Raymond Feist - A Crown Imperilled

‘You look lost in thought,’ observed Brendan.

Martin smiled slightly at his younger brother. ‘Just trying to imagine what I’d be doing next if I were the Keshian commander in Crydee.’

Brendan shrugged. ‘It would depend on what his orders are, right?’

Martin nodded. ‘We’ve not seen any Keshian ships this far north. Queg must be keeping them busy to the south.’

Brendan knew his brother meant that Queg was keeping Kesh from sailing west of their island kingdom. While no formal treaty existed between Queg and the Kingdom, they were effectively allied against Kesh’s northward expansion in the Bitter Sea. The part of the Kingdom fleet that wasn’t stationed down in Port Vykor and Krondor would be hugging the coast of the Principality, freeing Queg from the need to protect their eastern coast. ‘Even if they bottled up all of the Prince’s fleet at Krondor, some Kingdom ships had to sortie out of Port Vykor and would have been out on the water when this war started. Most likely, there’s a line of ships between Vykor and Sarth, enough to hold the Keshians in check.’

Martin nodded. ‘Which means Kesh is not reinforcing her armies by sea.’

‘So, the only large force they have in the region is the one that drove us out of Crydee,’ finished Brendan.

Martin squatted. ‘Let’s assume for the moment that whatever ships Kesh have are down south supporting the land assaults against Land’s End, Vykor and Krondor. So how does that leave us here in the north?’ He pulled out his belt knife and drew a half-circle in the earth. ‘We’re here,’ he said, sticking his blade point into the ground.’ He motioned towards what would be the west on his makeshift map. ‘If they bring those forces here, we can face them along one or two walls at most, without support and not worry about the rest of our defences.’ He motioned to the south of the harbour gate. ‘Out there is a natural choke point between the docks and gate.’ He stood up. ‘Unless they mean to swim across from the western shore then attack up the road …’ His expression changed and he motioned for Brendan to follow him as he hurried over to the steps leading up to the ramparts.

At the top of the wall he could see the handful of men stationed along the battlement, all trying to appear keen and ready, but really just hiding their boredom. Martin knew the tedium of the watch only too well as he and his brothers had served more than their share; their father had ensured that his three sons understood every aspect of the soldier’s trade. There was an old soldier’s saying: War is protracted periods of boredom punctuated by short bursts of violence and terror ; and so far, Martin had found that to be entirely true.

Scanning the docks below the wall and the foulborough between the city walls and the docks, he said, ‘How would you attack this city?’

Brendan moved to one of the crenels and leaned out slightly, his hands resting on the merlons to either side. He said, ‘I’d not wish to.’

‘I know, but if you did, how?’

His younger brother was silent as he continued to survey the landscape beyond the wall. His attention lingered for a moment on the keep high above the city and then dropped to the road from the west, across the harbourage and then the road to the south. Finally he said, ‘I’d come at the city from the east. It’s the weakest part of the defence.’

‘But to do that means you’d have to get your forces across the water to the western coast of the principality. No ships, remember.’

Brendan said, ‘The Free Cities have ships.’

‘But to turn south and move on Port Natal leaves your rear exposed to … well, us.

‘And even if you get past the Rangers sniping at you from behind every tree, win past the city defenders, and get your hands on enough ships, you’ve still got to sail back north and get past Queg’s patrols.’ He stopped, thoughtful. ‘But your instincts are right, I’m certain. We just have to figure out how they intend to do it.’

‘Which brings us back to a raiding fleet from the south,’ said Brendan.

Martin shook his head. ‘Let’s leave the problem of how they do it to the Keshians. We must assume they can get to the western shore of the Bitter Sea. If I were their commander, I’d make straight for Questor’s View and come ashore on that beach to the north of the town.’

‘Which would put you only a day’s forced march south of that old fortification there,’ said Brendan, pointing across the water.

‘That would be a fine staging area. Leaving out the part about swimming across, invisible ships, or other magic as beside the point of having soldiers there, let’s assume the Keshian Commander is as intelligent as you are.’ Martin turned. ‘Sergeant Ruther!’ he shouted.

‘Sir!’ came the answering reply from below.

The old sergeant might not always be in sight but he was always near at hand. Martin motioned for him to come up and despite his age the old soldier took the steps two at a time as he hurried to his young commander’s side. When he reached Martin, he said, ‘Sir?’

‘What can you tell us about that old fortification?

‘Been abandoned for nearly a hundred years, I’ve been told. Built as a buttress against some nasty raids over the mountains and down along the coast. Seems things got calmer and one of the old barons decided that paying for a second garrison wasn’t necessary.’

‘How long would it take to ride down and have a look around?’

‘An hour to get there. It’s farther away than it looks from here. That’s no hill overlooking the beach and the road bends through the woodlands. Another hour to inventory, and then an hour to return. Be back by supper, sir.’

‘Get to it,’ said Martin.

As Ruther headed down the steps bellowing orders to form a detail to ride with him, a sentry at the far western corner shouted, ‘Patrol coming in!’

Martin turned to see four riders coming in at a canter; an urgent enough pace to indicate that there was news, but not fast enough to signal immediate danger. ‘Open the gates!’ he commanded.

Four riders entered, as grimy as their horses. The sudden early summer rains had quickly dried out and mud and dust covered both mount and horseman. The leader of the patrol, a newly promoted corporal named Jackson, dismounted and said, ‘Saw ’em, sir.’

‘Where?’

‘Their vanguard is about half a day’s ride the other side of the pass.’ The rangy, sandy-haired young man stopped and calculated. ‘Saw them at dawn yesterday, Commander, so they must be a day and a half, perhaps two days at the most, behind us.’

‘How many have they brought?’ asked Brendan.

‘The whole bunch, sir,’ said Jackson. He thanked the guard who handed him a water skin. He took a long pull from it, then said, ‘Seems like they don’t feel the need to leave much behind. It’s as if they don’t care about any attempt to retake Crydee from the south.’

‘Odd,’ said Martin. ‘So what numbers do you think we’ll see, and when?’

‘Five hundred horses, if I judged rightly; a bunch of those desert fellows with the leopardskin trim on their helmets, maybe three hundred; and what looks like heavy cavalry: lancers with baggage wagons. And infantry. At least a thousand Dog Soldiers, and twice that number of irregulars.’

‘Siege engines?’ asked Brendan.

‘I expect they took ’em apart after we left Crydee, and will be dragging them along, sir. Didn’t stay around to see if they were in the rear with those leopard fellows getting close. A couple of them gave chase, but they didn’t last long once we turned and ran.’

Martin studied the distant road through the gate. He had ordered entrapments and barriers erected, knowing full well they were more of nuisance to the enemy than a real deterrent. Still, anything that kept the Keshians from swarming over that hill and coming straight at the gate was to be earnestly wished for.