Part VI: The Siege

  After all the talks of how imposing Fenn Castle was, now that they were finally in front of it, Aeolwyn was…underwhelmed. While the castle was tall and its walls thick, it was not the imposing edifice he’d expected it to be. Compared to Fort Camulan, it was just a little keep with a few walls around it, surrounded by an equally small city.

  That didn’t mean that it wasn’t well defended. The walls of the city were thick, and even if they could penetrate those, they’d still have to fight hand-to-hand through the streets until they made it to the castle itself, which had its own walls that they would have to breach before fighting seasoned soldiers to take it. A dangerous and bloody proposition.

  Aeolwyn could build trebuchets, catapults and battering rams to knock the walls down, but that was damage that he would have to repair once he took the castle and city surrounding it. Leaving it exposed to counterattack wasn’t something he wanted to do.

  The snows had been falling for a few weeks now, complicating the little siege forts they were building around Fenn Castle. Fortunately, it wasn’t cold enough for the snow to stick, but it made for muddy, weary work.

  While they had been successful in stopping the overland trade from coming and going between Fenn Castle and Fennland’s other cities, like the port city of Shatham, they still hadn’t been able to block the lake port. He’d sent a few mages and soldiers to sneak in and set it ablaze but knowing that the dock was his lifeline to the rest of the world, King Drahius had made sure that it was well defended.

  His men had built him a large observation tower that gave an excellent view of the docks, the city, and the castle. It wasn’t the warmest or most stable of structures, but it had been invaluable in planning how to deploy his soldiers around the castle. There were certainly still gaps where a messenger or scout could get through their lines, but anything larger than a single man on a horse would find it nearly impossible to break through. That was why it was so important to save as many of his men as possible.

  The tower wasn’t very large—just big enough for himself, Sir Jom, Galafar, and Egne. Reiva, much to her chagrin, had to stay below with his personal guards. He didn’t know what she was worried about. The tower was well out of range of the Fennish archers and their mages, and with her and his personal guard surrounding him, it was impossible for an assassin to sneak through.

  “What do we do, Sir Jom?” he asked. “If we can’t send men to burn the docks, we’re as good as lost here.”

  There were four ships tightly packed together around the dock unloading cargo. Men were running all over the docks hoisting crates and barrels from the holds and onto awaiting carts. Dockworkers and deckhands were arguing with each other as they tried to hurry things along.

  “As long as they’re well supplied, they’re not going anywhere,” Galafar added.

  “It’s not all lost,” Jom said. “With the land blockade, we’ve ground trade to a halt. All this food coming from the sea is bound to drain Drahius’ coffers. If we can wait it out long enough, as winter sets in and food becomes scarcer, he won’t be able to afford these ships anymore.”

  “Our men are already getting hungry,” Aeolwyn said. “I think they’ll be able to outlast us.”

  Galafar rubbed his shoulders. “If we don’t freeze to death first.”

  “If we were back in the palace gardens, I’d be lecturing you on stretching your supply lines too thin,” Sir Jom said. “But this is the real world, and here, things don’t always go as you expect. As it gets colder, you’re going to have to send foraging parties further and further out.” He turned to Galafar, who had been unofficially given command of the infrastructure. “Pay special attention to sanitation, Shielder. Disease will be killing more of us than the enemy and starvation combined.”

  Galafar nodded. “They’ll be in the same situation,” he said. “Especially with so many people packed so close together.”

  Jom nodded. “We could quicken the pace of that,” he said.

  “How?” Aeolwyn didn’t relish the idea of hastening the deaths of the peasants inside the walls, but he had his own men to think about.

  “Use the trebuchet to launch diseased animals over their walls. I’d suggest added flaming tar as well, but Drahius has wisely built most of the buildings from stone, and the trebuchets don’t have the range to reach the wooden buildings buried deep inside the city.”

  “That’s disgusting and completely immoral!” Galafar said. “It’s not the city-dweller’s fault we’re here. Why should they pay the price?”

  Aeolwyn shrugged. “It’s war,” he said. “And they are more than just innocent peasants. They’ve become tools. Levers to pry the king from his throne.”

  Sir Jom nodded with a twinkle in his eye. He taught Aeolwyn that lesson. It didn’t mean that the prince liked it. Even if they were able to manage to block complete access to the docks, the king wasn’t the one who was going to suffer. His people would. They were going to be the ones dying of starvation and disease.

  “What if…” Galafar started, looking over at the ships on the docks thoughtfully. He glanced further along Fenn Lake, back towards the way they had come. He squinted his eyes so far; he might be trying to see all the way to Fort Camulan.

