"Those? Are you mad? They're some of the strongest in Styria."
"Then why—"
"Bad form to just sit outside and do nothing. They have ample stocks of food, water, weapons and, worst of all, loyalty. They might last months in there. Months during which Orso's daughter, the Queen of the Union, might prevail upon her reluctant husband to send aid." Monza wondered whether the king learning that his wife preferred women would make any difference…
"How's watching your men fall off a wall going to help?" asked Shivers.
Cosca shrugged. "It will wear down the defenders, deny them rest, keep them guessing and distract them from any other efforts we might make."
"Lot of corpses for a distraction."
"Wouldn't be much of a distraction without them."
"How do you get men to climb the ladders for that?"
"Sazine's old method."
"Eh?"
Monza remembered Sazine displaying the money to the new boys, all laid out in sparkling stacks. "If the walls fall, a thousand scales to the first man on the battlements, a hundred each to the next ten who follow him."
"Provided they survive to collect the bounty," Cosca added. "If the task's impossible, they'll never collect, and if they do, well, you achieved the impossible for two thousand scales. It ensures a steady flow of willing bodies up the ladders, and has the added benefit of weeding the bravest men out of the company to boot."
Shivers looked even more baffled. "Why would you want to do that?"
" ‘Bravery is the dead man's virtue,' " Monza muttered. " ‘The wise commander never trusts it.' "
"Verturio!" Cosca slapped one leg. "I do love an author who can make death funny! Brave men have their uses but they're damned unpredictable. Worrying to the herd. Dangerous to bystanders."
"Not to mention potential rivals for command."
"Altogether safest to cream them off," and Cosca mimed the action with a careless flick of two fingers. "The moderately cowardly make infinitely better soldiers."
Shivers shook his head in disgust. "You people got a pretty fucking way of making war."
"There is no pretty way of making war, my friend."
"You said a distraction," cut in Monza.
"I did."
"From what?"
There was a sudden fizzing sound and Monza saw fire out of the corner of her eye. A moment later the heat of it washed across her cheek. She spun, the Calvez already part-drawn. Ishri was draped across the crates behind them, sprawled out lazily as an old cat in the sun, head back, one long, thin, bandaged leg dangling from the edge of the boxes and swinging gently back and forth.
"Can't you ever just say hello?" snapped Monza.
"Where would be the fun in that?"
"Do you have to answer every question with another?"
Ishri pressed one hand to her bandaged chest, black eyes opening wide. "Who? Me?" She rolled something between her long finger and thumb, a little black grain, and flicked it with uncanny accuracy into the lamp beside Shivers. It went up with a flash and sizzle, cracking the glass hood and spraying sparks. The Northman stumbled away, cursing, flicking embers off his shoulder.
"Some of the men have taken to calling it Gurkish sugar." Cosca smacked his lips. "Sounds sweeter, to my ear, than Gurkish fire."
"Two dozen barrels," murmured Ishri, "courtesy of the Prophet Khalul."
Monza frowned. "For a man I've never met he likes us a lot."
"Better yet…" The dark-skinned woman slithered from the boxes like a snake, waves running through her body from shoulders down to hips as if she had no bones in her, arms trailing after. "He hates your enemies."
"No better basis for an alliance than mutual loathing." Cosca watched her contortions with an expression stuck between distrust and fascination. "It's a brave new age, my friends. Time was you had to dig for months, hundreds of strides of mine, tons of wood for props, fill it up with straw and oil, set it on fire, run like merry hell, then half the time it wouldn't even bring the walls down. This way, all you need do is sink a shaft deep enough, pack the sugar in, strike a spark and—"
"Boom," sang Ishri, up on her toes and stretching to her fingertips.
"Ker-blow," returned Cosca. "It's how everyone's conducting sieges these days, apparently, and who am I to ignore a trend…" He flicked dust from his velvet jacket. "Sesaria's a genius at mining. He brought down the bell tower at Gancetta, you know. Somewhat before schedule, admittedly, and a few men did get caught in the collapse. Did I ever tell you—"
"If you bring the wall down?" asked Monza.
"Well, then our men pour through the breach, overwhelm the stunned defenders and the outer ward will be ours. From the gardens within we'll have level ground to work with and room to bring our numbers to bear. Carrying the inner wall should be a routine matter of ladders, blood and greed. Then storm the palace and, you know, keep it traditional. I'll get my plunder and you'll get—"
"My revenge." Monza narrowed her eyes at the jagged outline of the fortress. Orso was in there, somewhere. Only a few hundred strides away. Perhaps it was the night, the fire, the heady mixture of darkness and danger, but some of that old excitement was building in her now. That fierce fury she'd felt when she hobbled from the bone-thief's crumbling house and into the rain. "How long until the mine's ready?"
Friendly looked up from his dice. "Twenty-one days and six hours. At the rate they're going."
"A shame." Ishri pushed out her bottom lip. "I so love fireworks. But I must go back to the South."
"Tired of our company already?" asked Monza.
"My brother was killed." Her black eyes showed no sign of emotion. "By a woman seeking vengeance."
Monza frowned, not sure if she was being mocked or not. "Those bitches find a way of doing damage, don't they?"
"But always to the wrong people. My brother is the lucky one, he is with God. Or so they tell me. It is the rest of my family that suffer. We must work the harder now." She swung herself smoothly down onto the ladder, let her head fall sideways. Uncomfortably far, until it was resting on the top rung. "Try not to get yourselves killed. I do not intend that my hard work here be wasted."
"Your wasted work will be my first concern when they cut my throat." Nothing but silence. Ishri was gone.
"Looks like you've run out of brave men," came Shivers' croak.
Cosca sighed. "We didn't have many to begin with." The remnants of the assault were scrambling back down the rocky mountainside in the flickering light of the fires above. Monza could just make out the last ladder toppling down, perhaps a dot or two flailing as they fell from it. "But don't worry. Sesaria's still digging. Just a matter of time until Styria stands united." He slid a metal flask from his inside pocket and unscrewed the cap. "Or until Orso sees sense, and offers me enough to change sides again."
She didn't laugh. Perhaps she wasn't meant to. "Maybe you should try sticking to one side or the other."
"Why ever would anyone do that?" Cosca raised his flask, took a sip and smacked his lips in satisfaction. "It's a war. There is no right side."
Preparation
Regardless of the nature of a great event, the key to success is always preparation. For three weeks, all Talins had been preparing for the coronation of Grand Duke Rogont. Meanwhile, Morveer had been preparing for an attempt to murder him and his allies. So much work had been put into both schemes that, now the day for their consummation had finally arrived, Morveer almost regretted that the success of one could only mean the spectacular failure of the other.
In all honesty, he had been having little success achieving even the smallest part of Duke Orso's immensely ambitious commission to murder no fewer than six heads of state and a captain general. His abortive attempt on the life of Murcatto the day of her triumphant return to Talins, resulting in nothing more than at least one poisoned commoner and a sore back, had been but the first of several mishaps.