"Have we failed?" Rustam managed to lift his head enough to speak. The king observed him closely, seeing the usual glamour fading, leaving the mottled, reptilian skin of the creature exposed. Inwardly, Shahr-Baraz sighed in despair, seeing the truth of his ally laid bare by such great exhaustion. The familiar princely face was no more than a comforting shell around something dark and lean, all spidery muscle and long, tapering ears flat against an inhuman skull. Something abhorrent, which should be cut down and cast into cleansing fire. The Boar's lips twisted into disgust, then settled-driven by implacable will-into a tight, flat line. Khadames was right about our dear prince. But I've made my choice.
"No," Shahr-Baraz said after a moment, "but today was costly, very costly."
He cleared his throat, realizing he was tremendously thirsty. "Bring wine and food," he called to the servants hiding in the darkness outside the tent. The rustling sound of running feet answered him and he turned his attention back to the sorcerer. "What happened?"
Rustam stirred again, nictating membranes rippling back from dark eyes. His voice was thready and weak. "We should not have kept attacking."
"I know that." Shahr-Baraz felt his temper stir. "You assured me the 'ward' was frail and easily destroyed. Just once more, you declared, and the towers would crack, the rampart split and we would be within the city."
A thin-fingered hand raised in protest, then fell wearily away again. "The Romans… no, the Egyptians are clever. We should have taken more time… divined their purpose, examined their defenses! I would have seen what they prepared, with just a day…"
Shahr-Baraz snarled, waving away the protest. "Useless words. We all agreed to strike with speed, to try and overwhelm them before they had more time to prepare. We were overconfident and have paid for our hubris! Tell me what happened today. Tell me what we can do to avoid such a debacle again!"
The sorcerer started to speak, then stopped and took a breath. He settled deeper in his chair and the Boar realized the creature was trying to muddle through his memories. The king leaned back for a moment himself. Despite his admonition to the others, his own thoughts turned unerringly to what he might have done, should have done…
The Persian army had rushed down the Nile with all speed, trying to catch the retreating Legions before they found shelter in Alexandria itself. Unfortunately, despite destroying nearly an entire Legion in a pitched battle at Hierakonpolis, they had failed to seize the crossing. Roman engineers had collapsed the causeway, blocking the river channel to Shahr-Baraz's flotilla. For their part, the bargemen brought in from Mesopotamia had reacted swiftly, building a pontoon bridge across the arm of the Nile. The king had thrown his army across, then raced down the highway into Alexandria's suburbs.
His wild lunge had fallen short. The surviving Roman Legions entered the city in time to occupy a freshly built ring of fortifications. Shahr-Baraz was impressed, again, at the speed and efficiency of the Romans in siege work. Very early this morning, he had felt a pang of regret as well-all that work, he thought, would soon be rendered useless-shattered by the power of the Lord of the Ten Serpents. Even with his army weary from the forced march down the Nile, Shahr-Baraz had elected to attempt an immediate, full-scale assault. Pressing hard had broken the Romans before, why not here too?
"I was deceived," Rustam said, rousing himself from thought. "I looked upon their battlements and saw only newly turned earth, freshly raised stone. So similar to that we faced at Pelusium…" His voice trailed off in a weary hiss, razor-edged nails making a clicking sound on the arm of his chair. Rustam's thin face contorted in disgust. "There must be an older wall or foundation beneath the new construction. Something built by the ancients… deep with strength. These crawling, pus-drinking, shit-eating Egyptians must have known! They have made a new pattern atop the old-the very likeness of a battle ward-but they are keeping well back. I can barely feel them, hiding in the city…" He began to mutter and hiss, voice fading into unintelligible curses.
Shahr-Baraz sighed openly now, turning his attention to the Queen. Slitted blue eyes met his.
"They are clever," Zenobia said in a husky, exhausted voice. "We strike and the force of our blow bleeds into the earth. We press and the shield bends. Flame is swallowed, lightning grounded. We can feel them at a distance. They are wary and careful, working only through tokens set in the earth." The Queen's eyes crinkled slightly in amusement. "They will not face us in the open field or pit might against might. They are not fools."
"No, they are cowards!" Rustam straightened, the tip of his black tongue flicking between needle-like teeth. He stared hollowly at the king. "We must sleep and regain our strength."
"How long?" Shahr-Baraz knuckled a heavy fist against his chin, meeting the sorcerer's gaze.
"Days, at least." The prince's expression tightened. "Dare nothing while we recover!"
Shahr-Baraz raised an eyebrow at the brusque order. "This shield, does it hold out my men's spears and arrows?"
"No." Rustam's face contorted into a foul grimace, reminded again of his failure.
"Then we will take the city regardless, if we have sufficient men and time."
The sorcerer's eyes narrowed reflexively, shoulders hunching up. The king hid a spark of interest at the reaction and he waited, patient as a hunter lying beside a mountain trail.
"We do not have… time or men." Rustam's eyes flickered with a sullen glow. "We must press them, before they receive…" His voice changed tone subtly. "…reinforcements. The Emperor is sure to send more men to hold the city-they cannot afford to lose Egypt!"
"Really?" Shahr-Baraz leaned closer, watching the sorcerer with open curiosity. "Why is that?"
Rustam stiffened again, lip twitching into the beginning of a sneer. "Don't be a fool-Rome is drunk on foreign grain! You've seen the great ships-there will be riots in the Forum if the bread dole is reduced!"
Shahr-Baraz blinked slowly, like a lion waking from full-bellied sleep. He watched the sorcerer intently, exhaustion forgotten. "You're speaking of Constantinople," the king said softly, mouth thinning in well-contained anger. "Where so many citizens now lie dead, they will not riot for lack of grain or wine. Rome draws her bread and meal from Africa, from Sicily, even from Spain." He made a sharp, dismissive gesture with his hand. "The Romans fight for Egypt because it is theirs. They fight to deny us. But the Empire will survive without the province."
Rustam scowled, glaring at Shahr-Baraz. "The longer we wait, the stronger they become."
"Certainly." The king nodded in agreement, putting both hands on his knees. "We need more soldiers. We need time to prepare for a proper attack along the entire length of the wall." His face twisted, but no one could have called the resulting expression a smile. "Khalid needs time to clear away the barrier at Hierakonpolis. I need those riverboats. And of course, you must recover your strength. You will need every ounce." The king bared blunt yellow teeth.
The sorcerer eyed him warily, still struggling against bone-deep fatigue. "I won't be able to just brush aside their barrier," he rasped. "And you've not the soldiers to attack the whole length of the wall. Nor are you likely to get them-we're eight hundred miles from Ctesiphon! There are no more soldiers coming, nowhere to levy fresh troops…"
Shahr-Baraz's cold humor did not abate. "Not so. There are reinforcements in plenty, all around us."
Rustam blinked, staring at the king in surprise. "What do you mean?"