  “Where do these ships come from? Where do they get their goods?”

  “They sail all around the lake,” Sir Jom said, “trading with the various cities and villages along its shores. Some come from as far as Tambryne and Branson’s Fork.”

  “Right,” Galafar said. “Both along the River Tyr.” He traced his finger along the map they’d placed on the floor of the lookout tower. He pulled it aside and pulled out the larger one that mapped out most of the island of Laryndor.

  His finger ran down the River Tyr. “They sail down the River Fenn into the lake.”

  “Are you suggesting we blockade the River Fenn?” Aeolwyn asked. It wasn’t a large river, but it was still large enough to make a blockade a difficult proposition. They would have to sink at least three or four ships across its length to make any kind of a barrier, and even that might not work.

  “No,” he said. “I don’t think that would be enough.” He put his finger on Fort Camulan before dragging it along the River Tyr to Tambryne. “Who controls trade along the river?”

  “The Captain’s Guild,” Aeolwyn said.

  “The same guild we made deals with that funded a large portion of this expedition, as well as the expansions to Fort Camulan.”

  Suddenly it clicked into place for Aeolwyn. He had an excellent relationship with the Captain’s Guild, and if they controlled the trade along the River Tyr, they would certainly have a profound influence on trade in Fenn Lake.

  “This could solve both our problems,” Aeolwyn said.

  Galafar smiled. “And maybe starve your brother out of Fort Camulan while we’re at it.”

  Sir Jom frowned at the two men. They looked like two school children who had just been caught planning to break into the headmaster’s office. “What? What am I missing.”

  Aeolwyn turned to Galafar. “Have the men start building a dock on our side of the castle walls. Jor Egne, see if you can get in touch with Commodore Farrel. If not, we’ll have to get a messenger on one of the travelling ships. We have a deal to make.”

  “Aeolwyn!” Sir Jom yelled. He didn’t like being kept in the dark, but Aeolwyn needed to spring this plan in motion first, then he could explain.

  “Go now, quickly,” Aeolwyn said, urging his friends down the ladder before turning back to Sir Jom. “When I was still general of Fort Camulan, I made several deals with the Captain’s Guild that made both of us very wealthy. We can use those same contacts to make deals with the captains of the ships who sail Fenn Lake.”

  “And pay them to stop sending food to the castle!” Jom exclaimed. “That’s brilliant!”

  “Not just that,” Aeolwyn said. “We’ll buy the food they were selling to King Drahius to feed our own soldiers. And if there’s enough money, we can buy up all the food meant for Fort Camulan as well.”

  Sir Jom put his hand on Aeolwyn’s shoulder. “Not too much at once, son. Focus on digesting this meal before you get tomorrow’s dinner on your plate.”

  ***

  In the three weeks it took Commodore Farrel to finally arrive at their makeshift docks, snow had begun to fall regularly. He kept the soldiers busy by making sure their clothing was in good repair, though much of it was inadequate for the cold conditions they found themselves in. That was one more thing they would have to add to the list of things to buy from Commodore Farrel.

  He also made sure there were clear pathways cut in the snow between the dock and the main camp, and between the main camp and the other camps they had set up surrounding the castle. Once he secured the food supply, he wanted to make sure that they could distribute the food stores quickly.

  Egne had kept the mages busy by using a new spell he invented. Working with Jor Bashi, he combined a fireball spell with a shield spell and created heat domes that surrounded the camps and kept the soldiers inside them warm. It wasn’t a perfect spell, as the bigger the shield got, the less heat it could hold, but they were still working on the tweaks.

  It also wasn’t permanent. The spell only lasted as long as the strength of the caster, so the mages would take turns casting and resting. One side benefit was that it was exhausting work for the mages, and that, in turn, was making them stronger and stronger. By the time the siege was over, Aeolwyn was bound to have the most powerful mages in all of Laryndor.

  He, Galafar, and Sir Jom had been walking from the main camp to the docks to greet the newly arrived Commodore Farrel. The snow drifts hadn’t quite been cleared yet this early in the morning, but several soldiers were hard at work with shovels making sure that the path would be cleared.

  They weren’t starving yet, but food was starting to become scarce, and he’d had to begin rationing their supplies. Their formerly broad and strong shoulders were becoming thinner with each passing day, but he hadn’t heard any grumbling yet. He was sure they were but would make sure to be out of his earshot when they did.

  Jor Bashi ran up to join them as they walked.

  “I wanted to thank you for your hospitality, Your Highness,” the old mage said.

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  Aeolwyn chuckled. “I don’t know if you can call this hospitality,” he said, gesturing at the tall snowbanks that surrounded them. They were only getting taller as the men cleared the pathways every day.

