“When are they coming?” she asked.
“How should I know?” he replied with uncharacteristic asperity. He was taking his failure to stop Elega hard.
She knew how he felt and didn’t blame him.
“Which direction are they going to come from?”
He repented his testiness. “Along the road. That’s longer, but it should be quicker. And it’s the only way they can bring their supplies. Or the ‘engines of war’ we keep hearing about.”
When they went back outside, she learned that he was right. Warned by an indefinable stiffening of attention around her, she peered harder into the harsh wind and saw the vanguard of the Alend army coming.
It was on the northwest road from the Care of Armigite.
The Alend Monarch’s flags flew in the hands of his standard-bearers. The gray light and the distance made them look black.
Slowly, the army marched toward Orison – a body of men that seemed huge beyond counting. Soldiers on horses. Soldiers on foot. Dozens of drivers goading the mules that dragged the supply wains. Swarms of transformed servants and impressed peasants who steered and tended the lumbering siege engines. And a second army of porters and camp followers.
All come to take Orison away from Mordant’s King.
Held by a kind of awe, she stared out from the tower and tried to imagine the amount of bloodshed King Joyse’s actions threatened to bring down on his people.
Perhaps he was imagining the same thing. Geraden nudged her and pointed toward the north tower. Squinting in that direction, she saw King Joyse standing before the parapets with Castellan Lebbick.
He looked small across the length of Orison, despite his heavy fur cloak. Both he and his Castellan studied the Alend advance without moving. Perhaps there was nothing they could do. The flags of Mordant had been raised over the battlements, but the King’s personal banner snapped painfully from the end of a pole on the tower where he stood. It was a plain purple swath that might have appeared jaunty and brave under bright sunlight. Now it looked as if it was about to be torn away by the wind.
After a while, he and Castellan Lebbick left the tower.
For no reason that Terisa could see, Orison’s trumpeter winded his horn. He may have been blowing a call to arms; it sounded more like a wail.
With ponderous precision, like a display of inevitability, Alend’s army invested the castle.
Ten thousand soldiers surrounded the walls and presented their weapons. The siege engines were rolled into position. Then the Alends bugled a signal of their own, and a party of riders formed around the Alend Monarch’s standard-bearer. The standard-bearer added a flag of truce to Margonal’s assertive green-and-red pennon. Together, the flags and the riders approached the gates of Orison.
Orison’s trumpeter responded. The gates rose.
With six men behind him, Castellan Lebbick rode out to meet the Alend party.
He wasn’t surprised to see that the Alends were led by Prince Kragen. Nor, after his conversation with King Joyse, was he surprised by the fact that one of the riders was the lady Elega.
The two groups stopped and eyed each other across a short distance. The Prince was steady, but Elega didn’t meet Castellan Lebbick’s glare.
After a long silence, Prince Kragen said, “Greetings, Castellan. Your King’s folly has brought us to this.”
The Castellan was holding his horse with too tight a rein: the beast couldn’t stand still. As it shied from side to side, he rasped, “Say what you came to say and be done with it, my lord Prince. I have better things to do with my time.”
Prince Kragen’s gaze darkened. “Very well,” he snapped. “Listen carefully, Castellan.”
In a formal tone, he announced, “Margonal, the Alend Monarch and Lord of the Alend Lieges, sends greetings to Joyse, Lord of the Demesne and King of Mordant. The Alend Monarch asks King Joyse to meet with him under a flag of truce, so that together they may find some way to avert this conflict. King Joyse has refused to hear requests for peace from the Alend Monarch’s ambassador. Nevertheless it is peace the Alend Monarch desires, and he will pursue that desire openly and fairly with King Joyse, if the King will consent to meet him.”
“A pretty speech,” Castellan Lebbick retorted without hesitation. “Why should we believe you?”
“Because,” the Prince shot back, “I do not need to make pretty speeches. Your wall is broken – and not well repaired, I observe. You have no stores of clean water. Your men are too few. You cannot endure a siege, Castellan. The Alend Monarch has no reason to offer you peace – no reason except the sincerity of his desire.”
“ ‘The sincerity of his desire.” ’ Lebbick jerked at his mount. “I like that – from an Alend.
“All right. Here’s your answer.
“King Joyse asks me to point out to you – and to your illustrious father – that neither of you understands hop-board. You wouldn’t have gotten as far as a stalemate without help. Instead of waving your swords at us, you ought to remember what happened the last time you went to war with Mordant.”
The wind cut between the horses. “By the stars, Lebbick,” cried out the lady Elega, “is he still playing hop-board? Tell him to surrender!”
The Castellan didn’t shift his gaze from Prince Kragen’s face. “The King’s daughter,” he remarked. “That attack last night was a diversion, so she could get out of Orison.” As soon as King Joyse had said this, Lebbick had cursed himself for not realizing the truth immediately. “What do you plan to do with her now? Is she a hostage?”
Prince Kragen spat an oath. With an effort, he resumed his formal tone. “The Alend Monarch welcomes the lady Elega as a friend. He has no intention of offering any harm, either to her, or to her father in her person. This courtesy, also, he provides as a demonstration of his desire for peace.”
“I have an answer for that, too.” For the first time, Castellan Lebbick used the exact words he had been given. “King Joyse replies, ‘I am sure that my daughter Elega has acted for the best reasons. She carries my pride with her wherever she goes. For her sake, as well as for my own, I hope that the best reasons will also produce the best results.” ’
The lady Elega stared at Castellan Lebbick as if he had said something horrible.
“That is an answer?” demanded the Prince.
“Take it and be satisfied,” the Castellan replied. “You ought to like it better than the denunciation she deserves. Ask her” – King Joyse had specifically forbidden him to say this – “if she wants to know how many people died this morning.”
Prince Kragen ignored that jibe. “You misunderstand me deliberately, Castellan. Have you given me your King’s answer to the Alend Monarch’s desire for truce? Is he that far out of his senses?”
Riding the strength of the fact that King Joyse had actually talked to him – however strangely – Castellan Lebbick had no trouble finding a retort. “I don’t advise you to put it to the test.”
“Then hear me. Hear me well, Castellan.” Prince Kragen’s anger was fierce. “This is my last word.
“Your King leaves us no choice. We cannot ‘be satisfied.’ Cadwal is marching. You know that Cadwal is marching. Where we stand, we are more vulnerable than you to the High King’s great force. We cannot defend you, or your people, or the Congery—”
“Or yourselves.”
“—or ourselves if we do not take Orison. King Joyse compels us all to a war he cannot win, regardless of the cost to us. He must offer peace. By peace or by blood, we must have Orison.”
The Castellan fought his horse still. “That is your last word?” He was grinning.