Book 6: Chapter 21 |
ABOUT A WEEK AND A HALF LATER, I was standing in the same spot, looking out as the enemy’s force finally made its appearance.
The sun was at its zenith. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky. Just a cool, pleasant breeze blowing in from the mountains that gave us reason to hope we wouldn’t roast alive under the sun as we stood there in our armor.
Almost all the members of our council of war were standing next to me on the walls. They were also watching Master di Lanzi’s cohorts merge with the reinforcements that had just arrived from the Gray Foothills.
“The Reaper’s army looks pretty battered,” said Gaston Laforte happily; at this, everybody present shot a sidelong smile at the leader of the Mertonians, who was standing right next to me.
Hilaire Reese and his Glenns had spent the preceding few days in the forest that Alberto di Lanzi and his army were marching through. To be frank, I would have hated to find myself in the Gray Reaper’s shoes. The Glenns — for whom the forest was as familiar as their childhood homes — split up into small groups and proceeded to wreak havoc on the marching army, day and night, for several days on end.
The army that had come from the Gray Foothills had received similarly rough treatment. Baron de Bacri and his shapeshifters made them pay dearly for their passage to Gondreville.
As a result, our enemies arrived without their siege engines and wagon train, and missing a good number of the men they had originally set out with. Aelira, who was with the werewolves the whole time and participated in their attacks on the enemy column, had returned the previous evening and told us that the shapeshifters’ night attacks had seriously shaken the morale of the Atalians. Especially their rank and file.
Besides that, they managed to carry out my special order as well: they took one of the Atalian officers prisoner. Aelira brought the man back with her, and he certainly had a lot of interesting things to say.
That was how we learned about the Battle of Samoeun Valley, where Marshal de Clairmont’s army fell into the Golden Lion’s trap and suffered a crushing defeat; about the Duke de Clairmont’s retreat east with the remainder of his forces and the encirclement that was still holding them in place; and about the rumors that the Marshal of Vestonia himself was severely wounded.
Besides, as far as I could gather from what the captive lieutenant said, the Atalians in the Gray Foothills had a very convenient position indeed. 2,000 soldiers would be enough to hold it, at least temporarily. Especially since half of them were “Scarlet” knights.
The lieutenant and I talked about a lot of other interesting things as well. Like Cesare, he was extremely frank with his “new best friend.” Basically, the Atalians were already confident of victory. They were already anticipating a quick march into Vestonia. Already dreaming of the riches that awaited them. The news that a little Vestonian unit of criminals, islanders, and mercenaries was dismissed as no more than a little fly in the ointment. None of the Atalians took us seriously at all before they set off on campaign.
But that all changed during their march. Once their columns started getting attacked by huge monsters night after night. First they lost contact with their wagon train. Then, one night, all their siege equipment simply burst into flames. Soldiers who went out to hunt or gather firewood in the underbrush stopped coming back. The forward units, charged with scouting and commanded by the Atalian legionary captain, Viscount di Revel, also disappeared without a trace. Actually, from the Atalian point of view, so had this very lieutenant who was sitting under guard in the city jail...
In the end, it became clear that a long siege wouldn’t be in the Gray Reaper’s interest at all. Most likely, he would try to move quickly and aggressively, with minimal concern for his losses. I knew we would have to prod him further down that course of action... Over the previous few weeks, I had realized just how cold-blooded and calculating my new opponent was.
While my comrades were exchanging animated quips about the sorry state of the Atalian force, I took a look around at our walls and the space outside them.
After we learned that another force was coming toward us, we hurriedly broke up our military camp. All the defensive fortifications were taken down, to prevent the enemy from making use of them. All that remained in the open space where our tents had once been were the latrines. I had the trophy horses led away to the south, far from the site of the battle to come. Admittedly, we kept the best chargers for ourselves in the city stables. Some of them would have been worth a pretty penny if we had been of a mind to sell them. Lorin and I selected them personally. We didn’t want to risk anything happening to them.
Besides that, the hejdelf had another special task. After we announced that we would be purchasing provisions and livestock at a good price, the rural population started to trickle into Gondreville. Loring, who had recruited assistants for himself from among the true gifted (beings who could communicate with animals like he could), had spent the preceding days checking all the animals for disease as villagers from all the surrounding towns led or carted their animals into Gondreville for potential sale. I was hoping that this would prevent epidemics among the livestock. I really didn’t want to end up under siege and short of provisions.
As I stood on the wall, I analyzed the situation and tried to think what else we might do and came to the conclusion that in the very short breathing space our enemies were giving us, we had managed to do a whole hell of a lot.
First and foremost, I met with the heads of all the local construction contractors for an inspection of the walls, gates, and bastions in order to find the most vulnerable spots. I ordered emergency repairs made to these spots to reduce the likelihood of any unpleasant surprises.
I tasked Samuel Kroner, as the most experienced commander in our force, with preparing the city militia for the street fighting that seemed sure to come. I have to say — even for a man who was the captain of one of the best cohorts in the Third Legion, he got to work with unfeigned enthusiasm and maintained a furious pace.
