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He probably should have been out inspecting the troops with Caedmon or helping the duke put the new catapults through their trials, but Edwin had a letter to write. He was a tolerant man, but even his patience had limits, and Meredith Barras had found them at last. One week earlier, he had proposed to her for the third time, and once again she had turned him down. All well and good, of course. The girl had the right to choose as she wished. But then, having broken Edwin’s heart, she had done exactly what she had done twice before and started flirting with him all over again. Last night, she had gotten drunk in a frankly unladylike way. Then she had curled up to Edwin in her father’s library and kissed him on the cheek.
It was infuriating, and what was more annoying still was that when Edwin told his sister about it at breakfast the next day, Elwyn had shrugged and said, “Why do you insist on proposing to her? Just fuck her and enjoy yourself. Both of you could use it.”
So now Edwin was going to sit down and write Meredith a very stern letter laying out the terms of their future friendship. He felt it was important to be clear about this. He wasn’t Elwyn—he couldn’t jump into bed with someone with no thought for the future. He couldn’t forget his duty like that. Yes, lots of kings went around plowing any willing furrow. His late uncle, King Ethelred, had been that sort of man, and that was exactly why there was a Gramiren dynasty now and a civil war. Edwin wasn’t about to make that same stupid mistake.
If Meredith wanted them to have a physical relationship, then she was going to have to agree to marry him. And if she didn’t want to marry him, then she needed to stop teasing him like this.
The trouble was that he couldn’t quite think how to put that in a letter without making it sound like he was accusing Meredith of being a slut. And despite the fact that he was annoyed with her, he still quite liked her. This would take some very delicate phrasing. He looked out the window at the garden, and saw Vittoria run up the path in her long leather riding cloak, splashing through the puddles.
“Ah, exactly the person I needed!” he told her, when she burst into his room. “I need to write a letter about sex, without it sounding like I’m talking about sex.”
Vittoria gave him a weak smile. “That’s very good, your majesty, but I fear we have more pressing issues. Good news and bad news: I finally have Duke Lukas’s plans. Unfortunately, he’s only a few days behind me now.”
Edwin set his pen down. Meredith Barras was going to have to wait. “Go find Caedmon and the duke. I’m going to call a council meeting.”
“There’s one other thing,” said the Immani spy. “One of my colleagues brought this from Newshire.” She handed over a tiny scroll. “Just so you know, they’re all safe now. They’re under the protection of the Proconsul of Terminium.”
She left, and Edwin eagerly ripped the seal away and read the message.
My dear son,
Gramiren agents have learned where we are, and I have decided there is nowhere in Newshire that we can be safe anymore. Earstien willing, by the time you read this, your sister Alice, your little cousin Helena, and I will be over the passes in the Empire. I pray for your success in battle, but if Earstien chooses not to grant that prayer, I pray at least that you may join us in exile.
All my love, and my love to Elwyn, too.
Your mother
Edwin wiped his eyes, and went down to the duke’s conservatory, which had been remade into his council chamber.
Vittoria was able to give them very precise information about the location of all the Gramiren troops. But the enemy was so numerous and was closing in on Pinburg from so many different roads, that her briefing did little to reassure anyone.
The duke mopped sweat from his pale forehead and studied Vittoria’s markers on his map. “Holy Earstien. There’s no way we can stand a siege like this.” He pointed at each column in turn. “Severnshire, Odelandic mercenaries. Levies from the Crown Lands. Keelshire. Even a regiment from Leornian, damn and blast the eyes of Duke Robert.”
“He had no choice,” said Caedmon quietly. “He did not wish to see his ancient city taken by storm and sacked for a second time in five years.”
“We all have a choice,” said Stanley Barras, looking around the table with his chin jutting defiantly. “If we can’t hold the city, we can retreat into the Bridweld Forest. Last time, it took the Gramirens years to chase down all the rebels, and a lot of them were never caught. They just gave up when they got tired of robbing caravans.” He smiled at Edwin—they had long since become friends again after the awkwardness with Elwyn. “His majesty and I can lead small groups of fighters from the caves in the north. If we plan it from the beginning, then—”
The duke cut him off. “I am not telling my loyal soldiers—honorable men who have served my banner for years—that they will have to make their way as bandits now. Our fate will be decided here at Pinburg, for good or ill.”
