Gaffen ranted at his commanders to unload the troops faster, but there was little he could do to speed up the process. All they could do was hold out as long as possible, throwing Gaffen's fresh troops into the fray wherever the lines weakened. But they were coming off the ships at irregular intervals. A few of the Fardohnyans had gone charging into the battle without waiting for orders, bolstering lines that didn't need them, while Cyrus' men broke through in other places that were desperate for reinforcements. Another troop had ploughed into the fray and accidentally turned on Rogan Bearbow's men, not realising that they were not the enemy.
By mid-afternoon, Damin was seriously considering evacuating the palace. Cyrus had pushed so far into the city he was almost ready to admit they were losing the battle. Gaffen's troops were disembarked, but they were too little, too late. If he'd had them earlier, before Cyrus first breached the walls, he might have had a chance. As it was, they only filled the gaps. He didn't have the men to take the battle to Cyrus.
Rubbing his temples wearily, he glanced across the room at Adrina's brother, who wore a look of wounded pride as much as anything. Gaffen wasn't used to defeat.
“Perhaps if we turn my ships broadside to the city, we could turn the cannon on them,” he suggested hopefully.
Damin shook his head. “You'll kill as many of our people as you will theirs.”
“Then we fire the city.”
Damin nodded reluctantly. He had been hoping to avoid it, despite the fact that he'd had Almodavar quietly distributing barrels of pitch throughout the city for days prior to the battle. Setting fire to Greenharbour would stop Cyrus surely enough, but it was likely to destroy much of the city in the process.
“I was hoping to use that as a last resort.”
“Aye,” Gaffen agreed heavily. “But that moment is approaching rapidly.”
The battle continued without pause as the day wore on. The reports kept coming in, each progressively worse than the last. The sun was resting on the horizon when Damin's stomach rumbled, and he realised the day was almost over. He'd been too busy directing the fighting to eat. Damin hated combat like this. He was a warrior at heart, not a tactician. He would much rather be in the thick of battle, not directing others to do his fighting for him. Tarja was good at that sort of thing. Damin spared his friend a thought for a moment, wondering what had become of him. Was he waiting in Krakandar for aid that would never come? Or had he done something stupid and got himself killed by the Kariens?
Damin doubted he would ever learn the truth. Cyrus was all but knocking on the doors of the palace. It was little more than three hours after Gaffen suggested it that he was forced to concede that they had no other option but to fire the city in the hope of driving the enemy off.
“Gaffen, I want you to take Adrina and whoever else you can find in the palace and get them out of here.”
The Fardohnyan looked at him for a moment and then nodded in understanding. “And what of you, Your Highness?”
“I can't order anybody else to do this. If Greenharbour burns, then it will be by my hand.”
Gaffen hesitated for a moment, then called in one of his captains and began giving the orders to evacuate the palace. When he was done, he snatched up his sword from the table where he had been using it to hold down a map of the city.
“Let's go, then!”
“What are you doing?”
“You don't think I'm going to run away with the women and the children, do you?”
“This isn't your fight any longer, Gaffen. I'm not going out to do anything particularly heroic. I'm going to set fire to the city.”
“Well, someone has to watch your back. Besides, you're married to my sister. That makes you family.”
Damin took one look at the expression on Gaffen's face and decided not to argue. In truth, he didn't mind the idea of the big Fardohnyan watching his back for him. Gaffen was the sort of man who looked as if he could stop an avalanche if he stood in front of it.
“Let's do it, then,” Damin said, pushing away all thoughts of the consequences of what he was about to do. He strode from the command post with an air of grim determination and ordered the horses brought out. He didn't know how far he could get, but the further from the harbour he set the fires, the more people might have a chance to escape.
The sounds of the battle could be clearly heard as he and Gaffen rode out. The streets this close to the harbour were already clogged with people fleeing the advancing horde. They pushed through the crowds for several streets until they broke through into a reasonably deserted street. The fighting had not yet reached this part of the city and it looked oddly peaceful, like a calm oasis in the middle of a raging sandstorm.
That's when he heard the trumpets.
“What was that?” Gaffen asked curiously, his head cocked at the unusual sound.
“I don't know.”
The trumpets came again, drifting on the early evening breeze. Damin listened with a feeling of total bewilderment until he recognised the sound. He last heard it on the northern plains of Medalon and had never, in his wildest imaginings, expected to hear it in Greenharbour.
“Well, I'll be damned.”
He flew from his saddle and headed for the tallest building in sight, which was a gracious, four-storey residence belonging to some prosperous merchant. Gaffen followed him at a run. Damin kicked in the door, ignoring the screams from the merchant and his family sheltering within. He took the stairs two at a time with Gaffen on his heels, and finally burst onto the roof. He ran to the northern edge of the building and looked out over the devastated city.
The sound of the trumpets reached him again, clearly this time. Panting beside him, Gaffen stared at the scene before him with a puzzled look.
“What is
Wordlessly, Damin pointed north, at the perfectly formed ranks of red coats preparing to march on the city, too stunned and relieved to speak.
There were two thousand of them at least.
Two thousand fresh, disciplined and well-trained Medalonian Defenders.
CHAPTER 34
The battle for Greenharbour was ugly, but blessedly short once the Defenders joined the fray. Cyrus' army broke and ran just after sundown. Conin Falconlance and Serrin Eaglespike died during the battle, but Cyrus survived and fled back to Dregian Province with the remainder of his scattered forces to make a last stand.
Damin sent Narvell after him, with Gaffen and a force of Fardohnyans. It wasn't that he thought Narvell needed the help so much as his desire to separate Adrina's half-brother and Tejay Lionsclaw, who would rather have perished in battle than accept help from her despised enemies. She made no secret of her distrust of their new allies, so Damin thought it prudent to put as much distance between Gaffen and Tejay as possible until things calmed down a bit. Gaining entrance to the castle by the same hidden passage that he, Adrina and R'shiel had escaped through, Narvell and Gaffen took Dregian Keep with barely a man lost in the fight.
Conveniently, Cyrus threw himself on his sword rather than face the consequences of his actions. Damin was privately glad that he had. It was always messy, following a civil war, to decide what to do with the miscreants. If he had executed Cyrus, there would always be a small core of resentment among the people that could be fanned into life in the future. If he left him alive, he left him free to plan further mischief. It was better this way. Cyrus' widow and three-year-old son were back in Greenharbour as prisoners, but Damin was inclined to be generous
