"Thunder strike me!" Viggo wiped sweat from his forehead. "I’d love to know where those three loafers went… Could they really have gotten lost in Mainor? I don’t believe for a second that Kairu could get lost anywhere, and Woody and Dalid were born here, they know every brick in the district…"

  "Stop rambling and hand over the bolts!" Zargel rasped, taking aim again. There was little need for precision: the crowd below was so dense that every shot took someone’s life. But Zargel wasn’t one to waste valuable ammunition on small fry, he reserved his ballista bolts for cavalry and siege towers closing in. And there were plenty of both below, as well as scaling ladders and grappling hooks constantly dangling from the walls, giving them no rest for hours now. Ears and heads throbbed from the thunder of heavy-caliber guns and the monotonous pounding of the massive iron "falcon" against the barricaded gates. The gates held firm, showing miraculous resilience, but driving the thousands-strong crowd away from the walls was impossible. Soldiers crouched behind battlements, shielding themselves and trying to squeeze off a few shots between arquebus and cannon volleys. The snow was trampled and blood-splattered, and under the shooters’ feet, field surgeons scrambled desperately, trying to drag the wounded below. Remiz was down there too, right by the trembling gates, where a bloodbath had erupted and bodies lay in heaps. Calmly, he bandaged and murmured spells, trying to ease the pain shock. Some fell from heights of nearly twenty feet. All around were screams, cries, groans, and the hoarse roars of pirates furiously storming the walls.

  The assault was on. They’d struck suddenly, during dinner, silently rolling towers, a ram, and ladders right up to the walls. Viggo cursed violently, the sweat pouring down his brow blurred his vision in this hellish turmoil.

  "Where the hell is Kairu?" he asked himself for the umpteenth time.

  ***

  "He had the audacity," Ringus Felm hissed, turning away from the window under the eaves of the tallest tower in Mainor. From this bird’s-eye perch, the whole city was usually spread out before him during the day. But now, the city, the inky sky, the black plain, and the dark waters of Ilvion were all hidden behind a wall of white snowfall. Only faint flashes of firelight near the gates were visible. "Right next to us, waiting, gathering strength, and striking like that!"

  "If our messenger had made it, he’d already be in Asternia by now," Geonar said quietly. "So we can give him another three or four weeks. But there might not be another opportunity like this."

  "What do you mean?"

  "This is the first storming attempt in many days… Right now they’re all focused on the gates, their attention is lax. The river is under our control. We have a chance to finally deal with the problem I’ve long spoken of. Are you with me?"

  Ringus stayed silent, listening to the cannonade.

  "Right under the sovereign’s nose?" he said at last. "It’s incredibly risky, Geonar. If word gets out, we’ll be hanged under wartime law. The king no longer gives a damn about titles, he won’t blink to execute the very marshals who’ve kept Mainor standing. That’s the first issue. The second is we simply can’t afford to risk our people. Bassmert won’t spare anyone either, because what you’re proposing is a death sentence. One in a million chance—even if we find a volunteer, getting to the drainage tunnels, escaping before the assault ends, and crossing the river…"

  "Bassmert’s with us. So is Romenford. I believe someone from their units will step forward. We have enough men, we won’t lose anything even if we fail. And if we win—well, victors aren’t judged."

  "I really don’t like this plan, even if it’s our only way out of the city," Ringus sighed.

  Geonar was silent, lost in thought.

  "We won’t tell the king," he said, as if awakening from a dream. "As for the men…"

  He turned. Dalid Eyring was standing at attention by the entrance, completely still.

  "I knew your father, private," Geonar said. "And I believe you’re a good lad yourself, and a solid soldier. It’s not my place to interfere with the Secret Chancellery, but your request couldn’t have come at a better time. I was just thinking we’d need someone from the recon."

  "Yes, sir!" Dalid barked. "Permission to report: a terrible mistake has occurred. I have a letter from Corporal Conenti, he vouches for these soldiers and asks for their release. On my honor, they’re good men and excellent fighters, you can give them any mission, and they won’t let you down. I stake my life on it!"

  "Don’t be too hasty, heads roll very quickly these days," Geonar warned. "But your idea is sound. Let the criminals redeem themselves with blood. If they succeed—we’re saved. If not—Maclevirr would’ve had them executed by morning anyway. What do you think, Ringus?"

  "I’m with you, Geonar," Ringus sighed. "Even if I don’t like it. Let’s go. If we’re putting this plan into motion, it must be now."

  The old general gave a crooked grin. Time for desperate measures. Those who knew the real balance of forces weren’t going to wait for spring. They knew that come the thaw and the first sprigs of green, Saelin wouldn’t hesitate either. They had to beat him to it.

  ***

  "Where to, Captain?"