  “Not just now. You’ve treated me well on this whole journey.”

  “You’ve earned your keep, Jor Bashi,” Aeolwyn said. “You fought in my army when you didn’t have to. Your spells have kept my men warm instead of freezing to death. I should be thanking you.”

  “That was all Jor Egnever’s doing. I merely assisted.”

  One of the loads of snow flew off a soldier’s shovel at a strange angle and landed right on Aeolwyn’s face. The mortified soldier cried out apologizes, but Aeolwyn waved it off. Sir Jom and Galafar just laughed.

  “Egne would say the opposite,” Aeolwyn continued. “Have you given any more thought to my invitation?”

  He’d offered the mage a permanent position in his army. Not quite as prestigious as royal mage, but it was the best he could do. It had been Egne’s idea. He loved having Jor Bashi around. The knowledge, experience, and expertise the old mage brought was invaluable to the men.

  “I have,” he said. “And regrettably, I must decline. I relished my duty to serve your father, but now, it is time to retire and pursue new interests. I will stay through the winter, doing what I can, but after that, I must continue to Gavinholm Isle.”

  Aeolwyn had expected as much. He’d heard the old mage talk more and more about the mysteries of the island’s interior, where it was forbidden for anyone to go without the express permission of the Magicians of the Isle. A law the enforced ruthlessly. Anyone caught violating their rules was given a quick, ruthless death.

  “I understand, and wish you well, Jor Bashi. But know that should the Magicians of the Isle deny you permission, you will always have a home with me.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness,” he said. He turned to leave but paused a moment. He turned back, reached out, and squeezed Aeolwyn’s shoulder. “And if I may say, it is you who should have been king, and I am not the only one who believes so.”

  You could be king.

  “That is kind of you to say,” Aeolwyn said, forcing the intrusive thought back down. He didn’t want to be king. He’d always wanted to be a general. Despite the cold, the hunger, and general suffering, he was having the time of his life leading this army.

  “It is the truth,” Bashi continued. “And if you ever decide to challenge your brother’s claim, you will have more support than you think.” Jor Bashi gave his shoulder one more squeeze before turning and disappearing into the snowbanks.

  Challenge his brother’s claim? Usurp his throne? That was the furthest thing from his mind. Alfyn was still his brother, and if Aeolwyn tried to take the crown away from him, it would throw the entire kingdom into upheaval. Even if his brother wanted to kill him, that didn’t mean Aeolwyn wished to return the favor.

  Commodore Farrel was waiting at the top of their makeshift dock, beside a small rowboat. The men were still busy working on the dock, so it wasn’t quite large enough for his entire ship to moor at the dock just yet. They still had some distance to go before the water was deep enough and the dock long enough to support that.

  The commodore had grown much fatter since they’d last met. His clothes were of a much finer cut, and long gold necklaces dangled around his neck. A fine leather baldric held a cutlass at his hip. Gone was his old floppy hat, and in its place was a tri-cornered one made of fine felt and silk. Large gold earrings dangled from each ear. Aeolwyn had made the man wealthy—which was the only reason he’d agreed to this meeting at all.

  He greeted Aeolwyn with a salute and a great big smile.

  “Welcome to Fenn Castle, Commodore Farrel,” Aeolwyn said. He gestured back towards the camp. “This way, if you please. Let’s get out of this cold.”

  “Aye,” the commodore said. “A fine idea.”

  He walked off the dock, taking two large sailors with him. Aeolwyn recognized the larger, dark-skinned man. He’d been with Farrel during their last meeting. He didn’t remember the man’s name. The other was a short, stout dwarf with a long red beard.

  Aeolwyn tried not to gawk. He’d never seen a dwarf in person before. They mostly kept to themselves and rarely ventured out of the Stormdren mountains. They were a morose, suspicious people, and didn’t trust humans, though they were known to regularly trade with the elves.

  He led the three men through the snowbanks and into the main camp. The three visibly shivered as they walked through the heat dome’s barrier. The dwarf looked around warily and grabbed the hilt of his saber, but the Tambrynese guard just looked around wondrously and smiled.

  “I don’t know what sort of trickery you’ve done here, Prince Aeolwyn,” Farrel said, smiling, “but I want it on my ship.”

  “A spell,” Aeolwyn said. “Have you any mages on your ship? Perhaps Jor Egnever can teach them.”

  “That sly old bastard is a jor now?” the Tambrynese guard said in shock. Aeolwyn recalled that he and Egne had spent some time together in the Snickleway tavern. Aeolwyn hadn’t gone, but Egne was said to have taken a great deal of the Tambrynese man’s coin in a game of dice.

