“It’s possible,” Lucius interjected. “But I doubt it.”
Leo turned to stare at him, Buchanan and the others following suit a moment later. Lucius was quiet for a time, almost as if unnerved by their stares. Then, at length, he sighed.
“Grey doesn’t know the details of our victory,” he said. “He abandoned the other counts because he expected our forces to defeat them. The only reason he would do such a thing rather than throwing his army at us too is because he believes that holding Ansiri will give him an advantage. And it does. How long has Grey been a count? Decades? He knows the city and by sidestepping us, he’s had days to construct defenses, recruit allies, and prepare key strongholds for siege. Why would he risk meeting us on an open field when he can force us to come to him?”
The truth in Lucius’ words resounded like a struck bell. For the span of a few breaths, no one spoke. The entire tent seemed almost to hold its collective breath, waiting for someone to announce, formally, what remained to be done.
They were waiting for Leo.
And so, the Duke of Ansiri declared exactly what they expected.
“Inside or outside, it changes nothing,” he said. “We take the city.”
***
Leo had hoped that deciding upon battle plans, or an outline of one, would allow him to sleep with a soundness that had been absent for the last week. In that, he was sadly mistaken. Sleep continued to elude him, though he was relieved to discover that Sann’s loss was merely painful rather than crippling. That much, at least, he could understand. He only hoped that the lingering ache would fade further once his blade had buried itself in Grey’s chest.
The subtle restoration taking place within him was not the only change to be found, however. Leo had scarcely stretched out upon his cot and closed his eyes when Nyssa stirred on her pallet. It was dark enough that he couldn’t see her approach, but she managed it effortlessly, and he was therefore unsurprised when she peeled open the blankets and climbed in beside him. Her nakedness, on the other hand, did surprise him.
“Nys,” he murmured quickly. “I’m not really—”
“I know,” she whispered back. Snuggling close, she rested her cheek on his shoulder and stretched an arm across his chest. “I didn’t come here for that.”
“Ah. Okay.”
They were quiet for a long time. As the minutes passed in warm, comfortable intimacy, Nyssa’s breathing grew so smooth and regular that Leo thought she’d drifted off. But, before he could manage the same feat, her whispered words broke the silence.
“We’re fighting tomorrow.”
It wasn’t a question. Nyssa was too knowledgeable and her words too definite to hold any uncertainty. But Leo answered anyway.
“Yes.”
“What’ll you do after?”
“Assuming we survive?” Leo teased. He snorted softly. “I’ll find Cirilla. Try to clean up a few of the messes. Figure out what to do with the aldermen and nobles.”
“And then?”
“You really think I’ve thought that far ahead?” he asked. He chuckled under his breath, taking Nyssa’s hand where it lay draped against his ribs and squeezing it gently. “I’ll figure it out when the time comes. Or were you asking about something else? You want a title like Lucius?”
This time it was Nyssa who snorted. She shook her head, squirming closer against his neck.
“I don’t need a title, Leo,” she whispered. “I just want to stay by your side.”
He didn’t know what to say. But, fortunately, nothing needed to be. Embracing the woman in his arms came naturally, and judging from Nyssa’s soft, contented sigh as he held her tight, physical reassurance was more than enough to convey all that needed to be.
Leo didn’t recall falling asleep but waking in the morning was certainly memorable. He thought for a split-second that the tent had fallen in the night. But no, it was merely Karran. The ambrosian knelt beside the head of the cot, her horned brow inches from Leo’s face as she woke him with the warm pressure of her lips. Leo twitched involuntarily at the sudden contact, waking Nyssa, but Karran swiftly pulled back before he could express his surprise in any meaningful way.
“Time to go?” he asked.
Karran’s eyes were hard and mostly unreadable, especially in the dark interior of the tent, but her curt nod was straightforward enough.
Leo rose and dressed in silence. There was a solemn, almost grave atmosphere permeating everything. That pallor grew even more apparent when the time came to don his armor. Karran and Nyssa helped him but neither communicated with their words, hands, or eyes. Instead, they worked with the mute devotion of the slaves they’d once been, Karran fetching his armor piece by piece and Nyssa deftly tightening it into place.
It was only once they’d finished that either of his helpmeets reached for their own clothes. Leo tried to help them in the same manner, but Karran shook her head and Nyssa grasped his fingers and gently pried them from the leather cords.
“We’ll be fine, Leo,” the trow said. “You should go find Lucius. Make sure he and the others have everything they need.”
Leo hesitated, sorely tempted to argue. Though he would never voice such a thing aloud, he couldn’t shake the fact that this might well be the last chance he ever had to share a private, quiet moment with the two of them. To be dismissed and sent away would have been insulting if it wasn’t so practical.
He sighed, fiddling with his scabbard in the hopes of finding it loose and so stealing another few seconds of procrastination. But Nyssa had done her job well.
“Find me before we march,” he instructed. And then, with an aching heart and a pained grimace, he exited his tent for the last time.
