They held a quick meeting with most of the military personnel present, as well as Eir, who was annoyingly optimistic about their odds.
‘So we have seventeen men — and myself,’ Eir said. ‘Not to mention we have quite a few of the administrative staff, each of whom could be given a sword and not remain idle. There’s also that cultist, Blavat I believe her name is, who spends most of her time experimenting in the basements. I’d say that puts us in a better position than we thought previously.’
‘She has a very good point,’ Drendan said.
‘I could try reasoning with them first, however?’ Eir offered.
‘Too dangerous, my lady,’ Drendan said. ‘My limited experience suggests an angry mob isn’t in the mood for negotiation.’
‘If this is the case,’ Eir said, ‘one of us must use one of the underground exits to get a message out via garuda, to locate Brynd wherever he is and to inform him that the city is under threat.’
‘Any ideas as to the numbers out there?’ Randur asked. ‘At least a thousand, right? So how can we possibly hold them off? Come to think of it, why the hell are we under siege in the first place?’
‘From what I can gather, it is gang-led violence. Some of their anti-Empire chants suggest that they are against our rule.’
‘They picked the right bloody time for it,’ Randur said, ‘what with the Night Guard away.’
‘This sounds more of a planned effort,’ one of the older guards said, ‘if they waited for the main forces to go, leaving us defenceless. It is a cold and calculated attempt to remove a major Imperial structure.’
‘That means they won’t stop until they’re inside here,’ Drendan said.
‘Not on our watch,’ Randur declared.
‘Agreed,’ the old guard said. ‘We are sworn to you, Lady Eir, to protect you and your seat of power.’
‘Oh, give me a sword, for Bohr’s sake. I can protect myself.’
Randur smiled and handed her his own blade. ‘That she can, lads — she had one of the best in the Archipelago teach her.’
‘Are you certain, Lady Eir?’ The guard had a genuine look of concern. He was clearly of a generation that wasn’t used to noble ladies knowing their way around a blade.
Eir pointed the tip of her sword towards him. ‘I have never been more certain in my life. If this Citadel falls, I shall go with it. It is important that this building remains — it is the hub of everything that Commander Lathraea has worked for. It contains Imperial wealth, food stores, documents relating to distribution of monies from the bank, the allocation of grain. . I could go on, but I hope I get my point across. This building must not fall.’
‘Yes, Lady Eir,’ the soldiers muttered as close to unison as they could manage.
The Citadel was built with defence in mind. The walls were high and, unless you possessed special powers, relatively non-scalable. It was built to an old design, redesigned, hacked back, and new sections added with the same stone so, over the years, it was impossible to know what was left of the designer’s original vision. Old-style grates were available so that hot oil could be poured down over those assaulting the main door, and this task was left to two soldiers. The crenellations provided adequate cover from which to launch arrows at those attacking. Someone managed to make contact with the cultist, who reluctantly agreed to lend some explosive relics to the cause.
It was a piecemeal and very slow operation.
Randur became immensely frustrated at the fact that success simply meant that the status quo was maintained. There seemed no way of actually winning — all they were doing was holding off one group of bodies, for another wave to come crashing against the doors and walls. There were a few valiant efforts to scale the walls: ropes were launched upward, only to be cut by the handful of soldiers on the roof. Eir and Randur found themselves directing things more than being much use.
As the hours rolled towards midnight, there was an explosion that managed to blow a gap in the front of the portcullis. Moments later came a second blast.
The gathered defenders reconvened to discuss a new plan of action.
Everyone’s tone was noticeably more panicky now. There was a great deal more urgency to proceedings. People spoke over one another until Eir managed to calm everyone down to develop a solution.
They concluded that, should the doors be breached and the gangs make it into the courtyard, it did not necessarily mean that the Citadel could be accessed easily. The courtyard could be sealed off, and Randur suggested they could hold the gangs in there for a little longer, cutting off routes to the rest of the building as best they could. Having ascertained what would happen if the gangs did breach these boundaries, they planned to close down the Citadel section by section, wearing the attackers down, throwing in more relics, drawing more blood.
A third blast came a few minutes later.
An enormous metallic scraping sound suggested the portcullis was being removed. The cheers were more audible, the noise of the mob accumulating within the confines of the walls. Still they couldn’t see the numbers of assailants they’d be dealing with.
Blavat, the cultist, had set off a couple of relics in the entrance way to the Citadel — Randur didn’t know what exactly; he could only hear the screams — but it managed to buy them some more time. They locked doors, barricaded passageways, drew down further, smaller portcullises, the presence of which surprised everyone but the guards. It seemed the Citadel was not only built well for an external defence but also for an internal one.
They ran back along corridors, sealing themselves in, moving up a level.
The gangs passed the cultist trickery and flooded in. The noise was intense and frightening. Randur could hear the vile chants now, the names, the curses, their promises. Their anger filtered up through the stone.
As they moved up a stairway, between the cold walls, Randur caught a glimpse of the courtyard below. ‘Eir, look. There are hundreds of them.’
‘They mustn’t get up. We must keep them there, locked in, and wear them down.’
‘They’re not going to just go. They’ll stay until we’re dead.’
‘If that happens, then so be it, but we must hold until the commander returns.’
‘That could be any time. It could be days. It could be weeks.’
‘It could be soon, too, we’ve just no idea.’
The gangs were milling about the place now, as if they were in an iren. With nowhere to go they had been stalled. Somehow one of them had managed to get up on the raised platform, several feet above the ground. It was too dark for Randur to identify him, but he seemed to be giving instructions. . no, he was rallying them.
‘Could Blavat throw something in there to kill them all?’ Randur asked. He noticed Eir cringe at his intentions.
They looked down the line at the grey-haired cultist, who simply shrugged. ‘The military have taken most of my damaging relics for their operations. I have very few of use any more. At best, things that give off smoke, things that may slow down time for them. .’
‘That’ll do,’ Randur said.
‘All it does is make it appear as if they’re wading through treacle, and it doesn’t last for more than a few hours.’
‘I don’t care,’ Randur said. ‘It’s our best chance of holding them off.’
Blavat ran up the stairs to her quarters. Randur and Eir waited by the window as the soldiers continued their work of barricading themselves in.
A few moments later, something whistled outside like a firecracker and exploded over the thugs below.
It was difficult to observe fully, but the crowds below were very definitely moving slowly. It was bordering on comical, the way the man on the platform walked in a painfully slow manner back and forth. Was he aware that he had been slowed down? Randur couldn’t be sure.