  He led the men into his large tent, where the small table had been replaced with a large one, and his bed taken apart and stowed temporarily. Veila was there and began pouring steaming mulled wine into cups as the men took their seats.

  “Now why, may I ask,” Farrel began after taking a long drink from the steaming cup, “have you dragged old Farrel from his warm bed all the way to the arse end of Fennland?”

  Aeolwyn smiled. Right down to business. He’d expected to have to charm the sailor a bit before they got to their negotiations. More because of the heat inside the camp than anything else.

  “I wouldn’t exactly call this the arse of Fennland,” Galafar said. “It is the capital, after all.”

  “Have you been inside the thing, lad?” Farrel asked. “It’s a stinky, drafty place. Very unpleasant in the morning, but some fun can be had there at night.”

  “Definitely the arse, then,” the dwarf said.

  Aeolwyn chuckled. He’d forgotten how bawdy the sailors could be. None of them paid particular attention to the manners and protocols of the land-lubbing nobility. In other instances, like with General Fliree, Aeolwyn would have found it insulting. With the sailors, however, it was charming.

  “I had an offer for you,” Aeolwyn said. “The Fenns took my home, and I mean to punish them for it by taking their capital.”

  “I heard there was a change of ownership at Fort Camulan,” Farrel said, taking another healthy drink of his wine. Veila raced over to refill the mug. “Haven’t been there to see for myself, though.”

  “We won’t fight in your wars,” the dwarf said. “It’s bad for business.”

  “Aye,” Farrel agreed. “We’re not soldiers.”

  “Of course not,” Aeolwyn agreed, taking a drink from his own cup. It was still scalding hot and burned all the way down. He had no idea how the commodore had been able to drink it so fast. The spices were strong and covered up the slight vinegar taste the wine had acquired.

  “What are the Fenns paying for the food shipments?”

  Farrel shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he said. “I’d have to consult Captains Trayvel and Purline. But I imagine it’s gone up since your army arrived.”

  He’d hoped that Farrel would be the one who would open the bidding. But the commodore was smarter than that. He knew Aeolwyn was in a desperate position here and wanted to maintain his advantage.

  “Well, whatever it is, I am willing to offer an extra hundred gold per ton over what they are paying.”

  “Make it 500,” the dwarf said.

  “Hold on a minute, lad,” Farrel said, waving his arm at the dwarf, who closed his mouth with a sullen glare. The commodore turned back to Aeolwyn. “You’re not here to negotiate for your own shipments of food?”

  “No. I’m here to buy the Fenn’s food out from under them. It’s not much of a siege if I can’t starve them out.”

  “Heartless bastard,” the Tambrynese guard muttered.

  “Aye, indeed,” Farrel said. “But war is war, and we’re not part of it. I’m sorry, my prince, but we cannot get involved.”

  “Bad for business,” the dwarf agreed.

  “You’re choosing sides now?” Aeolwyn said. “You started taking part in it the minute your ships began delivering food.” He gestured to Galafar who placed a large chest of gold on the table. “You’re profiteers, right? I’ve already made you wealthy, commodore, and now I aim to make you even richer.”

  He opened the chest. It was filled to the brim with glittering gold. He still had many more of them stored in the wagons with the mages, and even more back at Fort Camulan, if he could ever retake his old home.

  Farrel stared at the open chest, fingering the gold chains around his neck. “500 more per ton,” he said.

  Aeolwyn shook his head. “It’s not that cold here. 150.”

  Farrel frowned, looking like Aeolwyn had offered to feed him a gourmet meal of horse dung. “Your men are starving. 400.”

  Aeolwyn shrugged. “And I could always go to the Porter’s Guild for food. I’m sure they’d be more than happy to take my gold. 200.”

  Farrel’s frown deepened, and he looked to both of the men he had with him. Though they regularly worked together, it was well known that the Captain’s Guild and the Porter’s Guild despised one another. The last time they’d met, Farrel had all but confirmed it, explaining that the Porters were building a bridge across the River Rudd in Graslan. The Porters had deliberately made it too short for ships to go under, giving the captains no recourse but to sell their product in Graslan so that the Porters could carry it further inland.

  “Fine, Prince Aeolwyn. If you can do 250 gold per ton, you have a deal.”

  The commodore was making a show of losing this negotiation, but Aeolwyn knew that he would be making out handsomely. It was Aeolwyn who was losing. He had brought a lot of gold with him on this invasion, but it wasn’t unlimited. If the siege lasted beyond the winter, he’d bankrupt himself.

