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The morning river mist still clung to the rooftops when the battle began. Presley had gathered in the Leofe Tower with the other nobles and commanders who remained at the Bocburg. Clearly, the hope when selecting this location was that they would have a good view, but he could see nothing except dark shapes moving through the fog. However, the sounds of battle penetrated the glass, thanks to some spell of Caedmon’s—catapult shot crashing into buildings, horses galloping, and screams of command, pain, and confusion. For the first hour after sunrise, they only knew what news the messengers brought from street level.
That news, at least, was surprisingly good. The alarm spells placed by Caedmon and Intira had given the defenders plenty of warning when the Gramirens had attacked. The Sigor forces, thus far, had repelled all Gramiren advances toward the four squares they held—Berger, Emerson, Cathedral, and Redwald. And Grigory’s crossbows were all functioning, holding back the enemy and sowing confusion. Grigory looked slightly ill when a messenger gave an enthusiastic account of the bloody corpses piled in Cathedral Square thanks to the two crossbows there.
Death always makes Grigory so uncomfortable. If it were just, say, the Queen and Caedmon,
Princess Elwyn and maybe one or two choice others, I might be able to offer him some comfort right now. But with the whole privy council (save those fighting), the young king, various ladies attending Duchess Elena and Countess Margaret, and all the servants and guards, the best I can manage is a sympathetic smile. Hopefully that helps at least some.
Grigory nodded at Presley’s smile, but still stood awkward and tense. Then he resumed his conversation with Elwyn at the east side of the tower, where they huddled together out of the thick of the crowd. Presley thought they both looked nervous. Grigory naturally struggled with the dichotomy of hoping his weapons would function properly and hating the death they caused. The princess, dressed in a sensible riding dress, mail shirt, and sword belt, kept glancing at her brother, as if she worried someone right here in Leofe Tower might try to run off with him.
Not that Elwyn was needed at the moment to protect King Edwin. Caedmon stood at the king’s side, observing the battle. After placing protective and warning spells about the city the night before, he said he wished to save all his magysk strength in case he was called upon to defend the king. When asked by the other members of the council if he would truly stand idly by if Lady Jorunn openly attacked Sigor soldiers, Caedmon had merely scowled and offered no answer.
Midmorning as the mist cleared, some of what was happening in the streets could be seen. Fighting seemed concentrated at the points where the crossbows were positioned. Presley wasn’t tactician enough to know if this was because Broderick wanted to destroy the Sigors’ best weapons or if those locations were always going to be the focus points of the battle, which was why the crossbows had been placed there. Whichever the case, they seemed to still hold, thank Earstien.
So intently was Presley watching the battle, he did not at first notice when the queen stopped next to him. The little observation room buzzed with conversations, many hushed, some loud, but all intense and fraught with meaning and fears beyond the words spoken. Servants wandered with platters of wine, water, bread, and cheese, as though this were a proper reception. The noise and commotion all allowed, as the viewers perched in extra chairs brought up for the occasion, for Presley and the queen to have something of a tête-à-tête in the midst of the crowd.
“You know,” she began, “when we first met, you did not like me very much.”
Presley glanced at her and was ready to argue, but her small smile stalled his polite lie on his lips.
“I know it is true, and I do not mind,” she said. “It was an odd time for all of us, and I was still so young.”
“I will not deny that I believe you have improved with age,” he answered, the hint of his own smile on his face.
“When did you begin to change your mind about me, if you do not mind my asking?”
“When you decided not to marry Aldrick,” he answered, without the slightest hesitation. “I know I went along with Flora Byrne in her scheme for you and Aldrick to elope, but the moment you chose to stay, I started to respect you.”
She chuckled softly, but the sound had an edge to it. “It is funny you should say that now. Would you like to know something I have told no one else here?”
Presley swallowed uncomfortably, his eyes darting around to make certain no one had drifted too close to them. “I wish to hear it only if you wish to tell me, your majesty.”
“I wrote Aldrick a letter, oh, months ago, begging him to come and save us. It was full of reason and pleas to his better nature.”
Presley nodded, but he said nothing. When Robert Tynsdale had vanished for weeks on end on a special mission for the queen, Presley had considered this one of the possibilities for where he had gone. The fact Aldrick had not come never surprised him, whether or not Queen Rohesia had written him. And if she had solicited Presley’s advice when writing the letter, he would have told her not to bother appealing to a better nature the man did not possess.
