Darksoul. Anna Stephens
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him with much the same expression as an ox facing the poleaxe. Durdil wanted to punch the merlons but knew it’d not only hurt his knuckles but, if Merle was to be believed, might actually bring the bloody wall down.
‘How many good masons do you have, Merle?’ he asked, working hard at maintaining a neutral tone.
‘Eight.’
‘Is that enough?’
‘For what I think you’re suggesting? No. But I can muster a dozen skilled apprentices for the carrying and the labour once we’ve chipped out the worst stone. O’course, we’re weakening the wall further by doing that. You need to get those trebuchets off us for a day at the least. Mortar’ll take time to set. Day and night’d be preferable, two days and a night ideal.’
‘Impossible,’ Vaunt murmured, ‘not unless we send a suicide mission out there in the middle of the night to disable the engines.’
‘Right now, there isn’t an idea I’m not prepared to consider, suicide missions included,’ Durdil snapped.
Colonels Edris and Yarrow appeared on the top of the gatehouse and Renik moved towards them, speaking quickly and quietly, giving them the latest. Both men swore and then crowded close to Durdil to listen.
‘Get your masons and get on it. I want the stone ready and waiting to be put in as soon as the old stuff is removed. But I don’t want you doing that until you hear from me.’ Durdil glanced past Merle at his officers. They nodded, grim-faced. ‘I can guarantee each one of the masons a lordship and ten gold kings to the apprentices if the wall holds,’ Durdil added, wondering if he could.
Merle looked affronted. ‘I don’t want so much as a copper knight, let alone a gold king or a lordship, Commander,’ he protested, waving hands like hams in the air between them. ‘You can have my skill and my time and my sweat for nothing more than food and drink to keep me working. And I can say the same for maybe half my men. The rest, well, best keep that coin to hand. I won’t mention the lordships and my advice is you don’t either. We’ve seen enough poor nobles lurking around the palace that a title don’t hold as much enchantment as gold. For me, though, my promise is good. Feed me and keep me in water and weak ale and I’ll see you well reimbursed.’
Durdil did a mental adjustment of the man before him and swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. Greatest city in the world, they say, he thought as he resisted the urge to throw his arms around the massive mason.
‘Forgive me, Stonemason, I didn’t mean to impugn your honour. These are … trying times. For now, send me numbers of how many men you need to cut, dress or transport stone, and what help the Watch and the citizenry can be in this matter. I’m afraid we won’t be able to spare you any soldiers.’
‘Send them to me,’ Yarrow interrupted, ‘Second Last is my command. I’ll see it done, sir.’
Durdil nodded and felt the smallest easing of tension. Someone else to share the burden. Thank the gods he’d invested so much time in training his subordinates, in insisting that the best men be stationed in the city to guard the king.
Not that that had saved him.
Merle clapped his hands. ‘Strong backs and uncomplaining natures would be most welcome. At least three score to get us moving at speed.’
‘I’ll get them to the guildhouse by dusk, Stonemason,’ Yarrow said, saluted and disappeared.
‘And the gatehouse?’ Durdil asked as Merle began to edge towards the stairs after him. ‘What can we do with that?’
‘Bar and prop the gates, pile rubble against the inside face of the wall that can be shovelled into the tunnel to seal it. They look like they’re getting through the portcullis at that end, you do seal it. And then pray.’
‘Thank you, Merle. We’ll all be doing that, I think,’ Durdil said. ‘I’ll be here or at the palace until this siege is defeated. You’ll always be able to find me.’
Merle nodded and squeezed back into the stairwell. There was distant thunder as three trebuchets unwound and, seconds later, the whine of stone moving at great speed and the triple shattering boom of impact. Durdil clutched at the wall, not sure if he could feel it swaying or whether his panicked imagination had taken over his senses. Didn’t appear to be any casualties along Second Last, though, and he breathed a quick prayer of thanks.
‘Sir, should we cut the rope to the portcullis? Don’t want them pushing the gate up and engaging the mechanism. It’ll lift straight up and let them into the tunnel and at the door.’
‘No, or not yet anyway. Despite everything, I haven’t given up hope that the North Rank is coming, despite the lack of communication. Perhaps even my son and the West. If they are, we’ll need to support them on the field. That means exiting through the gatehouse at the double to help crush these bastards. So no cutting ropes or sealing tunnels for now.’
‘I hope you’re right, sir,’ Vaunt said a little unsteadily and Durdil realised how young he was.
He slapped him on the back. ‘This siege is going to be bloody, and it may be protracted, but we’ll get there, Major. We have to.’
Colonel Edris forced a reassuring grin he clearly didn’t feel. ‘Damn right we will,’ he added. There was a commotion on Double First and he saluted and then hurried back into the stairwell and along to his command.
‘Commander Koridam?’ a red-faced palace messenger panted to a stop before them.
An endless parade of bloody messengers, each with news direr than the last, he thought.
‘Yes?’
‘The council of nobles requests your presence, and that of your colonels, to discuss matters of state.’
Durdil blinked. ‘Matters of state? You mean the war?’
‘I was not privy to that information, sir,’ the messenger said. ‘If you could proceed with all urgency to the palace?’
‘No. If this is not a military matter, I trust them to resolve it themselves. The only “matter of state” with which I am concerned is the survival of this city and victory. If they wish to discuss the progress of the siege, I will make time for them.’
‘My orders were very specific, sir,’ the man said, and now the flush was embarrassment and worry. ‘You have been summoned specifically by Lord Silais and Lord Lorca.’
Ah yes, the sycophant and the snake. ‘Unfortunately for the noble lords, my authority outweighs theirs in time of war,’ Durdil said. ‘Don’t worry, you can say you did everything possible to force me to attend. Off you go. Vaunt, I’ll be at the hospitals checking the wounded. Send a runner if they try another assault, will you? I want us reconvening on the first floor of the gatehouse at dusk.
‘Are you still here?’ he snapped to the messenger, who looked as unlucky as it was possible to get. Durdil didn’t care. If Lorca and Silais weren’t offering their immediate support for the siege – and he knew they wouldn’t be – there was nothing they could be discussing that would possibly interest him.
Durdil’s step was heavy as he descended the stairs, leaving the man open-mouthed behind him.
Fourth moon, afternoon, day twenty-two of the siege
Second Last, western wall, Rilporin, Wheat Lands
Galtas would never presume that he had the favour of the gods, as that was a sure way to have it removed, but the fact remained that he was at the base of the wall, alive and unhurt, while dozens of highly trained soldiers were screeching their way to becoming food for the crows.
He’d let the first three assaults proceed