She let him go, but her eyes remained troubled. She watched as his riders were toasted, and hoisted onto the shoulders of the castle’s men-at-arms, and in more than one instance hustled off into the stables by pretty girls for more personal rewards. The scene brought a reluctant smile to her face.
Meanwhile the young lord found himself borne into the keep’s great hall on a swelling tide of victorious Vingaard. Only when he was seated at the great table, still sharing drinks, waiting for the triumphal banquet to be prepared, was he reminded of a grim reality. He felt a gentle touch on his shoulder and looked up to see the red-robed figure of his-and his father’s-closest advisor.
“You’d better come with me, my lord,” said Red Wallace, his tone and demeanor sobering the other man’s excitement.
“What is it?” asked Blayne, rising and following the wizard out of the hall when Wallace made no move to reply. In silence they climbed the winding stairs within the keep’s tallest tower. The young lord’s stomach grew queasy. Even the spectacular leaded glass windows, whose beautiful panes were known throughout Solamnia, could not ease the growing heaviness in his heart.
When they were about halfway up the lofty tower, Wallace led Blayne out onto a small balcony, a walled perch on the side of the spire that offered an unimpeded view to the south. Already the emperor’s army was marching into view, great columns breaking off the road, forming camps along the ridge to the south of Apple Creek.
“That’s no surprise,” he informed Wallace confidently. “We knew they would come this far, and we’ll hold them at Stonebridge, if need be.”
“That’s not what I wanted you to see,” the red wizard declared grimly. He pointed to the west, where the road wound out of sight along the shallow valley of the creek.
Blayne saw it immediately: the long, trunklike shape rising from the bed of the wagon, trundled along by its team of eight massive oxen. He couldn’t believe his eyes.
“One of the bombards survived?” he asked finally, his voice hollow.
“It would appear so,” Wallace replied.
“But… but we destroyed them all! All three! They were burning as we retreated!” Even as he blurted out those words, Blayne realized how foolish they were. He could see with his own eyes that one of the great weapons had survived. Wallace said nothing.
“What do we do now?” the younger man asked, after a long time.
“It seems we have little choice. He can attack and probably destroy the keep from the safety of the far side of the bridge. I think you must submit, throw yourself on his mercy. Send a courier!”
Word of the bombard’s appearance had spread to the great hall by the time Blayne and the wizard returned. The mood was somber and quiet, the crowd having thinned from hundreds to a few dozen loyal supporters. They listened with grim faces while the son of Lord Kerrigan dictated a note, specifying the castle’s surrender, and pleading for the emperor’s mercy. Within a few moments, a courier raced out of the gates, across the Stonebridge, and up to the army’s initial picket line.
Blayne made his way to the gatehouse, intending to wait there for the courier’s return. He was startled to see the man come galloping back, even before the young nobleman had made his way to the top of the wall. Hurrying back down the stone stairs, he accosted the rider as soon as the man dismounted.
“Did you speak to the emperor? What did he say?”
“He wouldn’t see me,” the courier replied flatly. “Instead, his guards told me to come back here, and to stay here. He said that our decision had been made, earlier in the day, when we chose to offer battle instead of acknowledge his right of rule.”
“That was his answer?” demanded Blayne, appalled.
In the next instant, a sound thrummed through the ground, a powerful crunch that could be felt in the ground even before Blayne heard it in the air. Immediately after, he heard another sound-something exploding overhead. Looking up, Blayne saw a gaping hole in the side of the keep’s loftiest tower. The colored glass, which he had been busy admiring just a few hours before, rained down from the shattered windows.
“I suspect,” Red Wallace said soberly, as they joined the rest of those in the courtyard in fleeing to the shelter of the nearby buildings. “That the emperor has just begun to make his reply.”
“Fire away. Keep blasting until dark, and then zero in on the fires, if there’s enough light to give you a target.”
“Aye, my lord,” replied Captain Trevor, the grizzled commander of artillery. If anyone had been more enraged than Jaymes by the loss of the two bombards, it was the gunnery officer. The emperor knew he would carry out his orders diligently and professionally.
The bombard was set up about a half mile south of the Stonebridge. From that distance, Trevor had calculated that the round stone balls fired by the gun could reach every part of Vingaard Keep, except the very tops of the high towers. And, as the gunnery captain had observed wryly, he didn’t need to strike the tops of the towers in order to bring them down.
Jaymes walked a short distance to his command post, which had been established in a travelers’ inn alongside the Apple Creek road. He passed through the main room, which, though filled with officers, was strangely silent. Jaymes did not desire the company of his men, not at that moment, so he made his way up the stairs. Several guards stood duty on the second floor, posted outside a suite of rooms where Lord Kerrigan’s two companions were imprisoned.
Jaymes continued up the stairs. A wide balcony ran the entire length of the third floor, and from there he could watch the bombardment. There were a few captains there, and they made way for him. None tried to initiate conversation as the emperor sat at a table and sent a serving maid down to the bar for a pitcher of ale. When she returned, Lord Templar trailed behind her, and when Jaymes gestured to a vacant chair, the young Clerist sat down.
“My lord,” he began, awkwardly. “The Vingaard messenger-the man you refused to see-brought an offer of surrender. Is it necessary to destroy the castle now?”
“I don’t intend to destroy the castle. I’ll be content with the destruction of those three towers.”
“But those towers are Vingaard Keep, lord! They have stood for centuries-even through the great battles during the War of the Lance! They’re landmarks on the plains, known to every Solamnic-knights and citizens alike. Are you sure you want to bring these great edifices down? The rebels must surely have learned their lesson! I implore you, Excellency, consider carefully the lesson your own people will take from this action.”
Jaymes looked past the Clerist and caught a glimpse of General Dayr engaged in intense conversation with his son, Franz. The older man seemed to be pleading; the younger was rigid, pale, his hands clenched into fists. Finally the captain stalked off but not before casting a venomous glance at the emperor. Jaymes met the look coldly, and was mildly surprised when the young captain didn’t immediately turn away.
Instead, Franz glared mutely for several long heartbeats, before finally stomping through the door leading inside.
Jaymes turned back to the Clerist Knight, the man whose magic rain had doused the fires and allowed at least one bombard to survive the surprise attack. The emperor shook his head firmly.
“Perhaps the rebels in Vingaard have learned their lesson, but that’s beside the point.”
“But why? How?” protested the priest.
“Because I intend to send a message to everyone, across all of Solamnia. Only when the towers are destroyed, and all have heard the news, will the people understand my will is law. I will brook no opposition, no dissent-and I will crush even a whisper of rebellion!”
He turned to look back at the castle and watched as another ball crashed into the middle tower. Already much of the stonework, and all of the glass, had been destroyed. The spire wobbled like a tall tree that had suffered an almost fatal blow from a woodsman’s axe. He was vaguely aware that General Dayr was watching the tower too, that the army commander’s face was contorted in grief.