allow anyone to question his wishes without repercussion, even Azreal, who he favoured above all.
The prince looked at his assassin for some moments, and Endellion feared the worst. Then a smile crossed her master’s face.
‘You speak sense, my brother,’ he said finally. ‘But it is not enough to starve this city and pick at the flesh that remains. I want it razed. I want it destroyed. I want to walk its shattered stones and wade through the broken bones of its slaughtered defenders.’ Amon Tugha’s voice rose as he spoke, and both his hounds grew unsettled at their master’s anger. ‘I want its queen to suffer at my hand. I want to tread her smashed crown beneath my heel.’ Endellion could see the golden fire in her master’s eyes now. His lips turned up in a maniac grin and spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth. ‘And I will have it within the next four days, no matter the sacrifice. No matter if every Khurta in my service dies for it. No matter if you die for it, broken and beaten in the dirt.’ He stopped then and stared at Azreal, who could only hold his master’s gaze for the briefest of moments.
‘Yes, my prince,’ Azreal replied, bowing his head.
Amon Tugha said nothing further, just turned back to the city of Steelhaven and glared at his prize, so close but still out of reach.
At such a signal, Endellion and Azreal backed away, leaving their master to his thoughts. Before they turned to make their way back down the hill Endellion saw that Brulmak Tarr and Wolkan Brude were grinning at Azreal’s cowing. How she would have loved to punish them for such an insult, but it would only have served to stir Amon Tugha’s ire still further, and there was no way she would survive that.
‘Pleased with yourself?’ she whispered as they made their way back through the camp.
‘It had to be said,’ Azreal replied. ‘Every doctrine of siege warfare states we have the advantage. Needlessly pressing to raze the city will cost us dearly.’
‘And yet we will still follow him,’ she said.
Azreal stopped at that, turning to regard her with those eyes she found so beautiful. He was angry, that much was obvious, but all she wanted to do was grab him and kiss his lips till they bled from the passion of it.
‘Yes, we will follow him,’ he said. ‘Unto death if we have to.’
She could feel the smile slowly dropping from her face.
Back in the Riverlands, two years ago, when the man they now called Amon Tugha had been banished, it had seemed they had no choice but to follow him. He was their master and despite his betrayal of the queen, his own mother, they were still bound to their prince. They were sworn to him, loyal without question, but ever since they had left their homeland doubt had begun to creep into Endellion’s mind. Now, so many hundreds of miles from home, she was beginning to question that loyalty. She was Arc Magna, a peerless warrior, respected and feared by her kith and kin. Here it seemed she was just another of Amon Tugha’s horde. Expendable like all the rest.
‘You follow him like a sheep,’ Endellion said, trying to keep the anger from her voice, but failing. ‘What have we come here for? We are as disgraced as he is, we owe him nothing.’
‘He is still our prince.’ Azreal sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as much as her.
‘And he will lead us to our deaths. For what? An ugly, stinking city a thousand miles from our home? That’s not a good enough reason for me.’
‘That is not the only reason. We are here to regain what we have lost. To build his name anew so they will hear it echoing back into the Riverlands. So they will know it was an injustice to banish him so. He is a king, and those that stand at his shoulder are kings alongside him.’
Endellion could see the light in Azreal’s eyes as he spoke, hear the vehemence in his voice. It seemed he had lost none of his zeal, whereas she had almost none left at all. How would she persuade him of his folly? He would never listen if she pointed out the truth Azreal chose to ignore. That the man they called Amon Tugha had tried to usurp the crown of the Riverlands from his brother, the rightful heir, in a failed coup. That the ‘injustice’ as Azreal called it was more a mercy. By all rights their queen should have taken her son’s head rather than cast him into exile. But she knew Azreal would hear none of it.
‘You’re right,’ she said with a smile, adopting a mask she hoped he would not see through. It would not do to argue with Azreal when he was in such a fervour. ‘We made our vows and we must serve. Even if it means we will die.’