After the grim dream they'd experienced and the kiss they'd nearly shared, Caderyn and Melisent kept their distance during the rest of the ride. If any of the others noticed the strange tension, none of them mentioned it.
Tessandra passed the time singing songs, mostly silly tunes about rabbits and foxes marching off to war. Gwion knew most of them, and belted them in his loud and dreadful voice.
The amusement brought about by the songs waned with each town they passed. More peasants were dragged from their homes by the troops of Duke Leopold and his Asparran allies, forced to march towards Baron Everard's keep.
Every haggard, terrified face served as further inspiration for Caderyn to find a solution to the crisis. If Everard and Leopold could not set their petty feud aside, hundreds or thousands of those peasants would die for the sake of those bickering nobles.
Long shadows stretched across the arid grasslands and empty farms as they neared Everard's keep. Once more Caderyn inspected the imposing defenses, his heart chilling as he pondered the costs of an assault on such powerful fortifications. The marshy, crescent-shaped island was dotted with small wooden towers and earthworks, providing a lethal first line of defense. Protected by that crescent was Everard's looming fortress upon another island. To even have a chance of taking the keep itself, the besiegers would first need to assail and control the marshy, crescent-island.
On the northern bank of the river teemed the barely-organized camp of Duke Leopold's army. The vast majority were peasant conscripts or levies from the larger towns, with only a meager contingent of knights and men-at-arms. Above the pathetic horde waved purple Tsannori flags, displaying the flower-and-oar symbol of Leopold's duchy.
A smaller but more lethal force had encamped on the other side of the river. Well-armored Asparran troops trained beneath their red and white banners, rehearsing their formations and attack drills. Despite their greater discipline and strength, Caderyn was certain that the Asparrans would allow their Tsannori puppets to bear the brunt of the fighting.
And to his horror, the slaughter was about to commence.
Catapults and trebuchets unleashed a hail of stones. Most splashed uselessly into the water. A few lucky projectiles impacted the great stone walls of the keep, while another barrage flattened a small wooden watchtower upon the marshy island. Ragged cheers rose from Leopold's men, but such sounds of triumph would turn to sounds of agony before long.
"Saints' blood," he hissed. "I'd hoped there would be more time."
Perhaps if they'd ridden harder and faster, he could have gotten to Leopold and offered to serve as his emissary before the attack had started. But would the sickly duke have even listened? The longer the revolt persisted, the greater pressure Asparra would inflict upon Leopold, and more unrest would develop across his duchy. To preserve his own power, Leopold could not afford any delays.
Baron Everard's forces answered before long. Though his own catapults on the battlements were far fewer in number, they had the advantage of height. The first stone went sailing into the Asparran camp, shattering a catapult and flattening several men.
Despite the fact that Leopold's forces were bombarding him as well, the rebel baron focused all of his attention upon the Asparrans encamped on the opposite bank. The message was clear: Everard's true enemy was Tsannor's puppet master, not the Tsannori people. That did not make his revolt any less foolish, but Caderyn at least respected the man for focusing on Asparra's army, even to the detriment of his own defense.
Whistles and trumpets shrieked from the Tsannori camp. Mobs of peasant levies assembled into ragged formations, cajoled by knights and men-at-arms. Red-robed nuns stalked in front of the ranks of soldiers, waving censers and scattering holy oil upon the purple armor of the knights.
Other men swarmed the shore, preparing a small flotilla of barges and rowboats. Given Tsannor's past glories as a great riverine and maritime power, that fleet was quite the pathetic sight. Many of the wretched ships would sink during the hellish crossing, while others looked barely capable of making it even a dozen feet from shore.
Caderyn glanced at his companions. The northlander Nolmvar looked downright bored, watching the proceedings with cold detachment. Tessandra kept her gaze on the northern horizon, as if deliberately avoiding the carnage about to unfold. Grumbling under her breath, Pelagia critiqued the deployment and cursed the continually ineffective barrages of the besiegers' artillery.
Melisent, who had said barely a word all day, remained silent and affixed Caderyn with a cold stare. Despite the horrors about to unfold, Caderyn couldn't help but think of his dreams the night before, when Melisent and Solveig had used his body, only to kill him with a knife. Even more potent than those dreams had been what followed: a near-kiss with Melisent in the hallway of the inn.
She raised a single eyebrow, as if questioning what he might do next. Would he stand in horrified silence as hundreds of Tsannori peasants rushed to their doom? Would he curse Leopold and rage ineptly as the carnage erupted?
With a growl, Caderyn looked to the Tsannori camp and sent his horse thundering down the road. His companions shouted and gave chase.
Sentries at the edge of the camp cried out for him to halt, but he sent his horse careening past them, nearly knocking over one of the hapless men. More trumpets from the shore drowned out the sentries' shouts.