Dawn was still a quarter-hour off, the easternmost third of the sky a rich azure streaked with hints of bronze and orange. But despite the earliness of the morning, the camp was abuzz with steadfast, unhurried activity. Most of the soldiers and officers who passed Leo were so fixated on their duties that they did not even notice him. The few who did spot him halted just long enough to offer fleeting salutes or awkward, walking bows. Leo returned their obeisances with nods. The narrow victories of the past fortnight had tempered the enthusiasm of Iresh’s faithful, but Leo imagined he could sense a wary optimism lurking just behind their grizzled exterior. One battle remained, one final conflict, and the trow and elven veterans would come to him for their freedom.
He just hoped that Ansiri was strong enough to survive the granting.
The command tent had been disassembled by the time he arrived, but Lucius, Buchanan, and the others he’d come to expect remained in the space where it had stood. Most were already wearing their armor while those who had not waited patiently for one of the elven attachés to assist them. Both groups turned to Leo as he approached, however, offering bows or salutes as desired.
“How soon until we’re ready?” Leo asked.
Lucius shrugged, glanced at Sophe, and then nodded deferentially to Buchanan.
“Within the hour,” Buchanan said, glancing up at the still-dark sky. “We’ll reach Ansiri by mid-afternoon, assuming there are no… delays.”
“Which we’ve already determined is unlikely,” Leo reminded him. He glanced between the three, then at Buchold as Lucius shuffled to make room for the primarch. “I assume the orders have been passed down? Everyone knows their task?”
“We’re ready, Your Excellency,” Buchold said. The elf smiled slightly and shared a look with Lucius. “Ansiri will be yours again by nightfall.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” Leo said. He turned from face to face, hunting for any hint of uncertainty or indecision. Finding none, he grasped the pommel of his sword and cleared his throat. “Any last thoughts? Questions?”
There were none. Leo cleared his throat a second time.
“Good,” he said. “Let’s finish this.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Leo squinted, one hand hovering at his brow, and wish
ed the sun was not quite so bright. The day had begun partly overcast. But now, at the edge of Ansiri’s outlying farmland and with the city itself a palm-sized smudge in the distance, the light was beginning to give him a headache. And, barring some miraculous, unprecedented solar activity, the blinding glare would only get worse.
“I should’ve waited until the morning,” he grumbled. “Let Grey’s men try fighting with the sun in their eyes.”
Nyssa glanced at him, brows lifting.
“We could order a halt,” she murmured under her breath. “We’re still almost a league away.”
Leo shook his head. “I don’t want to wait. Besides, it won’t matter once we reach the city. The buildings will block the sun. If not, we’ll drag our feet for a half-hour until they do.”
There was more to it than that, of course, but Nyssa knew better than to ask. Leo was grateful for it. He’d done everything in his power to avoid worrying about Cirilla during the return journey. But there was a difference between obligatory marching and delaying now that the city was in reach. He’d be damned if he left his wife in danger for a second longer than he needed to.
Not that he was overly worried. He was terrified for her safety, of course, but not to the point of senselessness. Cirilla was undeniably the cleverest woman he’d ever known. If anyone could have slipped through Grey’s clutches it would be her. And, if she hadn’t, then her fate had been unavoidable and would not be helped by his fretting.
The notion felt cold and disingenuous no matter how many times he repeated it. But he persisted, knowing that Cirilla would have appreciated both the thought and the lengths to which he went in persuading himself of it. And, if nothing else, it gave him something to focus on other than the ever-approaching battle.
Such distractions could last for only so long. Slowly but inevitably, the winding, widening road carried Leo home.
As expected, Count Grey had not been idle. The outskirts of Ansiri were fortified by such an astounding array of defenses that Leo could hardly believe the man had only been present for a week. Slums had been demolished, their wooden walls used to barricade the ring of larger, sturdier buildings several blocks nearer the city’s center. Even the thatched roofs of the ramshackle structures had been repurposed, some stacked in alleys to fuel nighttime watch fires or affixed to nearby walls to serve as rain shelters.
Where once the city’s outer limit and paths had been determined spontaneously by foot traffic, such options no longer existed. Fully half of the roads leading in and out of the city were obstructed, either by insurmountable piles of discarded wood and iron or by rows upon rows of thorny palisades. The other half supplemented these defenses with dozens of men at arms. And even from afar, Leo could espy the commotion their approach created. Men ran to and fro, barking orders and dispatching runners, no doubt with calls for reinforcements.
They weren’t the only ones. Leo was so distracted by the sight of the enemy that it was not until one of Buchanan’s junior officers barked an order practically next to his ear that he realized, with a start, that his army had begun to arrange itself without him. He glanced about, seeking Lucius and trotting to the elf’s side when he finally spotted him. The baron was speaking to Buchold in a quiet tone. At Leo’s arrival, both elves straightened respectfully.
“Buchold,” Leo greeted, nodding. “Lucius. I’m not interrupting am I?”
The pair shook their heads.
“Good,” Leo said. He hesitated, his voice growing softer as he continued. “I, uh, I know that this probably goes without saying. But if we prove victorious, Ansiri is going to be overflowing with recently freed elves and trow. Obviously, that extends to you as well, Buchold—nothing will change that. But many of those I free will hold grudges. I hope I can rely on the two of you to keep the peace. I don’t want to have to hang those who fought for me because they decided to knife their former masters in some alley.”
Lucius, for once, did not even smile. He nodded sternly, as did Buchold. The primarch, however, spoke up as well.
“Of course, