Peter Brett - The Skull Throne

Princess Lorain, in contrast, stood straight and resolute, eyes on the Tender as he hurried through the vows that would seal their alliance and allow her to commit her soldiers to the fight. Not that her five hundred Mountain Spears were likely to make much difference against twenty thousand Sharum. Messengers had been dispatched the moment the enemy forces were spotted, but there was no way of knowing if they had gotten through.

It was morning, though dawn was still an hour away. The ceremony was blessedly quick, just oaths and an awkward kiss. Leesha didn’t envy either of them the wedding night, but the needs of their people outweighed their personal comfort. It seemed such a simple thing, creating a child, but Leesha knew as well as any how it could impact the world.

“Man and wife!” the Tender called, and the new duchess nodded to Bruz, the captain of her guard. The man sent a runner to muster the Mountain Spears, then fell in behind her as she and Pether stepped down from the altar. The attendees gave a ragged cheer, but most of the pews were empty, people manning the walls or barricading themselves in homes and shelters.

Araine was the first to bow to the new couple, but the others quickly followed. Leesha bent as far as she could manage in her current state. Even Amanvah bowed, a telling move. She was desperate to see Rojer freed.

“Enough,” Pether snapped, drawing everyone erect once more. “There will be plenty of time for bowing and scraping tomorrow, if we live to see it.” His shrill tone made clear his expectation on the matter.

Lorain’s face was stone as she looked at her new husband, but her aura was a mix of irritation and disgust. “Perhaps, husband, this is something best discussed in private?”

“Of course, of course,” Pether said, waving the royal entourage into the vestry beside the altar and down the hall to his private offices. Rhinebeck’s palace was his, now, but there had been no time to move, and the Shepherd was reluctant to leave the lavish office he had spent a decade arranging.

There in his place of power, surrounded by the symbols of his faith and reminders of his own greatness, the duke seemed to regain something of himself, straightening his back. “Janson, what is the status of our defenses?”

“Little different than it was twenty minutes ago, Your Grace,” Janson said. “The enemy is massing, but if nothing else, we learned this week they will not attack until dawn. We have archers on the wall, and men to repel attempts to scale, but the real danger is the South Gate. There are companies of men guarding the other gates, but the enemy has positioned their engines to strike there.”

“Will it hold?” Pether asked.

Janson shrugged. “Unclear, Your Grace. The enemy did not haul boulders all this way, and they are unlikely to quickly find stone of sufficient size to break the gate. It should withstand most bombardment.”

“Most?” Pether asked.

Janson shrugged again. “It has never been tested, Your Grace. If it falls, the courtyard will be the last hope of stopping the charge before the enemy can spread out into the city.”

“If it fails, we’re lost,” Pether said. “After the losses at Docktown, we don’t have enough Wooden Soldiers to man the wall and hold that yard if twenty thousand Krasians come pouring in. Men are streaming in from the levies, but we don’t even have weapons for them. They’re not going to hold back trained cavalry with carpentry tools.”

“Nothing is lost,” Lorain said, her voice hard. “Captain Bruz will take the Mountain Spears to the courtyard. There are only three avenues for enemy coming through the gate to take. Each a choke point we can hold with limited men.”

Pether turned to Leesha. “And the Hollow, mistress? Do you think we can expect help from the south?”

Leesha shook her head. “I gave Briar hora to speed his journey to the Hollow with news of Gorja’s attack, but even if Gared got right on his horse, it will be days yet before he can arrive with any sizable force.”

She shrugged. “I suppose it’s possible the Hollowers caught sign of the Krasians on the march and mustered sooner, but I wouldn’t place any wagers on it.”

“And your Warded Man?” Pether asked. “If ever he were the Deliverer, now would be the time to prove it.”

Lorain snorted, and again Leesha shook her head. “You’ve better odds with the Hollow, Your Grace. If the Warded Man is still alive, he’s off chasing demons and left politics behind.”

“What about you, mistress?” Pether asked. “You threw lighting at Gorja and his warriors.”

“And nearly miscarried as a result,” Leesha said. “I won’t be doing that again save as a last resort with a spear pointed at my belly. There is little I can do in open daylight in any event. I may be able to strengthen the gate, however.”

Everyone looked up at this. “How?” Pether asked.

“With wards, and hora, ” Leesha said, “if we can shroud the gate in darkness.”

Pether looked to Janson. The minister’s eyes flicked to Araine, who appeared to do nothing more than shift her feet slightly.

Janson nodded immediately. “We can have every tailor in the city stitching bolts of cloth, Your Grace.”

“See to it.” Pether looked around. “Any other ideas? Anyone with a mad plan brewing, now’s the time to speak it.”

Silence hung in the air like a weight, and Leesha took a deep breath. “There is one thing …”

“Let me speak to him,” Amanvah said.

Pether shook his head. “Madness.”

“You asked for mad plans, Your Grace,” Leesha said. “For what it’s worth, I believe her.” She could not explain her wardsight, and the sincerity she saw in the woman’s aura. The Royals were more likely to think her mad than trust her words.

“Jayan is my brother,” Amanvah said. “Firstborn son and daughter of the Deliverer and Damajah. Send me out now while they wait for the sun, and he will speak to me. Perhaps I can turn him from this course. The Evejah forbids any, even the Sharum Ka, from harming or physically hindering a dama’ting. He cannot prevent me from returning, or attack the city with me in it.”

“And what guarantee do we have that you will return?” Lorain demanded. “More likely you will embrace your brother and bless him with knowledge of our defenses and command structure.”

“You have my husband,” Amanvah reminded her. “And my sister-wife, whom the dice tell me remains imprisoned somewhere in the city.”

“What better way to free them,” Pether asked, “than have your brother knock down the walls of their prisons?”

“If you care at all,” Lorain noted. “Perhaps you’ve tired of your chin husband, and plan to wipe the slate clean and return to your own kind.”

Amanvah’s eyes flared, and her aura shone with rage. “How dare you?! I offer to hostage myself for your stinking chin city, and you insult my honor and husband.”

She advanced on the duchess, and though Amanvah was shorter and half the thickly set woman’s weight, Lorain’s aura flashed with fear, no doubt remembering the casual way Dama Gorja had killed his way across the throne room.

“Guards!” Lorain shouted, and Bruz was in front of her in an instant, leveling his polearm at Amanvah. It had a wide, curving blade affixed to the end that would serve equally well to chop or stab. Leesha could see glittering wards etched into the steel.

Amanvah looked at the man as if he were a bug to squash, but she stopped, holding up her hands. “I offer no threat, Duchess. I am simply concerned for my husband’s safety. If you believe nothing else, believe that. The dice tell me he is in grave danger if he remains imprisoned.”