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  “Lord Wolfblade must surrender the city, abdicate the throne, and agree to exile in the country of his choice. You, my Lords,” he added, addressing the other Warlords, “may retain your provinces, provided you agree to swear allegiance to Lord Eaglespike immediately.”

  “Cyrus must think we’re bored,” Tejay remarked. “He obviously sent Serrin here for a bit of light entertainment.”

  “This is not a jest, my Lady.”

  “It is from where I’m standing,” Tejay laughed. “Send him back to his big brother, Damin. Preferably a piece at a time.”

  “Tempting though the idea is, Lady Lionsclaw, he’s here under a flag of truce,” Damin reminded her. “If you want to cut him into little pieces, you’ll just have to wait until he comes over the wall.”

  Serrin glared at them in disbelief. “Don’t any of you take this seriously? You are surrounded and starving and yet you make jokes! You cannot hope to hold out for much longer.”

  “What we hope for is not your concern,” Damin told the young man.

  “And that is your answer to our terms?”

  “This is your answer.” Damin tore the unread document to shreds and threw the scraps at Serrin. “Go back and tell your treacherous brother and his allies that we do not deal with traitors. Instead of wasting his time figuring out the terms of my surrender, he’d be more gainfully employed putting his own affairs in order. I hear that’s the wisest thing to do when one knows that their death is imminent.”

  “You will regret this, Wolfblade,” Serrin warned.

  “Not nearly as much as Cyrus will,” Damin predicted.

  The following day, the bombardment began.

  Greenharbour’s walls were more decorative than defensive, and the only thing that had kept the enemy at bay thus far was Cyrus’ willingness to wait. Once the war engines were rolled into place, however, Damin knew it was simply a matter of time before the walls were breached and the armies of Dregian and Greenharbour poured into the city.

  But Cyrus didn’t attack the walls immediately. The boulders and burning pitch he lobbed into the city landed at random, killing any soul unfortunate enough to be in their destructive path. At first, Damin thought they were merely testing their range, but after two days he realised it was a deliberate attempt to further demoralise the people. The bombardment went on relentlessly, day and night, and the death toll mounted.

  They had their own catapults mounted on the walls, but they were much smaller than the weapons Cyrus could bring to bear, and he kept his forces well clear of their range. By the end of the second day under the gruelling attack, the gates were stormed—not by Cyrus, but by a riotous mob desperate to flee a city that was rapidly becoming a death trap. The Raiders were forced to beat back their own people. A dozen or more died in the fracas; some trampled, others killed by the Raiders defending the gates from the mob. Damin ordered a curfew and threatened execution for anyone caught out on the streets without good cause.

  It was later that night that he returned to his rooms, hoping to snatch a few hours’ sleep before dawn and the next crop of crises emerged. Adrina was asleep when he arrived, and he stood in the moonlit chamber watching her through the flimsy curtain draped over the bed against insects. He’d not seen much of her lately and was a little surprised at how much he missed her. Pregnancy agreed with her, he thought. It was as if the budding life inside her had imbued her with some indefinable inner peace. She had always been beautiful, but now she was stunning. With a faint smile, he thought of the constant stream of potential brides that Marla had paraded before him over the years, glad now that he had held out for something truly worth fighting for.

  Although he had made no sound, some instinct of self-preservation must have warned Adrina that she wasn’t alone. Her eyes opened and she started a little, only relaxing when she realised who it was that stood in the doorway.

  “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “I wasn’t really asleep,” she replied, stretching languidly. “What time is it?”

  “Late. Very late.”

  “Then you should get some sleep. We’ll still be under siege come morning.”

  “I knew I could rely on you to cheer me up.”

  She pulled back the curtain so she could see him more clearly. “You look tired.”

  “Really? I only feel exhausted.”

  “Was it that bad today?”

  He nodded wearily as he crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. Part of him wondered if it was worth taking his boots off. In a few hours the sun would be up and he’d only have to put them on again. Another part of him was trying not to recall the trampled bodies he had seen at the gate.

  “I’m beginning to wonder if I should have accepted Cyrus’ offer.”

  “Surrender? Damin, you can’t mean that!”

  “I could save a lot of lives.”

  “You’d be ending ours.”

  “Cyrus offered us exile.”

  “And you believe him?”

  He saw the look of fierce determination in her eyes and smiled wearily. “No, I don’t believe him. And don’t worry, I haven’t given up yet.”

  “And if you do, it won’t be Cyrus you have to fear,” she declared. “I’ll run you through myself!”

  He didn’t doubt that she meant it. With a yawn he lay down beside her, fully clothed, as she moved across the bed to make room for him. As soon as his head hit the pillow, he felt fatigue wash over him. He closed his eyes with relief.

  “Damin, if you’re coming to bed, you could at least take your boots off.”

  “I haven’t got time to sleep,” he murmured. “I’m just going to rest my eyes for a moment.”

  She moved into the circle of his arms and laid her head on his chest. He could smell the fresh scent of her hair and feel the slight bulge of her belly against his hip.

  It was the last thing he remembered until Almodavar burst into the bedchamber next morning to inform him that Cyrus was breaking down the walls.

  CHAPTER 33

  Cracks appeared with the first hits. The walls were made of fragile chalkstone and had never been designed to withstand a serious attack. When Damin heard the news, he rode out to see the damage for himself. He was no engineer, but even he could tell that they would not last long.

  “Call up the Collective Guards,” he ordered Almodavar. “Have them reinforce the troops on the walls.”

  “You want me to take them off riot duty?”

  “Riots are going to be the least of our problems shortly,” he said, as the crash of a boulder striking the wall made their horses rear in fright. The crack he had been examining widened alarmingly. A few more direct hits and it would be large enough for a man to walk through.

  He turned his horse and cantered back through the streets to the palace, distressed by the devastation the bombardment had caused. There were blackened buildings everywhere he looked; others had crumpled under the weight of the boulders dropped from the sky. He avoided looking at the people. It was too hard to confront the fear in their eyes, the agony of their grief. Cursing himself for a fool, he wondered if he should have attacked sooner—tried to break out of the city and take the battle to Cyrus on open ground, where he at least would have had some freedom of movement.

  He should never have put so much faith in R’shiel.

  Another boom sounded, and his horse reared again, but this was a different sound to the solid cracking of stone against stone. The noise came again and he looked at Almodavar with a puzzled expression.

  “That didn’t come from the walls.”

  “It sounded as if it came from the harbour.”

  Another boom rolled over them as Damin spurred his horse forward. The sounds became more frequent, like a constant wave of thunder. As he neared the palace, the faint smell of smoke was drifting on the still air. But it wasn’t ordinary smoke. It had a flavour he didn’t recognise. He flew from the saddle and ran up the steps into the palace and through the main hall to the balcony overlo
oking the harbour, gripping the balustrade in astonishment.

  The sight that greeted him left him speechless. Three of the ships that had been blocking the harbour entrance were in flames. Behind them were a dozen or more warships. Fardohnyan warships. The booming sounded again as flames shot out from the nearest ship, and another of the blockaders fell victim to the Fardohnyan cannon. The ship in the lead headed for the gap in the sinking blockade line and sailed majestically through, her oars dipping and rising in a flawless rhythm.

  “The Fardohnyans,” Almodavar remarked unnecessarily.

  “They believe in cutting things a bit fine,” Damin agreed, finally finding his voice. The relief he felt was so intense he felt faint with it. “Where’s Adrina?”

  “I’m here, Damin,” she said, stepping out onto the balcony. She was smiling fondly as she pointed to the ship in the lead. “That’s the Wave Warrior.”

  “Your father’s flagship?”

  “R’shiel has outdone herself.”

  “Does that mean Hablet has come?” Almodavar asked.

  “Gods, I hope not,” Adrina muttered, stepping up to the balustrade. “Do you have a looking glass?”

  Almodavar produced one from a pouch on his belt and handed it to her. She placed the tube to her eye and trained it on the ship. Then she laughed and lowered the glass.

  “What?” Damin asked impatiently. “Is it your father?”

  “No. It’s better than that. He’s sent my half-brother, Gaffen.”