  A man in a red coat seated at a desk in the city prison’s hall turned around, and Kairu briefly met his gaze. Broad cheekbones, a long mouth, multiple chins, a nose that had clearly taken a beating in his younger days, and strange, gloomy, indifferent eyes. He glanced them over and lingered on Kairu, studying him.

  "These are the thugs caught at a traitors’ meeting—the ones who killed a guardsman in the line of duty? Interesting, both still in volunteer company armor. Where did you manage to steal the uniforms?"

  "Didn’t steal them," Woody rasped. "We’re volunteers. Twelfth Regiment. Ask Himlaf, he’ll tell you who Woody Miles and…"

  Kairu stepped on his foot, and he fell silent at once.

  "Is that so? I’ll be honest, I don’t have time to verify. As for the meeting, that’s Maclevirr’s concern. Let him sort it out. But you did kill a man, and there are witnesses. Under wartime law, you go to the scaffold. The sentence is to be carried out immediately, but the execution must be public, to serve as a warning. And as you can see, the timing’s poor. We’re under siege, the situation’s heating up. So, private, lock them in the nearest open cell. At dawn, once we’ve pushed the beasts back from the walls, take them to the market square. The gallows should be ready."

  "They already are, sir," the guard replied.

  "Dismissed."

  "Move it, scum," the guard snarled, shoving them down a staircase into a corridor lined with prison cell doors. "Hope you sleep well, maybe the rats and bedbugs won’t bother you… though on the lower floors, there’s plenty. Heh… Lucky you, a few more hours to live."

  Kairu was silent. He was thinking about what Rita would do—Rita, whom the guards had let go without a fuss as soon as they ran into one of the Sisters of Mercy in a nearby alley. Rita had screamed, struggled, and threatened them, but the nuns had taken her away with them. Kairu wondered what she would do now, together with Viggo, Remiz, and the others. Death felt distant and entirely unreal, but there was no certainty that salvation would come quickly either.

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  Only the night remained. Just one night.

  They had stripped off their armor with some effort, leaving them in nothing but leather jackets, trousers, and boots. When a soldier noticed the small scabbard at Kairu’s side with the hilt of his father’s sword, he yanked it out and examined it suspiciously.

  "Why do you carry this around, boy?"

  "What’s it to you?" Kairu muttered.

  "Watch your tongue! I’ll toss this piece of junk to hell."

  Kairu clenched his teeth in anger. They were shoved into a dark, damp cell with a small barred window just under the ceiling. Through it, only a scrap of dark sky and the fortress wall was visible, though the rumble, screams, and gunfire could be heard even here. The floor was covered in straw, onto which they were thrown, and the door slammed shut with a loud clang, plunging the room into darkness.

  Kairu groaned and rolled over. The cell was brutally cold.

  "Woody?"

  "I’m here. Trying to find a way to break the chains."

  "How did they catch you?"

  "Well, it didn’t occur to me to hide in the hospital… I put on armor, wrapped my face like I’d been badly wounded, and went to the wall, but not the one where our regiment was, the opposite side. My stupidity did me in. Turns out they never stopped searching, and when I thought it was all over and went looking for you that evening, that’s when they got me… Damn these chains!"

  "And that girl? Joanna?"

  "Gone. No idea where to look for her. No matter, we’ve got time. I’m a thief, I’ve escaped from cells like this. Believe me, by dawn we won’t be here anymore."

  ***

  "Geonar! Ringus! What a pleasure."

  Bassmert scrawled an expansive signature in the corner of the page, stretched with satisfaction, and bit into a roasted chicken leg with a loud crunch. Lately, the head of the Fighters' Guild had been hungry often, blaming it on the need to ration supplies, which, fortunately, didn’t apply to high-ranking officials who received their food without coupons. The besieged city lived on, and life, despite everything, continued.

  "We need to talk," Ringus Felm said quietly, taking a seat. Bassmert nodded to the chamberlains by the door, who quickly left. Geonar sat next to them, casting a brief glance at the pile of documents requiring the signature of one of the most influential men of the time.

  "I know," Bassmert nodded. "Something very important. Likely a new plan for prematurely lifting the siege of Mainor. A secret anti-king resistance organization. An invention for some especially refined form of torture…"

  "You’re almost right, but this isn’t funny, Bassmert," said Geonar. "We believe this plan could actually work. It’s about the only alternative escape route from Mainor, bypassing the pirate army while they’re distracted by the assault. Remember the young man we sent with the letter? I think we need a backup. We don’t know if he reached the Enchanted Forest."

  "Speak plainly, Geonar," Bassmert said tiredly. "I’m not interested in the plan’s details. I’m interested in how we can win this war, and as I’ve told you many times, I’m ready to do anything to ensure Mainor survives. Anything, even if it means the king’s death."

