Jaymes noted the duchess’s eyes were filled with sorrow, however, as she guided him and Moptop through the city, escorted only by a quartet of palace spearmen who materialized an unobtrusive distance behind them. Word spread, seemingly through the cobblestones themselves, announcing her approach. The people turned out along the whole way, leaning from upper windows, lining the walks beside the narrow streets. They did not cheer, but quietly nodded, bowed, and curtsied as the duchess passed.
These same people regarded Jaymes with frank curiosity and an occasional scowl of apparent hostility.
“They remember the promises of Caergoth and Thelgaard,” Brianna explained apologetically, “and the knights who never appeared here. Very little is known about you, of course, though we have word that your army came north across the Garnet River. But they have had so little cause for hope in this last year.”
“As of now, my army should be crossing the Vingaard. Relieving your city is our objective, but even so it will take days for my armies to close in upon the enemy camp.”
“Until then, of course, we must continue to survive,” said the princess coolly. They came around a corner and saw a whole block of devastated buildings. “Come this way. We’ll climb the wall, and you’ll be able to get a good look.”
They made their way up a narrow stone stairway, quickly ascending to the top of a city wall. The duchess climbed the steps with easy grace. At the top, she gestured to an adjacent area that looked like the desolate ruin of some long-past civilization.
“Just a week ago this was a complete, fortified castle,” Duchess Brianna remarked sadly. “But the fire-giant did all of this damage in less than an hour. More than a hundred men died.”
Jaymes nodded his head. He had seen Garnet after it was sacked and burned by Ankhar’s horde, but this devastation was worse. The rubble contained jutting pieces of broken stone and shattered timbers, but the wreckage was so thorough, he found it hard to imagine that the materials he could identify had once been part of an actual building.
He eyed the duchess, whose faraway look was full of unspoken heartbreak. She was so very young, a year or two past twenty at the most, but she carried herself with impressive dignity and purposefulness. Her leadership, the marshal knew, had inspired the long and stubborn resistance that Solanthus had offered to the besieging army.
“Why did you come?” asked the duchess, turning to him suddenly. “It cannot have been easy to get here-I know about the magic shield raised by the Cleft Spires. And couldn’t you do more to help us by being with your army, and riding at its head?”
Taken aback, Jaymes pondered before replying. “Whatever did this to your city, it’s a force that alters the balance of this war. This battle will be decisive. I needed to see this creature for myself, to formulate some kind of strategy to fight it.”
“What can you, one individual, do?” she demanded then shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know how important it is to keep up hope; it’s the only thing that keeps us going. But how can we muster any optimism in the face of this? ”
She indicated the gap where the gatehouse had been, where the enemy was busy within Jaymes’s view. Under a screen of heavy shields rolled in on carts, dozens of ogres were hauling rocks away. They were building tall, wide barriers to either side, clearly clearing a path for an attack that would smash through the city streets at some point in the near future.
“We showered them with arrows on the first day,” Brianna explained with an edge of bitterness. “But we have only so many arrowheads, though the armorers’ smithies are working day and night to produce all that is necessary. We’ve been melting down pots and pans, shovels and plows. But we can’t maintain a constant barrage.”
“They’re very methodical about it, aren’t they?” Jaymes watched a team of ogres maneuver a shield forward, while a dozen others advanced, picked up the rocks strewn everywhere, and started to heave them to the sides. The rock barrier, as it rose continually higher, gave protection to the ogres, while funneling an attack into the city.
“I suppose this is just one of several routes of advance that are being prepared,” said Jaymes quietly, “and when they are ready, then he will once again release his elemental.”
“And what will happen to us then?”
“I have with me a tool, a magical tool. The wizard thinks it might allow me to understand something vital about this conjured giant. In any event, I think our goal must be to strike at those controlling the elemental. It will be waste of time to attack the elemental itself.”
“A waste of time,” murmured Brianna, frowning.
“But there is cause for hope. Imagine a vicious dog, restrained by chain and collar, clubbed by a brutish master. When freed, that dog can be counted on to turn on its master. Perhaps we can free the elemental to turn on its controllers.”
“My Lord Marshal,” the duchess said, smiling suddenly. As she took his arm her excitement was palpable. “You must tell me more about this vicious-dog strategy. And I’m certain you’re famished and tired. Please, let’s return to my palace-I will provide you and your companion with guest apartments and then ask you to join me for dinner.”
Moptop and Jaymes were shown to private rooms in the palace. The dinner invitation, it seemed clear, did not extend to the kender, and Moptop would have felt slighted if he didn’t feel the tug of more interesting temptations.
“You go ahead and have a boring dinner,” he told Jaymes cheerfully. “I’ve never been in a palace under siege before, and I’m going to have a look around this place.”
“Try to stay out of trouble,” the lord marshal counseled, not very optimistically. He took the time to wash some of the dust out of his hair and beard; then he surprised himself by deciding to shave, trimming his whiskers to some semblance of neatness. By the time he was finished, a servant girl had come to escort him to the dining room.
There were several other guests, including two noblemen, Lords Harbor and Martin, and Lord Martin’s son, Sir Maxwell, who was a Solamnic Auxiliary Mage-a Kingfisher. An empty chair had been placed at the table, in memoriam to a brave captain named Cedric Keflar. He had led the valiant but futile defense of the West Gate, paying with his life.
“He left behind three children and a wife who is terribly sick,” Brianna explained sadly. “And yet he did his duty by us all on that terrible day.”
“The Oath and the Measure compelled him, Your Grace,” said Sir Maxwell. “He was an inspiration to all of us who served under him.”
“Tell me,” Jaymes said, turning to the Kingfisher. “Have you found much use for your spells in withstanding this siege?”
The young man nodded seriously. “Not yet. But I have been marshalling my resources, and I have ideas for what may be helpful in the future, my lord.”
“Sir Maxwell has proved an excellent spy,” Brianna said. “He masks himself in all manner of sorcery and has become thoroughly familiar with Ankhar’s camp.”
“That is good,” acknowledged the lord marshal.
“Why is it taking so long for your army to come to our relief?” asked Lord Harbor. “We hear of victory after victory, yet these triumphs are remote to us, and so far as I know, your troops are still on the far side of the Vingaard.”
“Perhaps you don’t know as much as you think you do,” Jaymes replied.
Over a meager meal of bread, dry cheese, and thin soup-all of which was presented on elegant china and eaten with silver utensils-Jaymes shared information about the campaign to date. He outlined the ongoing plan for crossing the Vingaard.
“The three armies were to have launched this attack yesterday morning. By now the issue should have been resolved,” he declared, feeling a twinge of annoyance that he couldn’t claim to know what his army had accomplished during his absence.