“They’re preparing siege engines, Villyd. I could hear them building the damned things from my chamber.”
“Yes, my lord. But what if the siege is meant only to keep your army occupied, and their true intent is to drive into the heart of the realm?”
Aindreas felt his stomach tightening. “They haven’t enough men to try such a thing.”
“As I said, my lord, the reports were several days old. They may have more than three thousand by now. And even if they don’t, they could commit a thousand soldiers to the siege, leaving two thousand to march inland.”
‘Two thousand men-”
“Is not many. But when combined with the army of Braedon, it’s far more formidable. Certainly it’s enough to flank the king’s army.”
Under most circumstances Aindreas wouldn’t have tolerated the interruption, but then again, usually Villyd wouldn’t have thought to speak to him so. The swordmaster raised an interesting point. Mertesse had little to gain from another siege, even if it succeeded. But as a diversion from Aneira’s larger aims, the siege made a great deal of sense.
The two men left the chamber and began to make their way through the corridors toward the south towers.
“Have you seen any sign that part of their army is trying to slip past us?” the duke asked as they walked.
“No, my lord. But with the sorcerers’ mist still covering them, we have no idea how many men are approaching. The rest may already be past us; they may have crossed the Tarbin farther east. Or they may be waiting until the siege is under way and our forces committed to the defense of the city and castle.”
Aindreas was barely listening. The more he considered the matter, the more convinced he was that Villyd was right. The siege was secondary; the war in the north would decide Eibithar’s fate. The Aneirans had to be stopped here. Aindreas was quite certain, however, that the Qirsi wanted the soldiers of Mertesse to slip past Kentigern. Jastanne would tell him to guard his castle but to make no attempt at stopping the Aneiran advance. You have doomed your realm, and for nothing-misplaced vengeance and false justice. He glanced at Villyd, only to find Brienne walking on the far side of the swordmaster, her golden hair shimmering like Panya’s Falls at twilight. She stared back at him, her face so grave that it made Aindreas’s breath catch in his throat. After a moment, she shook her head, and looked away. She hadn’t haunted him since his visit to Bian’s Sanctuary, and he had dared hope that she might leave him alone from now on. He should have known better. He had promised her that he would end this alliance with the Qirsi, and he knew that she would hold him to his word.
“What can I do?” he whispered. “There’s no way out of this.”
“My lord?”
The duke covered his eyes briefly, then looked again. The apparition had vanished.
“Are you all right, my lord?”
Relief and sorrow warred within him. “Yes, I’m fine.”
“We were speaking of the Aneirans, my lord. Of the purpose-”
“I know what we were discussing. What would you have me do, swordmaster?”
They entered one of the tower stairways, making their way down to the ward so that they might cross to the castle’s outer defenses.
“Send some of your men north, my lord. Send them to Galdasten now, before the siege begins and they can’t leave.”
Listen to him! Brienne’s voice shouted in his mind. It’s not too late to make right again all that you ‘ve destroyed! But while he heard his daughter’s voice, it was Jastanne’s face that loomed before him, waiflike, yet forbidding. Whatever his uncertainties about the expectations of the conspiracy, he knew how they would respond to any sign that he was breaking his oath to them. Jastanne would expose him as a traitor to the realm, offering as proof the document he had penned for her only a few turns before. There had to be a way out of this, a way to free himself of the conspiracy without disgracing himself and his house. He had no choice but to believe that. But he had yet to find it, and until he did, he could not risk angering the Qirsi.
They entered the south watch tower of the outer wall and started up the stairway to the ramparts. “We haven’t enough men to spare, Villyd. It doesn’t matter if the Aneirans actually hope to take the tor, or only wish to distract us from their true purpose. Either way, this siege threatens the survival of our house. I’ll not weaken our army by chasing phantoms to Galdasten.”
“Forgive me for saying so, my lord, but we don’t need two thousand men to repel a siege. We can guard the castle and city with half that number.”
“The last time I left Kentigern to be guarded by so few, the castle fell.”
“That was because of Shurik’s treachery, my lord.”
“Do you honestly believe that if I had been here, and the men with me, Mertesse would have gained control of the tor, even with the gates weakened?”
The swordmaster could offer but one answer. He looked straight ahead. “No, my lord. Of course not.”
They emerged from the stairway into the bright sunshine.
Aindreas held a hand to his brow, shielding his eyes, and looking down on the thick mist that appeared to be crawling up the side of the tor. It wouldn’t be long before the Aneirans were at the Tarbin gate. Let it hold.
“You don’t like being at odds with the Crown, do you, Villyd?”
“No, my lord.”
“You think I should have reconciled with Kearney a long time ago. I know that.”
“I’m but a warrior, my lord. I know little of court politics.”
Aindreas had to grin. “Your reply belies the claim, swordmaster.” He waved a hand, as if to dismiss the matter. “It’s not important. To be honest, I don’t relish being labeled a traitor any more than you do, and I share your concern for the realm. I don’t like Kearney and probably I never will, but I have no desire to see Braedon and the Aneirans carving up the kingdom. My first duty, though, is to Kentigern and her people. Until I’m convinced that the tor is safe, I won’t send away even a single man. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, my lord.”
Tearing his gaze from the mist, Aindreas surveyed the castle walls. Already the swordmaster had positioned archers three deep on the top of the wall. They would be ready to loose their arrows as soon as the enemy was within reach.
“You have men preparing fire pots and lime?”
“Yes, my lord. We’ll have tar as well. The Aneirans won’t have an easy time of it, that’s for certain.”
Aindreas nodded, surprised by how calm he suddenly felt. “Good.” Maybe the gates would hold; maybe they wouldn’t. Perhaps the Aneirans were intent on capturing the tor; perhaps, as Villyd suggested, this was all just an elaborate diversion. At least something was finally happening. Yes, the Qirsi still controlled him, and he remained convinced that this siege and the fighting to the north were contrivances of the conspiracy, but once the battles began he’d at least have a chance. The white-hairs couldn’t control everything, not amid the turmoil and carnage of war.
A wind began to rise from the south, though the conjured mist clung stubbornly to the side of the tor and the winding road that led from the Tarbin to the castle gate.
“That’s a Qirsi wind,” Villyd said, eyeing the sky warily. A few pale clouds hung over the city, but they were barely moving. “The Aneirans must think that they’re within range of our bowmen.”
“Are they?”
The swordmaster looked down on the mist. “Possibly. But we still can’t see them.”
“How are our stores of long shafts and bolts?”
“We have ample supplies of both, my lord.”
“Then let them fly. I want the Aneirans to understand that their Qirsi can’t protect them from the soldiers of Kentigern.”
At that, the swordmaster faced the duke again, grinning eagerly. “Yes, my lord.”
He shouted an order to the archers. Immediately those men with crossbows stepped to the wall and aimed their weapons down at the slope of the tor. Villyd raised his arm, then brought it down sharply. The crossbows snapped loudly in rapid succession, and the bolts whistled as they flew, like trilling birds. A moment later screams of anguish rose from the mist. The first bowmen stepped back, to be replaced at once by archers with longbows. Again the swordmaster’s arm rose and fell. Bows thrummed, the long shafts flew, and more cries echoed off the tor and the castle walls.