“He offered to lead his army here and break the siege, if you can believe it.” She twisted up one corner of her mouth in something more like a sneer than a smile, an unfamiliar sight on her face. “But he placed one condition on his aid. I had to agree to marry him.” She paused to appreciate Presley’s stunned countenance. “It is true. He said he could convince the bishop to grant him a divorce and then he would marry me. And only under those circumstances would he come to the aid of his rightful king and kin.”
“I did not think I could still be surprised by his stupidity, narcissism, and immorality. But he has managed it quite well.”
“I declined his proposal, as you can tell,” Queen Rohesia answered, no longer looking at Presley, but once more observing the battle below. “I am wondering now if I made the right choice.”
“Oh, Earstien, yes! Without a doubt.”
Presley would have happily gone on about what a terrible husband Aldrick would have been. And how unreliable an ally. And what misery it would have been for everyone who had to be around him regularly. But Rohesia turned her attention to Edwin, standing quietly at Caedmon’s side while the hillichmagnar explained something.
The queen frowned. “Are you certain?”
“Aldrick as a stepfather to King Edwin would have been disastrous,” he insisted. “Please put any questions from your mind about whether you did the right thing. You absolutely did.”
“No, that is not good,” Caedmon said, and at that moment, Presley and the queen were very much brought back to the present events and their surroundings.
Everyone’s eyes followed to where Caedmon peered out on to the battle, but first Presley looked to Grigory. His skin was frighteningly pale. Presley was about to excuse himself from the queen when she did so first. She hurried over to join Edwin and Caedmon. Presley was at Grigory’s side a second later.
“The crossbow at Walfisk Street has stopped shooting,” Grigory whispered. Presley squinted at the far Northeastern corner of the Cathedral Square. He could not see the crossbow itself, but he couldn’t help noticing the Gramiren troops cautiously, but deliberately, making their way out into the square, shielded by the bulk of the cathedral itself from the crossbow at Rufus Street.
“It must have malfunctioned,” Grigory said. “I knew I didn’t have the loading mechanism right, but there wasn’t enough time.”
Presley rested a hand on Grigory’s shoulder and squeezed. “There could be a million explanations why it’s not shooting. It might not have a thing to do with your design. It could very well be fixed in a moment, whatever the issue is.”
“I should have never agreed to come up here,” said Grigory. “I should be on the street where I could make repairs.”
“The crossbows are too far spread out,” Princess Elwyn now added in support of Presley. “You could be down there and still not be anywhere near where you might be needed. It’s best for you to be up here where you can continue to observe and help us plan.”
“I do not know that my plans are very good.”
“Finster’s balls,” Countess Margaret exclaimed over the other shouts that suddenly filled the room. The crossbow at Ashton Street, leading back to Emerson Square from Cathedral Square, was now ablaze.
“Was that heated shot from a catapult?” Elwyn asked.
“That or magy,” Grigory answered. “With those two crossbows down, the center crossbow at Rufus Street will be easy to overwhelm.”
He was right, but someone on the street (Presley guessed Alfred) had kept his wits about him. Rather than allowing the Rufus Street crossbow to be taken or destroyed by the Gramirens, the engineers operating it were falling back in good order, using the crossbow to help cover the retreat of the other men. It wasn’t much, but at least it was something.
“How far will they fall back?” Dr. Stark asked Caedmon.
“There is nowhere else defensible on the streets with two of Professor Sobol’s crossbows now down. They will have to fall back to the Bocburg.”
“What about the flanks?” Rohesia asked.
“We must tell them to fall back as well.” Caedmon whipped around and found some of the messengers. “Come. I have orders for you to deliver immediately. You will stay.” He said this last to Intira, who nodded and rubbed her magysk arm as she took a step closer to the king.
Grigory swayed. Presley gripped his shoulder more tightly, and the princess put a steadying hand on his other arm.
“This is all my fault,” said Grigory. “The army put their faith in me and my weapons, and I have failed.”
“It would be over already but for you,” Presley assured him. “And we still have the castle to defend. It’s not over yet.” Although, if that’s true, why do I feel so much dread?