  But he didn’t have a choice. “You have a deal, commodore.”

  He reached out his hand, and the commodore shook it. He smiled, showing several gold teeth where there had just been rotting stumps before. Aeolwyn had made him rich indeed.

  The commodore, the dwarf, and the Tambrynese man drank long into the night, almost drinking Aeolwyn out of mulled wine. Aeolwyn had to stop drinking his just so the sailors would have more wine to warm their bellies with.

  The commodore insisted that it would be worth it, as the next time a boat arrived at his makeshift dock, it would be filled with the best wines, cheeses, and meats that could be had across Laryndor, along with enough breads, rice, and grain to fatten up his soldiers for the winter ahead.

  Aeolwyn hoped he was right.

  After the meeting, while the commodore and his crew stumbled back to their rowboat, Aeolwyn had a few of the soldiers on duty disassemble the large table and replace it with his bed. He really needed another tent. It was foolish for him to have a tent that he slept in that was the same tent they strategized from.

  He needed a private tent for his personal things and his rest, and a separate tent nearby that they could permanently set up the large table and keep the terrain maps on. He would have to speak to Galafar about that.

  “That was well negotiated, Aeolwyn” Reiva said as she helped him put the blankets back on the bed. “How’s your head feeling?”

  “Good,” he said. “I hardly drank at the end.”

  After his drunken experience at the Snicklway, she didn’t think he could hold his liquor, and thought he was exceptionally prone to hangovers. He disagreed with her, as he had been working up his tolerance with all the wine he’d been drinking.

  “How’s it feel to be so close to Gavinholm Isle? Do you have an urge to go home?” he asked. He knew she’d grown up there, and that was where she’d learned to become an assassin. She hadn’t said anything else besides that, like why someone from Tambryne would suddenly decide to go to Gavinholm Isle and study assassination.

  “I grew up there, but it was never really home,” she said. “It was more like I was living at a family member’s house that was also a school.”

  She paused, taking one of the furs that he used as a blanket from the chest behind her, before tossing it on the bed. “And also a prison,” she continued. “I don’t miss it at all. I just wish Jor Bashi would stop asking me about it.”

  He chuckled. As soon as Jor Bashi had found out that Reiva grew up on the island, he’d followed her constantly, pestering her with questions about the city of Gavinholm, the Magicians of the Isle, and everything she knew about the interior. The old mage had spent more time with her on this trip than Aeolwyn had.

  “Ow!” she said, and pulled her hand away from the edge of the bed, where she had been tucking the furs in.

  He ran over to her and grabbed her hand. “Are you ok?”

  “Stupid joint pinched my finger,” she said.

  He rubbed her hand. She was still wearing the black gloves she always had on. He still hadn’t seen her without them. He’d begun to wonder if she’d ever taken them off. If she did, it was never around him, nor was it around anyone else.

  She didn’t flinch away from him as he rubbed. If anything, she stepped closer to him. He could smell the light perfume she had taken to wearing. It smelled faintly of fresh fruit. It made him smile. Fresh fruit was a rare commodity in the dead of winter.

  “Why are you always in gloves?” he asked as he rubbed.

  She shrugged. “I was burned as a child and am horribly disfigured.”

  He leaned closer. He had this sudden urge to kiss her. While he could never be allowed to marry a commoner like her, there was no such restriction on him bedding her, or even taking her as a mistress. She was a beautiful woman, and no one would fault him if he did; in fact, he bet some of his soldiers already believed they were bedpartners.

  “That’s no reason to be embarrassed by them,” he said. “You’re a survivor, Reiva. Whatever burn scars on your hands reflect that. I bet they’re beautiful.”

  She leaned closer, and he could feel her breath on his cheek. She looked up into his eyes like she was searching for something. A shot of nervousness ran through his body, and he shivered. His body told him to stop hesitating and kiss her. But what if she didn’t want him to? What would that do to their relationship?

  “It’s not just that,” she said softly. “It’s something I don’t want to be reminded of.”

  “Show them to me?”

  She blinked and shook her head, as though realizing how close together they were. She quickly pulled her hand from his. “I need to go check the perimeter.”

  She turned and hurried out of the room. What had happened? Had he said something wrong? She certainly didn’t need to check the perimeter. The soldiers on night duty were already manning their posts, and some of his personal guards were just outside the tent where they always were.

  He said something that upset her. It couldn’t be the gloves, could it? They’d already been in a lot of different uncomfortable and embarrassing situations together. Why would she not want to show him a few burn scars on her hands?

  He went back to work, piling the blankets back onto his bed, feeling hurt. She had her secrets still, and hopefully one day she would trust him with them.