Kroner also formed several units that patrolled Gondreville day and night. All the wells were taken under immediate and strict control, as were all buildings we commandeered as warehouses.
Gaston Laforte lent me the sharpest men in his cohort, whose assignment was to “walk the streets and hang out in the taverns;” the real goal, of course, was to keep a close eye on what the locals were saying and doing. To identify any provocateurs or saboteurs. Who knows, I thought? Maybe Jacques Sarreaux wasn’t the only agent the Order placed in the city. Sure, the Gondrevillois despised the “Scarlets” with every fiber of their being, but how could we know that there weren’t at least a few people who lived well under the Atalians? To be honest, I didn’t really care about what people thought — my priority was simply to prevent any sort of stab in the back. Once we fought off the Gray Reaper and went on our way, Gondreville could get on with life in whatever way it saw fit.
Lada and Kaylinn Brinn were assigned a big building right next to city hall, which they turned into a hospital. The local healers and medicine people from among the mountain men came to join them, as did anybody who had a working knowledge of first aid. They were formed into several teams tasked with ferrying the wounded to the hospital as soon as the fighting started. They also started preparing supplies for dressing wounds, cleaning, and sanitizing equipment, all under Lada’s watchful eye.
Besides my usual practice of employing local children as messengers (who, after all, knew their city like the back of their hands), I also organized “flying columns” to ensure rapid communication between the units defending the city. These people were also responsible for delivering arrows, food, and medicine to the soldiers on the walls and barricades. And there were a lot of other things to organize, too...
Long story short, as a man who had never before taken part in preparing a city for a lengthy siege, I tried to work on as many levels as I could simultaneously, relying primarily on my comrades-in-arms and their experience while at the same time paying due attention to my own intuition.
Besides such practical considerations as supplies for the defense, medicines, logistics, weapons, and stocks of food and water, morale was also of the utmost importance.
The people who trusted me had to see me every day, and I had to be calm, collected, and totally confident when they did. This was true not only for the members of our council of war, but also for the people who raced huffing and puffing through the streets, carrying out my orders day and night.
Even if a question came up that I didn’t have the faintest idea how to answer, I couldn’t let a flicker of doubt appear in my eyes, my voice, or my expression, even for a moment. As they say, appearance is everything — I knew I had to maintain a confident demeanor even if I felt like I had no idea what I was doing.
To be fair, though, things never got quite that bad. I simply knew how to listen to my people. First and foremost, I always let people speak their minds about whatever questions we were discussing at a given time. When deciding particularly complex matters, I would always invite specialists to give their opinions, be they builders, smiths, or whoever else. I would discuss things with them, as well as with my inner circle, which earned me even more respect than before. And only after all that would I make a final decision and order the necessary arrangements to be made. When this kind of thing happened at our council meetings, I would often catch Chevalier de Latour looking at me; it seemed he still hadn’t given up on the idea of convincing me to raise my own personal banner above Gondreville...
I went to check on the north gates. When I arrived, Kurt von Hartha was there with some of his people, while Georg von Linz with his quintet of subordinates was guarding the east gates. Basically, I entrusted the task of holding the gates entirely to the “Savages.” It seemed perfectly possible that the “Scarlets” might try something similar to what we ourselves had done when we took the city. So I felt a lot more comfortable knowing that there were strykers atop the walls.
My train of thought was interrupted by Viscount de Leval’s voice. He was still weak, but he was already on his feet, in his armor, and standing with us on the walls. I couldn’t forbid him to do so; besides, I didn’t have the authority to give him orders anyway. Even Lada couldn’t dissuade the Viscount.
“It seems like they want to talk,” he said, pointing toward a group of riders that was slowly approaching the city walls.
At the head of the group of maybe a dozen soldiers rode a tall man in dull stryker armor, such a dark shade of gray that it appeared almost black. A scarlet cloak flapping in the wind behind him made him look from time to time like he was engulfed in flames. The warrior trotting along immediately behind him held a yellow banner in his hands, bearing two crossed sickle-shaped swords. Alberto di Lanzi himself had come to negotiate. I have to say — the rumors about his power were true. I had never yet seen such a well-developed energy system in a stryker before. It occurred to me immediately that even Sigurd probably wouldn’t be able to defeat such a powerful avant.
To the Reaper’s right, wearing stryker armor that was made of bone, rode a man who I surmised was probably Master di Mauri. His energy system was a little less complex. He was a medius. And one whose development as a combat mage had obviously stopped somewhere short of average.
To Master di Lanzi’s left, riding a chestnut horse, was a warrior wearing normal-looking armor. The squire behind him carried a banner with two red bears on it, both standing on their hind legs. This was the commander of the Atalian Legions, the Viscount di Revel; the lieutenant we had taken captive had described his sigil to me. Unlike his companions, who were staring haughtily and derisively at the city walls in front of them, the Viscount looked gloomy and irritated. And I could understand why! His little walk with the werewolves had taken a heavy toll on him and his men.