  "The king…" Ringus chuckled. "The king doesn’t matter anymore. Lady Valena no longer shows herself in public. She’s been cooped up in the palace for days. Want to know why? Enough time has passed since the wedding, and I’d bet the king isn’t interested in that plain woman anymore, only in an heir. Even from a morganatic marriage, the queen’s bloodline won’t extend beyond Aktida, and we don’t exactly have a wealth of choices. If a boy is born, he’ll be the new king. Our job will be to place him on the throne, bypassing all other relatives, sorcerers, and Jake Farian."

  "If the kingdom and throne even survive for him to claim," Bassmert added.

  "Agreed," said Geonar. "And so, we return to our plan. We need a person, Bassmert. Better yet—two people."

  "The entire Fighters' Guild is at your disposal."

  "I don’t doubt the intelligence and skills of your people. I’m sure they’re excellent agents. But I’ve seen them. The youngest is over thirty, and few are in good physical condition. Those who are, are too large for this task. We need a youth, no more than a foot and a half across the shoulders."

  Bassmert stared in surprise and confusion.

  "I won’t ask," he said. "I trust you know what you’re doing. But I don’t have such people. Not right now, anyway, because our best men were sent to the northern front back in October. And I don’t have the authority to pull men off the walls without direct orders from the sovereign. Military duty applies to everyone."

  "There’s one way," said Geonar. "We received a report from the Twelfth Volunteer Regiment—you arrested two of their soldiers today."

  "Ah, so they really are from the Twelfth? I thought they’d stolen the uniforms. But Geonar, are you serious? Do you know what they did? Maclevirr’s men tried to arrest them during a raid on a meeting of some terrorist group. Maclevirr had been planning that operation for months. And these two resisted arrest, and killed a guardsman. Maclevirr won’t give them up, that’s for sure. And frankly, I’m not keen on letting criminals go so easily either…"

  "They’re volunteers," Felm reminded him. "The Twelfth’s commander vouched for them. And as you said, we can’t pull people from the walls. Who else are we supposed to send? Vagabonds? Bandits? At least these two served in the army. The corporal says they both fought at Nalvin and had spotless records until today. Time’s running out. Are we willing to take the risk and send them out before the investigation?"

  "Maclevirr will be furious," Bassmert sighed.

  "We’ll deal with him," Geonar replied grimly.

  ***

  The corridor was lit with lamps. Kairu squeezed his eyes shut and turned away, trying not to look at the bright light now blocked by two dark silhouettes. His hands were chained behind his back. Woody, who had been making scraping sounds in the corner, froze and gave up his attempts to free himself.

  "Thin," said one voice. "Hmm… Both are short in height. Bassmert didn’t lie, they match our size requirements. But I don’t like the idea of sending them on such an important mission. Especially that pale one with the scars."

  Kairu managed to open his eyes. Two men were pacing around the cell, examining them without ceremony.

  "What are you in for, boys?" the second asked.

  "Self-defense," Woody grumbled.

  "Really? I heard you killed a guardsman."

  "Yeah," the thief confirmed. "But he attacked first! Kairu didn’t even try to kill him, he practically walked into the blade himself!"

  The visitors exchanged glances and laughed hoarsely. Kairu said nothing. He just wanted to sleep.

  "You’re going to be executed at dawn, boys," said one of the men seriously. He leaned over Kairu, who saw a toga, a jacket with epaulets, and a chest covered in medals. A general, no doubt. Some very important figure in the government.

  "Where did you get this?" asked the second man grimly, touching Kairu’s face.

  "Snow wolves."

  "Whoa!" The men exchanged glances again, and the second one ran a finger down the other side of his face. "And this?"

  "The defense of Nalvin."

  The two visitors exchanged glances.

  "Kairu, that’s Ringus Felm!" Woody whispered in his ear.

  "Veterans of Nalvin..." said Felm. "The ones who survived were either damn good or got sent to the hospital at the very start of the battle. Either way, that means you returned to Mainor with me. And now I recall, your faces really are familiar. Whatever you did today, I think you deserve a chance at redemption. What do you think, Geonar?"

  "I agree," Geonar nodded. "These two look quite suitable and, judging by what we’ve seen, can handle themselves. Can you swim?"

  "Like a fish," said Kairu.

  "Same," Woody confirmed.

  "Well, excellent. You’re very lucky, because you just pulled the lottery ticket that not only spares you from the gallows but also gives you a chance to escape this hellish city and reach a relatively safe place. But you’ll have to work for it."

  "Agreed," Kairu said quickly.

  "It’s a dangerous mission. Don’t think you’ll save your skins for free. You’ll have to sneak right under the pirates’ noses, swim across the river, and then walk about five hundred miles through forests and fields to Asternia. Got it?"

  "Don’t care," Woody said firmly. "Danger doesn’t scare me. I’ve seen worse. What do we need to do?"

  "No," Ringus grinned nastily. "I bet you’ve never seen worse. Because you’ll have to go through Mainor’s sewer system."