Moira cuffed the man on the shoulder, wincing and grabbing her chest afterward. “I already told you no, Gull. We don’t sacrifice innocent life.”
King Eldrich glanced at her. “It is I who will make that decision,” he said, though not unkindly. He then looked at Gull. “But no, we will not use these poor souls as fodder. If I am to die tomorrow, then I will die with a clean conscience.”
“Men with clean consciences do not win wars,” Gull said flatly, then let the matter drop.
“Laurel,” the king said, turning to her, “you have remained silent on this issue for days. I would like your input.”
Laurel shrugged. “I’m no warrior, my Liege.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” said Lyana, playfully nudging her leg. “You’re as brave as anyone.”
“Brave, perhaps,” Laurel acknowledged, “but weak and useless with a sword. I can give a good speech, I can make people like me, but I’d be a hindrance on the battlefield.”
Moira looked at her appraisingly. “I think you may underestimate your usefulness.”
Eldrich waved her off. “I’m not asking you to fight, Laurel. I’m asking your advice. Say all you wish about your lack of skill, but the fact remains that the strike against the remaining councilmen and the Sisters that protected them was your idea, and it worked beautifully. You have a skill for planning, my dear. That is all I wish from you.”
But Marius Trufont and Lenroy Mott still live, Laurel thought with a sigh. “Alright,” she said. What the king said was true; but they had lost upwards of eighty men and women in the attack. Laurel felt her responsibility keenly. Nevertheless, if her king wanted her input, she was obliged to give it.
“I don’t like the plan,” she said.
“Why not?” asked the Mover named Rodin. “It’s straightforward and simple.”
“That’s just it,” said Laurel, inching forward on the dirt floor until she was directly in front of the seated king. She drew a circle in the dirt with her finger. “You’re talking about a full-on assault on an armed fortress. We have-what? Eight hundred people at our disposal? We will lose half of them just squeezing through the portcullis.”
King Eldrich frowned. “We must send a message. We must be swift and brutal.”
“Yes, but you can be both and not stupid at the same time.” Laurel cringed at her own boldness, but Eldrich’s expression never changed. He appeared rather intrigued, and she continued. “Instead of striking an hour after first light, as we discussed, we move on the castle at midday. And rather than a suicide run, we use the resources we have.”
“Such as?” asked Gull.
“Well, more than a third of those who now fight in the king’s name are former Sisters,” she said. “The wrappings of the order aren’t difficult to come by; many still carry them in their sacks. At midday, the Sisters are spread throughout the city. The largest force walks among the merchants who line the streets. All eyes are away from the castle, looking for threats from outside. If we were to dress our women warriors in Sister’s garb and send them through the portcullis in small groups, we could gather them at the rear stables. By Karak, we could even put some of our more slender men in the garb as well.” She offered Pulo a sly smirk, but the subsequent moans she heard told her that others were unsettled by her speaking the name of Veldaren’s god. Pulo ran a hand through his dark, curly hair.
“That gets us people inside,” he said, “but what then?”
“Then they take the courtyard from the inside. The rest, the Palace Guard, Watchmen, and former brigands, will be lurking in the abandoned shops nearby. When a signal is sent, they can rush the streets and enter the portcullis untouched. The priest, and the surviving members of the Council, will be ours to do with as we wish. When the castle is ours-and hopefully we can lock the Judges in their cages before they know what’s happening and join the fight-we have a defensible position. We’ll have a gods-damned castle.”
The ones named Tabar and Danco, who had remained silent thus far, perked up. “That could work,” Tabar said, rubbing at his shoulder.
“It’s brilliant,” said Moira. She pitched forward, silver hair dangling in her face as she grinned. “I like this one. A lot.”
Rodin leaned into the lost Crestwell and spoke softly. “Remember the letters, Moira. Remember what happened last-”
“Shut it,” Moira snapped, elbowing the man in the chest. “It’s not like that.”
Gull fingered his sword. “It is a logical strategy.”
“So what say you, my Liege?” asked Pulo as he threw his arm around Laurel. Laurel in turn rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the smell of sweat on the man’s clothes.
King Eldrich gave them a disapproving look. “It could indeed work. But I worry about how long it would take to organize such an assault. Say what you will about our peoples’ ability with swords and spears, and their willingness to die for our cause, but none of us have truly fought a war, only skirmishes. Will they listen? Will they follow instructions? Will they even understand them?”
Laurel shrugged. “Who knows?” she said. “You wanted my advice, and I gave-”
The ground shook, cutting her off. Dust and dirt rained down from the ceiling. The candles flickered, growing dimmer before dancing upward once more.
“What in a maiden’s twat is that?” shouted Danco.
Again the ground trembled, and this time half the candles went out. Screams split the silence and feet began to pound the floor above their heads as the people in the storehouse proper began to panic. The entire structure seemed to be creaking.
“Will it collapse?” asked Pulo.
Rodin glanced up. “Let’s not stay here and find out.”
Everyone in the small room leapt to their feet. They threw open the door and dashed down the hall, keeping King Eldrich between them. The other guards in the cellar waited by the ladder, hurriedly gesturing for them to climb.
One after another, they entered the storehouse’s main room. Laurel was the second one out, and she helped the others, still in pain from their injuries, get to their feet. She then gawked at the scene before her. The people were indeed panicking, shouting and clustering even more tightly together in the center of the wide space. A few fights broke out as others sought safety within the wall of flesh. Then a trumpeting sounded, like the loudest horn in all of Dezrel. Laurel’s heart nearly pounded out of her chest.
That’s when Laurel noticed Moira’s eyes were wide with terror. The silver-haired woman slowly turned to her and then walked right past her, heading for the barred door. The Movers were right on her heels, and Laurel and Lyana followed suit, King Eldrich and Pulo behind them. Danco and Rodin lifted the heavy bar and dropped it to the ground. The horn blew again. They all walked outside.
It was dark now, the night moonless. Laurel stared east, toward the heart of the city, in wonder. For the longest time, Veldaren had been quite dark during nighttime hours, but now there was a brilliant yellow glow that lit up the black. It was like the days before war, when taverns and inns saw business throughout the evening. Despite that deafening horn and the way the ground shook, Laurel felt a sliver of hope.
Then came a booming voice that shook her teeth, and that sliver disappeared.
“MY CHILDREN, COME TO ME!”
Those who had called the storehouses home before the arrival of the rebellion began to stream out of the buildings, wandering hesitantly toward the glowing center of the city.