Once he had approached close enough to be heard, the Gray Reaper stopped his horse, and with a stern expression he began to speak:
“I am Alberto di Lanzi, Grand Master of the Order of the Scarlet Shield. I speak to the city council of Gondreville! I stand here today as the instrument of our just and Eternal God! We have come not to destroy, but to restore the order that was disrupted by the traitors among you! We demand that the city council open the gates and allow us to complete our mission and punish those who have dared to challenge our laws!”
As I listened to the master’s intimidating speech, I examined his face attentively. Apparently, years of service to a cruel and frightening demon had left an irreversible mark on him.
The Reaper’s face appeared to have been chiseled from stone; it looked like a death mask. His cold, dead eyes were filled only with the darkness that he served.
His powerful voice sounded utterly pitiless — the kind that could freeze the blood in one’s veins.
Seated atop his jet-black horse, Alberto di Lanzi looked even more imposing and unapproachable. His posture was stiff and powerful, as if he were sitting on a throne made from the bones of his enemies rather than a saddle.
“Our warriors are elite!” He thundered on. “An elite trained to withstand any threat and defend the people from any who would sow chaos and destruction among them! We do not wish to spill innocent blood, and every resident of this city who stands on the side of law and order may count on receiving our protection!”
I could feel the tension hanging over our fortress and its walls. The Gray Reaper’s speech was audible to everyone: our legionaries, the Mertonians, the mountaineers, even the citizens. I don’t know what Master di Lanzi was expecting, but I could sense the overwhelming visceral hatred this populace felt for him.
Meanwhile, the Reaper moved on to threats:
“Let everyone who decides to resist or shelter the guilty be aware that not one of them will escape our punishing sword! Make the right choice — open the gates! Remember that every moment of indecision will only exacerbate the position of those who already stand on the razor’s edge! And further! I demand that you release all our brothers without delay!”
With that, the master was finally finished. A heavy silence hung in the air, but I broke it very quickly. True, I broke it not by addressing not Alberto di Lanzi, but Viscount di Revel, which came as a considerable surprise to everyone present. The expression on the face of this captain of the Atalian legionaries seemed to grow more stretched and pale with every word I uttered.
“Viscount!” I shouted to him. “I’m Maximillian Renard, Margrave de Valier! May I ask you a question? I’m curious to know something: why is a nobleman, from a house as ancient and well-respected as that to which the Counts di Revel no doubt belong, spending time in the company of a horde of fanatical marauders?”
My words rang out loudly in the clear, sunny air. Meanwhile, without giving the Atalians time to think, I continued loudly enough for all our people to hear me:
“Surely a man of honor such as yourself must be disgusted at the very sight of such scavengers and murderers of innocent women and children? Their hands are caked in innocent blood! With the pretext of service to their god, they rob Bergonians and even your own countrymen with impunity!”
I grimaced with disdain.
“The funniest thing about it is that after all their filthy deeds, they have the gall to refer to themselves as knights! Viscount — is this the state of chivalry in your homeland? Am I to understand that one can become a knight simply by slaughtering a few dozen infants and tearing out their mothers’ hearts? Viscount! Why are you silent?! Oh! I think I understand! You’re simply afraid of these scoundrels! In vain, Viscount — in vain! Surely, during the course of your march, you’ve had a chance to realize that they’re not the ones to be feared in these parts! These glorious so-called knights have led you and your people into a trap! My advice to you is to run while you still can! You can still save yourself, but these vermin cannot! They crossed that line long ago! They are already dead men — they simply don’t know it! As are all their so-called brothers, whose corpses are decomposing in these latrines even as we speak! They were judged against the laws of this world, found guilty, and punished, like the disgusting marauders and murderers they are!”
As I shouted that last sentence, it was almost drowned out by a full-throated, unanimous roar from my companions around me. The powerful blast of sound reminded me of a huge wave crashing on the shore.
I could see fire in the eyes of the defenders on the wall. They were ready to defend their city to the last drop of blood.
The Gray Reaper, who was most likely used to a very different reaction when he appeared, probably expected to see fear in our people’s eyes, but all he saw was implacable, defiant unity.
Alberto di Lanzi’s dead eyes were still boring into me, but on the outside he actually appeared quite calm. He seemed not to notice what was happening on our walls. Only his clenched jaw and the twitching of his cheek muscles hinted at the fact that my words had infuriated him beyond measure.
The second master, by contrast, could have learned a thing or two from his chief’s cool-headedness. His face was contorted with rage. Viscount di Revel, on the other hand, was white as a sheet. I could see nothing but mistrust and bewilderment in his wide-open eyes. It seemed that this might be the first time he had ever heard someone dare to talk about the “Scarlets” this way, especially in the presence of one of the Order’s most powerful and dangerous members.
With a light jerk on his reins, Alberto di Lanzi turned his horse around and trotted back toward his army. Our eyes met once more as he did so. The Gray Reaper looked at me like an executioner who was about to carry out the sentence...