Caedmon turned and glowered at the duke, until his grace blushed and looked away, muttering. Caedmon’s eyebrows went up and he shook his head with a look of resignation. Edwin had no idea what that silent exchange had meant, but he didn’t think it could mean anything good for his side.
The council voted in the end to stand and fight at Pinburg, though there was more grumbling than Edwin had expected. A lot of the barons and earls on his council now were Pinshire men, and they didn’t seem nearly as enthusiastic as Lord Stanley about taking the war to the countryside. They didn’t seem thrilled about fighting at Pinburg, either.
“Obviously the war was coming here,” Edwin said to Caedmon, as they left the council meeting. “What else could they have expected?”
“They expected what men in their position always expect, your majesty. They expected a miracle.”
The next day Vittoria and the duke’s scouts brought word that the Gramiren forces had entered the Bridweld Forest. Little hamlets and villages fell quickly, much to Edwin’s frustration. On a map, he could see the ridgelines and streams, and he could see how a determined defense could hold back the attackers for days or weeks. But every time, the local lords and knights laid down their arms after a lame attempt at defense.
“It’s like they’re not even trying,” he said to Caedmon.
“These men have been trying for two years now, your majesty,” said the hillichmagnar. “And some of them for much longer than that. Do not blame them if they cannot carry on the fight when it means the destruction of their own families and vassals.”
“Caedmon, do you think we can win?”
The great sorcerer folded his arms and looked at the floor. “No, your majesty. My heart tells me to wish for victory. But I have fought in far too many battles to believe we will prevail this time. I am sorry, but we should prepare to retreat across the River Bewerian to exile in Sahasra Deva.”
“Where I started,” said Edwin sadly.
“Indeed. Where you started.”
Early the next morning, Elwyn came into Edwin’s room to wake him. “I’ve been up on the walls,” she said. “And I’ve seen watch fires in the woods. I think the Gramirens are here.”
She helped him put on his armor—he didn’t have a squire anymore. His first and only squire had been a Byrne family cousin who hadn’t ever been much good at polishing armor or strapping it on. But Elwyn knew everything there was to know about mail and armor and weapons. She even fixed the buckle on his sword belt that was always coming loose.
“There you are,” she said, as she lowered his gleaming steel helmet over his head. “You almost look like a king now.”
He smiled back. “And you nearly look like a princess.”
She hugged him and whispered, “Be careful. If we lose, we can always come back. But if you die, the Sigor dynasty is gone.”
They rode out and climbed up the western walls of the city. Unlike the other great cities of Myrcia, like Formacaster, Keneburg, and Leornian, Pinburg had no stone walls. Their ramparts were made of wood taken from the surrounding forest. It gave the city an air of some strange frontier outpost.
Edwin and Elwyn reached the top of the wall and were greeted with an awesome and dreadful sight. Off in the forest, the Gramirens had set up huge catapults, and as Edwin watched, they began shooting balls of flaming pitch and Immani fire at the city. Each shot arced high into the air and then came crashing down, smashing through the trees, zigzagging here and there, before exploding against the walls. A few of them, by chance or design, flew over the walls entirely and detonated in the city itself. Like the walls, most of the buildings in Pinburg were made of wood, and in minutes, fires burst out in half a dozen places. Edwin saw a bakery nearby go up like a torch, with people jumping desperately from the windows.
The catapults had shifted now, and the burning shots were coming closer. But Edwin felt no fear at all. “This is it,” he thought. “The dynasty stands or falls right here.”
Then Elwyn tugged at his arm. “Um...Edwin.”
She pointed, and he saw a giant ball of blazing Immani fire falling through the sky. He judged the trajectory, and he thought he was safe, until at the last possible moment, it came down through a big oak tree, showering flames everywhere and spinning wildly.
“Oh, Earstien,” he thought, as the fireball headed straight for him.
Elwyn grabbed him and pulled him off the wall, and they were falling. The burning shot passed so close that he felt its heat blister his face. He hit the ground hard, and for a few seconds, he fought for breath.
Someone was coughing and wheezing and swearing, and it took a moment for Edwin to realize it wasn’t him. He rolled over and got a face-full of straw. He looked back the other way and found that he had landed on Elwyn. In a cart filled with straw.