"Make way!" Gwion bellowed from behind him. "Make way for Sir Caderyn!"
Too focused on his goal to even notice if that had any effect, Caderyn approached the low hill at the center of the camp. Standing at the summit was the sickly and wispy-haired Duke, clad in a breastplate that was far too large for his thin frame. Nearby knights shouted as Caderyn approached, but Leopold lowered his spyglass, then raised a hand to halt his knights from accosting the young man.
"Ah, Sir Caderyn! Excellent. You're just in time to witness my triumph."
Caderyn deftly slipped from the saddle and brushed past the ring of knights. Standing beside Leopold was a squat, scowling woman with a thin nose and a thick white scar upon her chin. Judging by her stark white breastplate and her red-feathered helmet, she was an Asparran noble. Perhaps she was the commander of the contingent that remained on the other side of the river while the inferior Tsannori troops prepared for the crossing.
"My duke," Caderyn said, panting from the exertion of sprinting up the hill. "You need to stop this. Call off the attack."
"I do not recall Ravenmark and Fellhaven being granted authority over this siege," growled the Asparran woman.
"Be that as it may, Lady Rigarda, I don't see any reason why we can't take a bit of tactical advice from Sir Caderyn. His father, after all, is one of the Empire's most renowned military minds," said Leopold.
"Let me lead a delegation, my lord," Caderyn said. "A third party may have better luck convincing him to stand down."
"He has rebuffed all attempts to negotiate," said Leopold with a wave of his hand. "Every attempt is met with insults and accusations. He will not agree to a parley as long as Asparran troops are on his lands."
"Then withdraw," Caderyn said pointedly to Lady Rigarda. "Even just for a short while. Then-"
"So we can look weak and allow Everard to claim that he scared off the might of Asparra?" Rigarda hissed. "Never."
She pointed towards the keep as another storm of stones raked across the marshy island, flattening one of the little wooden watchtowers.
"We have the advantage. Tsannor's troops will seize the marshes, which will then allow artillery to be deployed at closer range. We'll then make quick work of his fortress, and the bastard will be in chains by dusk tomorrow."
"Tsannor's troops will die by the hundreds," he spat back. "Even if they make it to the first island, they will face concentrated fire from the fortress walls."
Leopold bit his lip at that but said nothing, though Rigarda took a step forward.
"If I wanted advice on how to fuck a whore, how to cheat at a game of cards, or how to drink a flagon of wine in under a minute, I might have come to you for counsel, Sir Caderyn," Rigarda said, her voice as cold and firm as her imposing armor. "You may be your father's son, but that does not make you a general, nor does it give you authority over this campaign. If you do wish to be of assistance, you can march on down to volunteer for the next assault."
As she spoke, another barrage from Everard's fortress sent a flaming projectile into the Asparran camp. A tent ignited, sending smoke rising into the air. Asparran troops ran about, fetching water from the river to douse the flames, only for another projectile to rake through those men. Blood sprayed as broken bodies collapsed into the river.
Lady Rigarda spared not a single glance at the plight of her men, and instead affixed Caderyn with a withering glare.
Another surge of trumpets from the shore announced the departure of the first wave of Tsannori troops. Leopold, perhaps stricken by thoughts of what was to unfold, kept his spyglass trained on the great fortress, rather than the masses of his doomed subjects.
Caderyn watched as a dozen rickety boats cast off from the shore. Several drifted, with two barges nearly colliding before their crews managed to adjust course.
Finally the artillery crews of the defenders shifted their wrath. A single stone splashed into the water in front of a barge: clearly a warning by Everard's men. When the boat pressed on, undeterred, the next stone cracked right into the barge, splintering wood and sending a score of men into the murky water. Even at that great distance, Caderyn heard the shouts and screams of doomed peasants as the barge began to sink.
The other boats pressed on, skirting around the doomed vessel. Soldiers flailed about, grasping at wreckage or swimming desperately to the other ships.
Catapults and longbowmen stationed on the marshy crescent-isle soon contributed to the onslaught. Storms of stones and arrows raked over the boats, sinking another vessel and sending dozens more men to a watery grave. Bodies and debris drifted on the river, some floating further downstream, others washing ashore upon the banks of the marshy island.
Caderyn tore his eyes from the carnage. His companions stood a short distance away: some watching the slaughter, others looking down at their feet. Pelagia glared at Leopold, while Melisent only stared coldly at Caderyn.
What, precisely, did she expect of him?
Perhaps it was a test. To see what sort of leader he'd be. To see if he was worth trusting.
With a curse, Caderyn stormed down the hill, mounted his horse, and sent it trotting towards the riverbank.
