Weavers of War

“Well, on the one hand, we would do well to attack before they have a chance to marshal their defenses. On the other hand, they’re already entrenched in the city, and with night falling, they have the advantage of being able to conceal themselves more easily. If we attack, our men may be rushing headlong into a trap.”

The duke felt his face coloring. He had pushed to begin all this sooner. Had he been willing to wait for daybreak, there would be no question as to what they should do.

“Our men know the city, swordmaster,” he said, trying to sound confident. “Braedon’s soldiers may be established there now, but the city has been home to many of our warriors since they were children. I believe we can pursue them now without placing the men in too much danger.”

“Very well, my lord.” He nodded once-it took Renald a moment to recognize it as a bow-and started to walk away.

Is that what you would have done? he wanted to ask. Am I doing the right thing? But he didn’t dare show the man how uncertain he was, how ill-equipped to be leading this army to war. And then a thought came to him, one that turned his innards to water and nearly made his knees buckle. He would be leading this charge into the city. How could he not? He almost ran after the swordmaster to tell him that he had changed his mind, that they would wait for daybreak. But did he really want to lead a charge into an ordered defense, one that the emperor’s captains had all night to plan?

Ean have pity, what have I done?

“Are you well, my lord?”

Renald turned so quickly that he nearly lost his balance. Pillad was standing just beside him, having snuck up on him like a cat stalking prey.

“Yes, I’m fine,” the duke said, a bit too quickly.

“You look pale, my lord.”

“A trick of the light, no doubt. As I said, I’m fine.” He had no desire to be anywhere near this man just now. “We ride into battle within the hour. We’ll be attacking the Braedony strongholds in the city. I want you with the healers. I’m sure they’re already tending to the men who were wounded in our first assault. You should find them now.”

“But, my lord-”

“You’ll have an opportunity to ride with me when we go south to the Moorlands. Right now I want you with the healers. Do I make myself clear?”

“Of course, my lord.” The Qirsi bowed, his expression revealing little. He looked like he might say more, but instead he withdrew, descending the tower stairs.

Renald intended to go that same way, but he waited until he was certain that Pillad had reached the bottom of the winding stairway. He could feel some of the archers watching him, but he kept his eyes fixed on the city. When he finally left the ramparts, he welcomed the solitude of the tower stairs as he would rain on a sweltering day. He had to resist an urge to leave the stairs at the castle’s second level and take to his quarters until the fighting was over. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he stepped into the ward and was greeted by a sight that did little to calm his nerves.

The wounded had been brought back into the castle and placed on pallets in the ward, where the Qirsi healers were now ministering to their wounds. Pillad was among the healers, looking slightly lost, and flinching at much of what he saw.

The duke hurried past, keeping his eyes trained on the ground. Still, he could hear the moans and cries of the injured men, and he nearly gagged on the smell of the herbmaster’s tonics and poultices. When at last he entered the lower ward, he rested, leaning against the stone wall and trying to slow his pulse. Nearby, the people of his city, who had been driven from their homes, eyed him with curiosity, and, he thought, some contempt. He tried to ignore them, and when he couldn’t, he started across the ward. At the far end of the courtyard, near the main gate, Ewan was mustering his soldiers, barking commands and sending his captains scurrying in all directions. He didn’t stop when he saw the duke, but he did stride in Renald’s direction, even as he continued to yell at his men.

Stopping beside the duke, he asked in a low voice, “Is everything all right, my lord?”

For a moment, Renald considered telling the swordmaster that he had decided to put off the assault until dawn, but he wasn’t any more certain about the wisdom of that course of action than he was about the one they were on already.

“I was going to ask you the same,” he said at last.

“My lord?”

“I sensed before, on the ramparts, that you preferred to wait for dawn. If you feel strongly that we should, I’ll heed your counsel.”

Ewan turned his back on the soldiers. “Please turn as well, my lord. I don’t want the men to know what we’re saying.”

Renald turned, feeling somewhat foolish standing shoulder to shoulder with the swordmaster, facing the castle wall.

“If you’re at all uncertain, my lord, we shouldn’t attack. The men will sense it, and their confidence will suffer.”

Of course I’m uncertain! I don’t know what I’m doing! “I merely meant to ask if you disagree with my decision.”

“It’s not my place to disagree.”

“Well, damn it, I’m making it your place!” The duke winced at what he heard in his voice. “Forgive me, Ewan. I don’t … I don’t have a great deal of experience with such matters.”

“None of us do, my lord. But we’ve begun to ready the men. To change our tactics now would be to put doubts in their minds. I’d rather not do that.”

“So we march tonight.”

“I believe we should.”

“Very well.”

“Is there anything else, my lord?”

“The archers are still atop the walls. Shouldn’t they be marching with us?”

“I thought to leave them on the battlements, my lord. I’m having oil and tar brought to them now. In case the empire’s men circle behind us and try to take the castle, I want the archers ready. I’ve instructed them to fire flaming arrows in case of attack. That will alert us to the danger, and we can return here and see to the defense of the fortress.”

Renald regarded the man, not bothering to mask his admiration. “Very impressive, swordmaster. Very impressive indeed.”

“Thank you, my lord. Now if I may return to the men, I’ll have them ready to march within the hour.”

True to his word, Ewan and his soldiers were ready to march from the castle just as the bells rang in the city’s Sanctuary of Amon, marking what would have been the gate close had the Braedony army not held all the city gates. Renald and the swordmaster sat atop mounts at the head of the column, and now the duke raised his sword, silencing his men.

“I know that you’ve waited a long time for this night,” he said, his voice echoing off the stone walls. “Believe it or not, so have I. We fight for our people, for our city, for our realm. Let the men of Braedon learn the peril of awakening the Galdasten eagle! Let them feel the bite of our steel and rue the day they set foot on our hallowed land! Let them scurry to their ships like vermin and leave these shores forever!” He reared his mount, holding his sword high again. “For Galdasten!” he cried.

And his men called out as one, “For Galdasten!” the might of their voices threatening to topple the castle. Even the city folk cheered.

Renald felt a chill go down his spine, and he wished that Elspeth could have seen him, armed, astride his horse, leading these fine men to war. The thought was fleeting, however, replaced as they rode through the castle gate and into the lane leading down to the city, by the same debilitating fear he had felt earlier, atop the walls.

“Well done, my lord,” Ewan said, his voice low.

Renald merely nodded, unable to speak.

“Stay close to me, my lord, and together we’ll see this enemy defeated. I’ll do all I can to keep you safe.”