“Finster’s balls,” gasped his sister. “You’re too heavy, Edwin. I didn’t realize you were that big now.”
Now the fire was spreading, though, licking at the straw in their wagon, and Edwin had to pull his sister, gagging and still stunned, to her feet, so they could get away from the flames. They got clear, and he looked back to see the city wall blazing away like a Solstice bonfire.
He turned to check on his sister. “Are you alright?”
She shook her head a few times and blinked. “I’m...I’m fine.” Then she pushed his hand away and stood unsteadily. “Edwin?” She looked around again. “Edwin, they’ve stopped.”
The fire nearest them was burning so furiously that it took a moment for Edwin to realize she was right. The Gramirens weren’t shooting anymore. “Did we send out a sortie to push them back, do you think?” he said.
Elwyn’s face was pale and drawn. “No. I think it’s worse than that. Let’s go find Caedmon. Now.”
They found the hillichmagnar outside the gates of the duke’s palace. The buildings around him were singed and blackened, but they were also dripping water, as if there had been a sudden thunderstorm, and there were deep puddles in the street. As they walked up, Caedmon slumped into a bench at the gatekeeper’s cottage. He looked as if he was about to pass out on the spot.
“I have been...attempting to keep back the flames,” he said wearily.
“At least they aren’t shooting anymore,” said Edwin.
But Caedmon seemed to be of a similar mind to Elwyn. “I do not think that is cause for celebration. We should be ready to leave, your majesty.”
Suddenly a small figure in a gray dress ran towards them through the falling ash and cinders. It was Meredith. “Edwin!” she cried. “Edwin, you have to go now! My father is negotiating with Duke Lukas at this very minute, and I know if you’re in the city when he surrenders....”
“I understand,” said Edwin. There really wasn’t anything more to say. The Barras family had taken a gamble on supporting him, and now they had to ask themselves if that gamble was worth seeing their city burned to the ground.
“Edwin, I’m sorry,” said Meredith. “I want you to know that if things had been different—”
“Save it,” snapped Elwyn. “Let’s get out of here.”
Edwin shook hands with Meredith, and even asked her to come with them, but she said her place was with her family, and he didn’t have the heart to keep begging her, not when Elwyn and Caedmon both were urging him to hurry. They ran to the palace, joined up with Sir Walter and Rada, and rode away into the forest.
Behind them, the fires started by the Gramiren catapults were spreading. The west wind drove the storm after them, and in his mind Edwin said, “Alright, alright. We’re leaving.”
Glimmering sparks and giant flakes of ash fell around them, and then the wind shifted, and suddenly they were all caught in a dense gray cloud of smoke. Everyone put a sleeve or handkerchief to his or her mouth.
Edwin kept riding straight, until he felt someone tug his sleeve. “Don’t wander off, you twat,” said Elwyn.
At ground level, the smoke grew thicker, but overhead, there was a strange red glow, and when Edwin and Elwyn looked up, they could see the fire racing along in the treetops. “Oh, fuck me,” said Edwin.
“Ride to the east,” said Elwyn. “Keep close. Don’t get out of sight, whatever you do. But don’t stop until we’re out of the fire.”
They spurred to a gallop, dodging trees and jumping fallen limbs. Edwin was vaguely aware that he and Elwyn were now completely alone. It was just the two of them in the smoke and falling ash, and he was fine with that. In the end, he didn’t really need anyone but his family.
And then shapes loomed up out of the smoke, and his horse reared.
Two dozen men in black surcoats surrounded them. Elwyn tried to fight, but three of the men closed in and cast a net over her, like fishermen might. Edwin drew his sword and rode to cut her free, but before he could get there, a giant knight in gleaming blue and black armor swung out of the smoke. The man had his sword out, and Edwin knew he was about to die. But at the last second, the knight spun the sword in his hand and smacked Edwin across the chest with the flat of it.
Edwin shot out of his saddle like he’d hit a clothesline, and then lay on the ground, groaning and moaning as the pain struck him.
The big knight circled around and then jumped down. “Look here,” he chuckled. “If it isn’t his false majesty?” He pulled off his helmet, revealing a close-cropped blond head and wild blue eyes. “I don’t know if you remember me, Edwin Sigor, but my name is Sir Halvor Ingridsson.”