  Damin refrained from telling her how relieved he was that he wouldn’t have to confront her father. They watched the ship sail forward, heading for the dock below the palace. As it neared the wharf the oars banked sharply, turning the ship into the dock.

  “Come on. Let’s go and greet our new allies. We’ve about an hour before Cyrus breaks through the walls.”

  “That’ll make Gaffen happy. He’d be dreadfully disappointed to come all this way and not have someone to fight.”

  By the time they reached the dock, the ship was secured and a long gangplank was being shoved out from the tall deck of the Fardohnyan warship. The first man off the ship was a tall, blond fellow who strode purposefully up the dock and swept Adrina up in a massive bear hug. She squealed as her feet left the ground. He put her down then held her at arm’s length for a moment.

  “You’re getting fat,” was the first thing he said.

  “I’m having a baby, Gaffen. I’m allowed to get fat.”

  Gaffen looked startled at the news. He turned to Damin and eyed him up and down. “You’d be Wolfblade, I’m guessing. Where’s the fight?”

  “You guessed correctly. And the fight is just about to start, my Lord. They are breaking down the walls as we speak.”

  “Then what are we standing around here for?” The Fardohnyan spun on his heel and marched back towards his ship, yelling orders for his troops to disembark as he went. Damin turned to Adrina, looking rather bemused.

  She smiled. “Don’t worry. He likes you.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “He didn’t try to kill you. That’s always a good start with Gaffen.”

  Before he could answer, a messenger came running down the dock towards them, calling for him. The man skidded to a halt and bowed hastily before delivering his news.

  “Lady Lionsclaw said to tell you they’ve broken through, Your Highness.”

  “Where?”

  “On the north wall. Near the weaving district.”

  “Tell her I said to hold on. I’ll be there with reinforcements shortly.”

  The courier glanced at the Fardohnyans pouring off the Wave Warrior and saluted sharply, suddenly grinning from ear to ear. He ran back the way he came, whooping with delight.

  “Seems your brother’s arrival has somebody happy today,” Damin murmured as he watched the young man’s departure. Then he turned to Adrina. “I want you to go back to the palace and stay there.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “I mean it, Adrina. You’re not to stick your nose outside the palace until this is over. With your brother’s troops, we could have Cyrus on the run soon enough, but I don’t intend to spend the next few hours worrying about what you’re getting up to.”

  “Don’t pussyfoot around, man!” Gaffen declared, coming up behind them. “Tell her to stay put, or you’ll beat her senseless. It’s the only thing that works with Adrina.”

  “Gaffen, shut up!”

  He grinned at his sister then turned to Damin. “Come on, Wolfblade! Let’s go slaughter your enemies. Adrina, get back to the palace now, or I’ll throw you over my shoulder and carry you screaming all the way back, and lock you up.”

  Adrina glared at her brother, but to Damin’s astonishment she turned and strode haughtily back towards the palace without another word. Gaffen noticed Damin’s expression and laughed.

  “I can see you and I need to have a talk about Adrina when this business is done with, Your Highness.”

  “If I had threatened her with that, she would have killed me.”

  “Probably,” Gaffen agreed cheerfully. “Can you organise someone to get the rest of my ships docked? I’ve a feeling we’ll need every man before the day is out.”

  “How many did you bring?” he asked.

  “Three thousand. Do you think that will be enough?”

  He’d been hoping for twice that many. Cyrus had ten thousand men outside the walls. Between Gaffen’s reinforcements and the troops he had in the city they were still outnumbered, but at least the odds were a little better

  “It’s going to have to be enough,” Damin said, trying not to sound disappointed.

  The breach in the wall near the weaving district was contained easily enough, but it was followed by more reports of breaks in the walls from all over the city. By mid-morning, Cyrus had broken through and Damin gave up trying to plug the gaps. He pulled his troops back from the walls and the battle for Greenharbour was well and truly under way.

  They fought for the city, street by street, falling back when they had to, surging forward to repel the invaders when they could, but slowly, a street at the time, they were pushed back towards the harbour. The Fardohnyan forces were still not completely disembarked. There simply weren’t enough berths to get them all ashore quickly enough.

  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.