Kard nodded and straightened his uniform tunic.
‘A number of events must happen in quick succession if we are to buy the time we need. And much of it falls on the mages in the first instance. If I might make my recommendations without interruption? ’
Kerela smiled. ‘I think we can agree to that.’
‘Good, good.’ Kard shot a sharp glance in the direction of Endorr. ‘It is my belief that the Dordovans are hidden, probably half a day’s ride or more from the city, and also probably in contact with escaped Julatsans. If they aren’t, we’ll fail.
‘After the Shroud is dropped, mages need to complete two tasks the moment the Wesmen raise the alarm as they undoubtedly will. First, Communion to establish contact with anyone who will hear but particularly the Dordovans. We will need them and anyone else who is out there and armed to hit the rear of the Wesmen lines. We may be able to hold them alone for a couple of days, but we may not.
‘Second, I need that bastard moving tower destroyed. I don’t care how it’s done but it’ll provide access as well as vision once the Shroud goes.’ He paused, refilled his glass and drank.
‘My soldiers are ready drilled for their positions and I need your permission to set mage defence around the walls. Lastly, Barras, I need you to speak to Senedai. Tell him we’re going to come out in three days. See if you can delay any more of this senseless death. That’s all.’
‘You want to break out in three days?’ asked Torvis.
‘No, two. But I don’t want the Wesmen ready to receive us. Every moment we buy is precious.’
‘We should drop the Shroud at night, then, when there are fewer of them to see it go,’ said Endorr.
‘Absolutely,’ agreed Kard. ‘I was thinking of the dark before the dawn. Remember, we don’t want to spark trouble in the middle of the night because the Dordovans will be sleeping too. We shouldn’t bring down the tower until the Wesmen realise the Shroud is gone. Again, should that buy us an hour in which to mobilise the Dordovans, it could be critical.’
‘But this doesn’t change the fact that we are surrendering the College,’ said Seldane. Kard turned his head and looked long at her.
‘My Lady, I have no intention of surrendering this College.’
‘So why are we dropping the Shroud for which, I remind you, Deale gave his life?’ demanded Endorr.
‘Because the time has come again to fight for our freedom. And to gamble that help will arrive. And if the times become desperate again, we can bury the Heart. Julatsa will beat life until we can reclaim it,’ said Kard.
‘But surely you don’t believe we can win?’ Endorr’s scepticism was written in a sneer all over his face.
‘Young man, I never start a battle I believe I can’t win. You’ve seen the energy out there. If we channel it right, and if the help outside the city hits the rear of the Wesmen lines, we can win.’
‘Thank you, Kard,’ said Kerela. ‘I suggest that you and Barras speak to Senedai. We will stay here and discuss the division of mages for your tasks.’
As he and Kard walked, under guard, to the North Gate, Barras could feel the tension in the silent College. In the wood and steel tower, which currently stood overlooking the Long Rooms, half a dozen Wesmen leaned on the parapet, monitoring their movement with only passing interest.
‘You should have been a Negotiator, General,’ said Barras, a wry smile on his face. ‘You’re almost as good a liar as I am.’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’ Kard fixed his gaze straight ahead but Barras saw the twitching of his lip.
‘Outside these walls, there must be ten thousand heavily armed and focused Wesmen. Inside, we have seven hundred soldiers, a few hundred angry men and fewer than two hundred mages. What do you think I mean?’
‘Actually, with our estimates of their ability to reinforce, there could be as many as twenty thousand Wesmen out there.’
‘And do you really believe the Dordovans are waiting for a sign? Surely they’ll have been recalled once Julatsa fell.’
‘No, I’d say they were still there somewhere. There just aren’t enough of them.’
‘So how long can we hold them off?’ asked Barras.
Kard shrugged. ‘Hard to say. Realistically, perhaps three days but it could be over in one if our spirit crumbles.’
‘But you don’t think we can win?’
Kard laughed, clapped Barras on the back with one hand and pulled open the door to the North Gate tower with the other.
‘I may be old, but I am not senile. I strongly suggest you place your most valuable texts in the Heart prior to burial,’ he said and gestured at the stairs. ‘After you.’
Lords Blackthorne and Gresse arrived at the southern port of Gyernath too late to lend their ramshackle forces of soldiers and farmers to the battle but not to the clear-up. And as Blackthorne directed his men to their tasks, he felt a sense of relief despite the destruction and death all around them.
They had seen the fires while they were still over a day’s march away, an orange glow blooming over the mountains which marked the northern reaches of Gyernath’s boundaries. He and Gresse had feared the worst then, could see the sacking of the port and the routing of her army in their minds’ eyes and with it, the extinguishing of their still embryonic hopes for victory.
But Gyernath had survived, the remnants of the Wesmen force scattering back towards Blackthorne. The attack had been expected, some of Blackthorne’s people had brought warning, and the days of preparation they had been granted had proved the difference.
For eight days, Gyernath had repulsed the waves of Wesmen from both land and sea, eventually breaking the Wesmen spirit as parts of the old port burned and their mage strength dwindled. They had not had to suffer the Shamen’s white or black fires like Julatsa but their toll had been heavy nonetheless.
Gyernath’s army had lost half of its military and reservist strength to death or injury. Barely a man walked without bearing some sort of wound. And the mages, ruthlessly targeted wherever the Wesmen pierced the line, now numbered less than one hundred.
For Blackthorne, though the salvation of the port was magnificent, it meant he could not hope to take the strength he wanted to attempt the reclamation of his town.
‘On the other hand, Blackthorne will be emptier of Wesmen than we expected,’ said Gresse, standing at the Baron’s shoulder, a dull ache and occasional fuzzy vision all that remained of his heavy concussion.
‘That rather depends on how many of this Wesmen force came from Blackthorne and how many directly across the Bay,’ said Blackthorne.
‘Always the pessimist,’ said Gresse.
‘It’s easy to be pessimistic,’ replied Blackthorne. ‘Just look at the mess they’ve made of this beautiful port.’
The two men straightened and looked down the hill towards the Southern Ocean. The whole port was laid out before them in the mid-afternoon light. Smoke from a dozen extinguished fires spiralled slowly into the sky. The main street, at the top of which they stood, now led through a scene of devastation. Much of the fighting had been concentrated on its sloped cobbles and all the buildings; inns, houses, bakers’, armourers’, shipwright offices and the premises of a dozen other trades lay in ruins.
To the left and right, the path of the street-to-street, house-to-house fighting was drawn in blood and ash. Funeral pyres were alight everywhere they looked and it was not until the eye travelled down towards the dockside piles, cranes, jetties and warehouses, that the port regained some semblance of its recognised shape. Out in the harbour, the masts of three or four tall ships jutted from the low tide water but the Gyernath blockade had frustrated every attempt of the Wesmen, not natural sailors, to break through.
But the eight days of fighting had left thousands homeless and as many orphaned or widowed. The army and city guard, those who could still walk, threw the remainder of their energies into salvaging what they could from the wreckage of the port and making as much of it as habitable as possible. All too often since Blackthorne and Gresse had arrived though, it was the sound of the unsafe timbers being dragged to the ground that drowned out the sound of new timbers being nailed over cracks in roofs and walls. Gyernath’s glory was gone.