“We will pray for the best, of course, and know that, if courage and ingenuity can prevail, your army will have crossed successfully,” said Sir Martin, offering a toast.
“I have seen the barricades and breastworks in the street,” Jaymes noted, awkwardly changing the subject. “How well are you prepared to stand against another attack?”
The duchess nodded at Lord Martin, who wore the tunic of a Sword Knight with the golden epaulets of a high-ranking officer. “Bartholomew, can you summarize our situation?” she prompted.
“Most of the wall, and the other two gatehouses, are still intact. But the destruction at the west gate has created a tremendous vulnerability, as you no doubt saw today. We have established command posts at inns, stables, and warehouses within the area of devastation and committed most of our reserves to holding those streets. But if the fire giant comes like before, I don’t know how we can expect to hold anywhere.”
That bleak assessment, all too realistic, cast a pall over the rest of the meal and conversation. But finally the food was eaten and the other guests departed. The duchess rose and indicated two soft chairs near the large, currently chilly, hearth.
“Please understand that your visit here has boosted morale,” she began, taking one of the chairs and gesturing him toward the other. “My morale, in any event. I’m pleased you have risked coming. And I am intrigued about this magical tool you speak of possessing. What more can you tell me about it? I pray it gives us a fighting chance.”
He shook his head ruefully. “It is not a weapon. At best, it will allow me only to learn certain things about this creature. I have to believe that this knowledge, this intelligence, will lead to a winning tactic. I can’t promise any more than that.”
The serving girl returned to the room, bringing a fresh bottle of red wine-a rare vintage that, Jaymes suspected, the duchess had been saving for a very long time.
“That will be all, Darcy,” the duchess said after the last plates of dinner had been carried away. “But you may leave the bottle.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” said the maid, curtsying politely then closing the door behind herself as she departed.
“So you were a friend of Dara Lorimar’s?” Jaymes asked, settling into the chair beside her.
“Yes, and of Selinda du Chagne’s. I come from Palanthas but spent summers on the plains. Lord Lorimar’s estate was a favorite refuge of mine, and I do remember seeing you back then, when you worked for the lord as his guard captain. Dara was a little bit in love with you, I think. I’m beginning to understand why.”
“She was only a girl,” he said. His tone was cold, cutting off further inquiry. “And she died too soon to know anything about love.”
“You are a strange man,” Brianna rebuked him sharply. “Cold and frightening, but frightened in your own way, as well.” Then she smiled almost coyly. “Don’t you think I know that you killed my husband? That you stole the Jewels of Garnet from his wagon?”
He blinked, momentarily taken aback, before shrugging. “I didn’t come here to apologize. He deserved to die. And I needed the jewels-for Solamnia,” he replied.
“Yes,” she said tersely, “you are right. The duke did deserve to die. He was a coward, venal and greedy at heart. And he abandoned his city when his people needed him the most. I’m glad he’s dead.”
“Of all the possible reactions, that is not what I expected to hear from you,” Jaymes allowed softly. “To be honest with you, I must tell you the rest of the story-the whole story. I killed your husband to punish him for a terrible crime. But, as it turns out, he didn’t commit that crime. Someone else did. Someone who remains free.”
“You killed him because you thought he killed Lord Lorimar?” asked Brianna, smiling thinly. “Yes, I heard that. But I know he didn’t have the courage for such a deed.”
“He had a reputation as a splendid swordsman; he’d faced men in duels to the death and always won. Except that last time, of course.”
“But he fought you because you challenged him; usually he was very careful to arrange his duels so that he couldn’t possibly lose.” She shrugged. “So he died for something he didn’t do, when there were many things he did do for which he deserved punishment. But enough of this talk-I don’t want to reminisce about my late husband.”
Jaymes looked at her with fresh, wondering eyes. She was indeed a rare woman.
The duchess leaned forward with the decanter and filled his glass with wine, rich and full and almost the color of blood. Then she added enough to her own so it, too, was full. She raised it to him, and he followed suit.
“You, my dear Lord Marshal, are just what this nation needs-if it’s ever going to be a nation again. You don’t lose your head in battle, and men seem to follow you, even die for you. Lots of men.” She smiled again. “And some women, too, I would dare to venture.”
He shrugged. “For the most part, I do things by myself. I act alone.”
“Tonight,” she said, sliding into his willing arms. “You will not be alone.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
‘The Solamnics have crossed the river at the south ford-using a bridge made of pontoon boats-and have established a strong position on the east bank,” Captain Blackgaard reported. He was still covered with dust from his long ride but had wasted no time in reporting to Ankhar when he reached the army’s position outside Solanthus.
“Can they be pushed back into the river?” growled the army commander.
“Doubtful, my lord. Very doubtful,” reported the veteran officer and former Dark Knight. “At best, the goblins might be able to hold them for a few days. And Rib Chewer’s warg riders will harass them well as they advance. But there are now at least a thousand knights on this side of the river. They can go where they will, and I suspect they soon will be coming here.”
“This bridge-how did they build it so quickly?”
Blackgaard described the pontoon and plank operation, and Ankhar frowned, shaking his head. “Ingenious, I admit. And this ‘bridge’ was sturdy enough for armored knights to cross?”
“Indeed, lord. And they used magical concealment, a conjured fog, to slip it across without our men detecting their activity.”
“Huh! But it is clear they are acting with desperation,” the half-giant reflected. “They must have heard about our pet and the attack that has left Solanthus vulnerable. I wonder how they are able to obtain such information so soon. Well, no doubt about it, the elemental king has captured the full attention of the knighthood.”
“You are right, lord-they are desperate. The marshal threw his whole army at us in three great attacks. The Solamnics suffered heavy losses, but they seem determined to forge ahead.”
“All the more reason why we must smash the city now,” the half-giant concluded. He addressed several goblin runners who were standing by, waiting for orders. “Summon Bloodgutter, and that hob Spleenripper. Also Eaglebeak Archer. Bring the Thorn Knight and my mother to me as well. I will go to await them at my watchtower.”
Within a few moments, Ankhar’s key lieutenants had joined him on an observation hillock just out of bowshot range of the former West Gate. The half-giant stood on the earthen rampart, high above the level of the plain, his fists braced on his hips. He glared across the gap created by the elemental’s swath of destruction and studied the still-standing walls of Solanthus. The Cleft Spires rose from the center of the city, the twin monoliths outlined clearly as the morning sun rose from the horizon beyond the city.
The captain of the Lemish Ogres arrived, having followed a covered trench back from the ruins of the West Gate. “Have the attack paths been cleared?” Ankhar asked Bloodgutter, one of his most trusted captains, a cunning and savage warrior.
“Three routes are ready,” the captain replied. “Two more will be open by tomorrow.”