S. Farrell - A Magic of Twilight

The chevaritt gave a salute and rode away. In time, soldiers approached the walls from the encampment with carts and began to haul away the dead. In both Passe a’Fiume and in the fields outside, the flames of pyres would light the evening sky.

The second day of the siege of Passe a’Fiume ended.

On the third day, the teni redoubled their assault on the city, striking from all sides of the wall, not only from beyond the Clario. The bulk of the teni-fire passed through the defenses of the town’s few and exhausted war-teni, reaching even into the city center. There were few buildings left whose roofs were untouched or that didn’t show some damage; the casualties, civilian and military, mounted quickly as the siege engines again began their merciless barrage, also from all sides.

All five city gates were under assault, not just the Clario Gate, and Sergei directed the chevarittai in sallies against them, but they were spread too thin now, and the enemy rams battered at the gates. Arrows rained down on the besiegers; those war-teni who were still able cast their spells; heated oil cascaded down from the battlements and was set afire.

The smell of smoke and blood were thick in the air from morning until dusk.

When the day finally ended, the sun falling behind a hundred columns of smoke and ash, the city walls were pockmarked and gouged, the gates cracked, and fires burned unchecked, but the city had held.

Sergei knew she might not hold for another day under the ferocious assault.

“Two hundred or more dead of the Garde Civile; fully half the force injured so badly they can’t fight.” Ca’Montmorte read the tallies tone-lessly as Sergei and U’Teni cu’Bachiga and A’Offizier cu’Garret listened.

“Of the chevarittai, three double-hands have fallen, most are injured, and three quarters are unhorsed. I’m told that the wall of the west gate is nearly broken through. There are fires burning everywhere, and no one is able to say how many of the citizens of the city who remained behind have been killed or injured.”

Sergei grimaced as he limped to the table to pour wine, his injured leg protesting. The leg had swelled, and blood seeped through the ban-daging. “Passe a’Fiume has never been taken,” cu’Garret said doggedly, and ca’Montmorte glanced at him with a look of distaste.

“Well, that might change tomorrow,” ca’Montmorte answered.

“Unless Cenzi grants us a miracle.”

U’Teni cu’Bachiga glared at him and muttered something, the only word of which Sergei caught was “blasphemy.”

“Unfortunately, I have to agree with Chevaritt ca’Montmorte,” Sergei said, sipping the wine. It tasted as if it had been dipped in greasy smoke, or perhaps it was just the air in the room. They were all filthy, their clothing stained with dirt and blood and worse, and the smell in the room was foul. Sergei set the goblet down and rubbed at his nose-it was cold and too hard. “The town may well fall tomorrow, and the Hirzg realizes it. We’ve done all we can do here.”

“So we must surrender and hope that the Hirzg will show us mercy?” ca’Montmorte asked.

“That’s an option we should consider,” Sergei said. “We can send a chevaritt with a petition in the morning, surrender our arms to the Hirzg, and he can release those he wishes and hold the rest of us for ransom.”

“Or?”

“We stay and we fight until the walls collapse and the entire town burns, and we leave our corpses here as we return to Cenzi. We might be able to give the Kraljiki another day to ready Nessantico for the Hirzg.” Sergei shrugged. He glanced at each of their faces and saw the grim, weary fatalism there.

Or,” he added, “we remember that the deciding battle in this war won’t be Passe a’Fiume but Nessantico, and acknowledge that is where we should go now. Those of us who wish to do so will ride out at first light, all of us who wish to attempt this. The Hirzg’s forces are thinnest near the southwest gate. We can try to break through his line to gain the Avi and retreat toward Nessantico-some of us may make it. Those who don’t wish to join the foray can stay here to surrender the city to the Hirzg and his mercy.”

Ca’Montmorte was already nodding, his fist softly pounding his thigh. Cu’Garret stared at the table between them. Cu’Bachiga, in his green robes, wrung his hands. “I will lead the foray. As for the rest of you. . I don’t care which choice you make,” Sergei told them.

“That is between you and Cenzi. We have done all we can here, and we have fulfilled our promise to the Kraljiki to hold as long as possible.”

“Even if we can fight our way through, the Firenzcian army will follow us-and most will be on foot,” cu’Garret said. “We’d be harried all the way to Nessantico.”

Sergei shook his head. “If we can push through their ranks, I don’t believe the Hirzg will pursue; he’ll need to move his full army across the Clario and re-form them before they move on to Nessantico, and he won’t believe that a few more chevarittai and Garde Civile at Nessantico will make a difference.”

“You’re wagering your life on that guess, and everyone else’s.”

Sergei managed to smile. “I am. But we all must die sometime.

Why not now?” He gulped the last of the wine, wiping his lips with his sleeves and tossing the goblet across the room. The pottery shattered against the wall. “There’s nothing more to discuss here,” he told them. “A’Offizier ca’Montmorte, spread the word to all the chevarittai; A’Offizier cu’Garret, you’ll do the same with the Garde Civile; U’Teni cu’Bachiga, if you or any of the war-teni wish to join us, your help will be appreciated. But remember, no one who chooses to stay and surrender with the city will be punished.” He took a breath, going to the open window and staring down at the ruin of the town.

I would suggest you rest as well as you can tonight,” Sergei said.

“And make your peace with Cenzi.”

A’Offizier cu’Garret decided to remain in the city and negotiate the surrender. “Passe a’Fiume is my charge as Nessantico is yours,” he told Sergei, “and I will see her through to the end.” Sergei could only nod in understanding at that, and clap the man on the back. Nearly all the Garde Civile garrison of the city stayed with cu’Garret. Those chevarittai or Garde Civile too badly injured to ride or walk would by necessity remain behind, as would U’Teni cu’Bachiga and most of his teni.

At the southwest gate in the wan light of predawn, Sergei looked at the courtyard to see those grim-faced chevarittai who were still able to ride. Around them were the Garde Civile of the other garrisons, and a bare handful of the war-teni from Nessantico. Three hundred. Maybe less. Certainly fewer than he had hoped.

They waited, and Sergei knew that the tension was singing as loudly in each of their ears as it was in his. He checked that his injured leg was tied securely to the saddle, then gripped the Hirzg’s sword tightly in his hand and drew it from its scabbard. Around him, he heard the shimmering of well-used blades leaving leather scabbards as the others did the same.

He waited. Along the northwest quadrant of Passe a’Fiume’s wall, at the gate of the Avi a’Firenzcia, teni-fire blossomed and arced outward. They could hear, faintly, the clatter of swords against shields and hoarse shouts, as if those gates were about to open and disgorge a sally force. Sergei glanced up to the broken summit of the wall. A man waved down to him. “The enemy is moving, Commandant,” he said. “Away to the north.”

Sergei nodded. He gestured to the men at the gate. The barricades had already been removed. Now the gates swung open and the portcullis was drawn up. Sergei kicked his mount into a gallop, the mounted chevarittai following him, and they galloped out from the city, the men on foot running after them.