Owen and Count von Metternin crossed at the head of the Mystrians. The Kessian pointed toward the southwest face of the fortress, about even with the tower across the river. "If he opens those gates and deploys the Platine Regiment, he can cut us in half. A river crossing-any sort of amphibious operation-should be contested."
"He's not the sort to make so simple a mistake."
"Well, he is arrogant. But then, he is Tharyngian." Von Metternin laughed quickly. "He sees that Rivendell has been thinking. We declined to take the tower. Rivendell will see his failure to oppose the crossing as a tactical error. Rivendell will begin to believe he has won two battles already."
Lord Rivendell came splashing through the river and reined his horse up in the middle of the cavalry salient. He raised a spyglass to his eye, then laughed. "I see you, du Malphias, and I know your game. You thought I'd take your tower, didn't you? Didn't you?"
Von Metternin chuckled. "I don't believe he can hear you, my lord."
"But he can see me." Rivendell took off his hat and waved it. "He has to know we won't be cowed. It ain't the thing."
One cannon replied. Flames shot from the rampart and smoke jetted. Twelve pounds of iron sphere flew from the cannon's mouth. Three hundred yards out it hit the ground and bounced. It bounced again and again, slowing as it came. One of the cavalrymen laughed and stood, making as if to catch the slow-moving ball.
His right hand evaporated in a red mist. He stared at the gushing stump, then began to scream.
Rivendell's horse shied from the ball, and other men parted to let it through. Owen darted forward, yanked the cavalryman's saber sash off. He looped it around the man's right forearm, then stuck a stick into it and twisted until the arterial flow trickled to a slow drip. The man raised his pulverized wrist toward his face, then fainted.
"Captain Strake, get some of your Mystrians up here to dig us a trench!"
Owen shook his head. "If they come forward, my lord, your bunker won't be ready for nightfall. Colonel Thornbury should get his men to digging their own trenches."
The Count stepped between Owen and Rivendell's raised crop. "I might suggest, my lord, that you draw the men back another hundred yards. The ridge there, if they get on the other side of it, will protect them."
"Yes, of course. Colonel Thornbury, move your men back to that ridge." Rivendell donned his hat again. "Langford, come here. Captain Strake shall be written up for insubordination!"
Owen's shoulders and back ached from digging holes and chopping wood. Being an officer, he could have been spared that duty, but he pitched in. Had anyone asked, he'd have said he intended to set a good example. The simple fact was, however, that he wanted to put as much wood and earth between himself and the fortress as possible.
By evening of the twenty-ninth, Rivendell had arrayed his forces in preparation for the siege. He placed his artillery in a single battery in the middle of his line. That tactical placement actually made sense. The Mystrians wove together and filled fascine, which they installed around the front of the emplacement. The guns could cover most of the field and could scatter any attack coming from the fortress, should it round the corner by the river.
The cavalry remained nearest the river, but pulled back so the fortress' cannon could not harass them. East of them came the Fourth Regiment of Foot. They dug in and threw up ramparts, but did it casually. The infantry expected no assault, and wasn't keen on having to cross their own trenches to get going at the enemy. They believed the siege would end quickly, and Owen did not take that as a good sign.
Further east, between the Norillians and the lake, the Mystrians set up. Prince Vlad headquartered on the heights nearest the lake, with his men dug in all along that front. Despite being exhausted from the preparation of Rivendell's headquarters, they dug a good trench line, letting it slither across the landscape in keeping with the natural formations. Their camp was built to last through the winter.
The greatest bit of construction came at the Prince's headquarters. The men felled a number of trees and bound them crosswise, then linked them to several central beams. They sank them into the earth, creating an A-frame wurmrest to which Mugwump took easily. The building dwarfed Lord Rivendell's tent complex, and the Mystrians took to joking about that fact.
Owen sat in the shadows outside the Prince's tent. He caught sight of Rivendell and Langford marching toward him, with an honor guard of six men. He considered standing, but saw little sense in it. If it is another court-martial, an additional charge of conduct unbecoming an officer can't hurt.
To his surprise they marched past him and into the Prince's tent. Greetings between the officers, the Prince, and Count von Metternin passed tersely.
Rivendell cleared his throat. "Langford, just hold down that edge of the map. As you can see, Highness, we have our plan. Your men will begin to dig trenches here and here, so we can move the guns forward and begin our assault."
Silence reigned for a moment, then the Prince spoke. "Forgive me if I read this map incorrectly, but with the cavalry pulled back here, you've only got cannon to discourage raiders. My men will be vulnerable to both cannon and direct assault. Am I misreading things, Count von Metternin?"
Before the Kessian could offer an opinion, Rivendell huffed. "Need I remind you, I am in command of this expedition. Your concern for your men is commendable, but I shall not be asking them to fight, just do work for which they are suited."
Mugwump's roar, full of fury and urgency, killed the conversation. The sound thrummed through Owen's chest, causing him to spring to his feet. To the west, by the river, muskets fired. Owen snatched his up and started in that direction. Prince Vlad raced from the tent and past him toward the wurmrest. Owen trailed him, intent on seeing to the Prince's safety. Mugwump thrust his muzzle from the building, roaring again. The Prince leaped for the wurm and caught part of the baggage harness. He got one foot into a stirrup and hauled himself into the saddle as the wurm darted forward.
Owen jumped and hooked a hand into the harness and clung there. Mugwump hurtled down the hill. He raced through the middle of the Fourth's tents, his tail flicking a number into the air like sails shredded in storms. His repeated roar scattered men, then he was past the Fourth's lead elements.
He burst into the cavalry camp. They didn't need to see him to scatter. They were already in full retreat, screaming, throwing their carbines down. Men fled, eyes wide, throats already raw from screams of terror.
Owen stared into the night and knew why they ran.
As they reached the edge of the camp, Owen leaped free of the wurm and rolled to his left. Mugwump's tail whistled above his head. Owen came up on one knee, shouldered his musket and fired.
The ball hit a soaking wet pasmorte in the throat, blowing its head off. Owen tossed his gun aside and picked up a carbine. He tracked again, then shot, knocking a young boy down. He tossed that gun aside and groped for another. Instead of a gun, he found the hilt of a fine steel cavalry saber and shucked it from its scabbard.
No one would ever describe the heavy blade as elegant. It had been designed for butchery, with a solid blade and full brass hilt. Owen slashed, opening a pasmorte from shoulder to hip. Not only did the saber cut well, but the steel blade disrupted magick. Any serious slash was enough to palsy the pasmorte into a twitching mass on the ground.
He ran forward, trying to get to where Prince Vlad and Mugwump fought. The Prince had ridden into battle unarmed, putting himself at great risk. Owen slashed the head from one pasmorte, then opened another across the belly. "Hold on, Highness!"