Rumor soon claimed that several had taken bribes from the Society-or from Anne of Menand, or from the Patriarch- to shun the fight. Treason being a more attractive explanation than indecision or incompetence.
There was a lot of anger in Khaurene. Brothen Episcopal Faithful suffered the brunt. Anyone even vaguely suspect dared not show himself lest he be thrown down to the befuddled Arnhanders trying to initiate a siege.
The scattered smaller Arnhander companies had begun arriving.
King Regard was so stiff and bruised he could barely move. His concussion caused occasional brief blackouts. But he saw an opportunity. He was determined to strike while the Khaurenese remained stunned.
Regard, however, lacked followers who shared his vision.
Those who had fought and survived, those who had not deserted, were too exhausted to do anything but go through the motions while the bands coming in were cold and tired and hungry. And they all faced heretics determined to fight. They would not flee to the Altai this time. Not this early in the season.
Once the sun set, siege work proceeded desultorily by artificial light. It was difficult to see arrows in flight. Meaning it became difficult to dodge.
Bicot Hodier drafted a couple of guards he trusted and had them accompany him and the Perfect. “Just in case. Some people may consider today an opportunity.”
Brother Candle grunted, saved his breath for keeping up. But he understood. Khaurene teetered on the brink of chaos. Adventurers would see opportunities that, likely as not, existed only in their own imaginations. But they would act anyway.
Count Alplicova began arresting city magnates and militia captains before the herald and Perfect located Tormond. The Duke had been whisked into the home of the consul Sieur Casteren Grout. Grout and his fellow consul, Sieur Mas Crebet, had not turned out for morning muster and, thus, had not been with the militia in the field. A gross dereliction by Crebet, whose principal responsibility was to lead the city levies when they were called out.
Brother Candle wondered if there might not be some substance to the bribery rumors.
The consuls were not pleased to receive fresh guests. But Sieur Casteren Grout grasped the precarious nature of his position. He put on a grand show of concern for his Duke’s well-being.
Tormond was, indeed, in terrible shape. Brother Candle insisted that he not be moved. He sent for Father Fornier. And more trustworthy soldiers lest Grout and Crebet suffer a further bout of stupidity.
Isabeth told Brother Candle, “We’ve exploited you mercilessly lately. And you’ve given your best. But I have one more request before you go back into the wilderness. The Arnhanders intend to storm the north gate tomorrow. The defenders there are mostly Seekers. It would hearten them if you were there with my brother.”
Khaurenese morale was poor. Those who thought they might not suffer if King Regard triumphed were vocal about negotiating a surrender. Those threatened by the Society and the Church took the opposing view, as did Queen Isabeth on behalf of Navaya, her husband, and her son.
Navayan strength had dwindled as Isabeth sent out streams of messengers, across Peter’s empire, to warn every garrison and proconsul that unrest could be expected.
It would be hard to cling to all of Peter’s gains, however faithful Count Alplicova and his peers remained. Alplicova himself she sent back to Oranja to gather the reins of state on her son’s behalf. And to make sure Little Peter would be safe from anyone with secret ambitions.
Brother Candle understood what Isabeth wanted. He and Tormond would be companion symbols of Khaurenese defiance. Harmless old men, cornerstones for the reconstruction of Khaurene’s self-confidence.
The woman was clever.
Father Fornier reanimated the Duke enough for the man to stand. With assistance. He and Brother Candle took places on the wall two dozen yards west of the northern gate, well protected by hoardings. The Perfect wore an uncharacteristic white robe. He drew cheers from the defenders, many of them familiar. Just ten feet away Madam Archimbault, her daughter, and her neighbors made up the all-female crew of a light ballista.
Where were Raulet and the men? The only men to be seen were nearly as old as Brother Candle.
Somewhere, every man who could move was being assembled for a counterattack. Given past performance, that might prove disastrous.
The Arnhanders began moving engines toward the city. That was not easy work. They had to advance up a slope, under fire. Literal fire, frequently. The Khaurenese engines flung burning missiles. The slope of the ground and height of the wall gave the defenders a range advantage.
The flaming missiles did little serious damage. The two siege towers had been covered with fresh hides. Some genius had faced the mantlets with water-soaked thatch, which made them heavy but, essentially, fireproof. Likewise, the tortoise bringing a ram up to pound the gate. Other little houses on wheels would shelter sappers who would try to burrow directly through the wall. Elsewhere, other sappers were, likely, starting tunnels.
King Regard had assembled a formidable array of artillery, all standard stuff, similar to the captured engine. He readied his weapons, protected them appropriately, then began dueling with the amateurs behind the hoardings atop the wall.
Regard made no effort to disguise himself. He wore gaudy armor and livery and traveled with heralds and standard-bearers. His party became a favored target.
Everyone who paid attention saw that there was something wrong with Regard. He was slow, suffered bouts of clumsiness, and dizzy spells. But he refused to be anywhere but up front, heartening his crusaders and directing artillery fires. He took savage pleasure in sniping at Khaurenese personally. He snatched crossbows from infantrymen and dashed forward to discharge the bolt. He was an excellent shot. The hoardings saved numerous lives.
Brother Candle could not help being amazed by the spirit of the ferocious Seeker women operating the nearer missile engines. Kedle told him, “We have the most to lose if they get inside.”
The woman had a talent for murder. Once she usurped command of her particular ballista every shaft it sped struck where it would have an effect. Her marksmanship silenced several enemy engines. She also slaughtered several men trying to advance to the nearer siege tower.
Her unexpected talent caused a stir along the wall. People came to see what she was doing right. She could not explain. Ammunition bearers made sure her crew never ran short. An old mechanic stood by in case her engine needed a repair.
The girl showed the Perfect a fierce grin, reminding him of Socia Rault. He forced an answering smile, then went to watch the deployment of a weapon similar to one used by warships in classical times.
The tortoise protecting the Arnhander ram snugged up to the gate. The men inside started a work chant.
An argument broke out behind the Perfect. He turned.
Soames Richeut had materialized. He was determined to remove Kedle from her post despite venomous abuse from every woman within range. Soames glared at them like he wanted to remember their faces.
Kedle would not leave. Her companions made it clear they would not let her be coerced.
Brother Candle wondered who was taking care of the children.
Soames yelped in pain when his mother-in-law barked him one with the butt of the shaft she was about to load into the ballista.
Brother Candle turned back to the crane swinging its long arm out above the Arnhander tortoise. A one-ton stone “dolphin” on a chain hung from the arm. The Perfect had no idea where that had come from. It looked more like a penis than a denizen of the deep. Whatever its name or provenance, it was effective when it struck.
The first drop cracked and shifted the massive timbers of the tortoise. It took the crane crew twenty minutes, under fire, to hoist the dolphin again. The second drop smashed through the timbers and injured several men. The third time the dolphin fell two yards farther out, made sure the tortoise could not be dragged away for repairs.
Direcian veterans issued through a sally port, butchered the ram crew, and set the tortoise afire.
The Arnhanders would have to clear the wreckage before they could bring another ram to the gate.
The crane operators began to shift it to attack the sappers chipping at the wall-though those men had to deal with hot sand, quicklime, and firebombs already.
