more complicated. Her biggest foe was free, and she had traitors in her midst. Worse, she had committed herself to making that swine a hero and a noble, to say nothing of another promise she had given a pair of wizards: to make peace with Athesia’s enemy these last two generations so they could fight together against imaginary monsters. Shewondered what Father would say of her master plan. He would probably laugh at her.
Only she lived, and that was what mattered for now.
Small steps, humble achievements. That could work for her. The whole empire thing she had tried in Roalas had failed. Perhaps this was the way it should have been done.
Father made his first victory on a hill somewhere. No one thought he would become a legend, then
.
“Mayor Alistair, please,” she said and beckoned.
CHAPTER 5
W
hat is the worst kind of enemy one can have?
Bart had often wondered.
Who do you fear the most?
Was it a friendly, smiling face shadowing you all the time, leeching your trust? Was it the grumpy rival staring at you from the other side of the battlefield? A jealous woman? A scornful parent? Someone you had never seen but who worshipped your demise like a second religion?
No. For Bart, it was a human baby.
His baby.
That squealing little thing terrified him, haunted him. He was not sure what he was supposed to do. What were men really good for? Fighting, whoring, maybe politicking, he thought. But this whole offspring business was a dark, dreadful affair.
If not for a somewhat knobbly sight of that egg-shaped head, and its shock of fluffy, woolly brown hair, he might have felt content. It was a beautiful summer day, warm, clear, pleasant. The war preparations were going well; there was little sickness in the camp, even less discord. His noble friends and foes were keeping a rather low profile, almost resigned with his status. Not that they would ever stop scheming, but that day, they were quiet, reserved, elsewhere.
Junner was playing backgammon against Edgar. The mercenary was shouting at the old servant, trying to tell him something, but Bart’s man was stubbornly holding a hand to his ear. For a change, Bart thought Edgar was about to win that round. Being half deaf had its perks sometimes.
His eyes strayed toward the baby and its mother. His mood soured again. Constance was looking happy, if a little exhausted. Alke was there too, beaming like only a woman could when there was a nipper present. Constance handed Bart’s bastard to the maid. Alke hoisted the boy like a war hammer, gushing, making stupid noises.
Bart wanted to escape all this. But he really, really had nothing to do. A dull morning meant he was forced to wrestle with the thoughts of his fatherhood. Well, the fate of all of Eracia really, when it came to that.
The siege camp was almost ready for an attack on the city. Four monstrous trebuchets marred the skyline, poised, waiting to hurl rocks at the walls. The encirclement was complete, and the army had camps and ditches and towers all around Somar. Every day, soldiers kept drilling under the watchful eyes of Commanders Faas and Velten, getting that less likely to die when the moment to liberate the capital came.
Basically, everyone was waiting for him.
What happens when I give the order?
he wondered.
Do I get to see my wife’s head on a spike above the gatehouse? Does the city burn?
He knew he would never relent to the nomads. Time for negotiations and mercy was long over. The enemy leader had had his chance to gracefully retreat. The resolution to this ugly business would have to be bloody. Very much so.
What he feared was the time between the assault and the moment they freed the city. It could take hours, days, maybeeven weeks. In that time, the Kataji could systematically kill every woman and child and set fires to all the houses and shops, leaving Somar a black, dead ruin. Bart doubted this General Pacmad would resort to something like that, but desperate men often made foolish
Only she lived, and that was what mattered for now.
Small steps, humble achievements. That could work for her. The whole empire thing she had tried in Roalas had failed. Perhaps this was the way it should have been done.
Father made his first victory on a hill somewhere. No one thought he would become a legend, then
.
“Mayor Alistair, please,” she said and beckoned.
CHAPTER 5
W
hat is the worst kind of enemy one can have?
Bart had often wondered.
Who do you fear the most?
Was it a friendly, smiling face shadowing you all the time, leeching your trust? Was it the grumpy rival staring at you from the other side of the battlefield? A jealous woman? A scornful parent? Someone you had never seen but who worshipped your demise like a second religion?
No. For Bart, it was a human baby.
His baby.
That squealing little thing terrified him, haunted him. He was not sure what he was supposed to do. What were men really good for? Fighting, whoring, maybe politicking, he thought. But this whole offspring business was a dark, dreadful affair.
If not for a somewhat knobbly sight of that egg-shaped head, and its shock of fluffy, woolly brown hair, he might have felt content. It was a beautiful summer day, warm, clear, pleasant. The war preparations were going well; there was little sickness in the camp, even less discord. His noble friends and foes were keeping a rather low profile, almost resigned with his status. Not that they would ever stop scheming, but that day, they were quiet, reserved, elsewhere.
Junner was playing backgammon against Edgar. The mercenary was shouting at the old servant, trying to tell him something, but Bart’s man was stubbornly holding a hand to his ear. For a change, Bart thought Edgar was about to win that round. Being half deaf had its perks sometimes.
His eyes strayed toward the baby and its mother. His mood soured again. Constance was looking happy, if a little exhausted. Alke was there too, beaming like only a woman could when there was a nipper present. Constance handed Bart’s bastard to the maid. Alke hoisted the boy like a war hammer, gushing, making stupid noises.
Bart wanted to escape all this. But he really, really had nothing to do. A dull morning meant he was forced to wrestle with the thoughts of his fatherhood. Well, the fate of all of Eracia really, when it came to that.
The siege camp was almost ready for an attack on the city. Four monstrous trebuchets marred the skyline, poised, waiting to hurl rocks at the walls. The encirclement was complete, and the army had camps and ditches and towers all around Somar. Every day, soldiers kept drilling under the watchful eyes of Commanders Faas and Velten, getting that less likely to die when the moment to liberate the capital came.
Basically, everyone was waiting for him.
What happens when I give the order?
he wondered.
Do I get to see my wife’s head on a spike above the gatehouse? Does the city burn?
He knew he would never relent to the nomads. Time for negotiations and mercy was long over. The enemy leader had had his chance to gracefully retreat. The resolution to this ugly business would have to be bloody. Very much so.
What he feared was the time between the assault and the moment they freed the city. It could take hours, days, maybeeven weeks. In that time, the Kataji could systematically kill every woman and child and set fires to all the houses and shops, leaving Somar a black, dead ruin. Bart doubted this General Pacmad would resort to something like that, but desperate men often made foolish
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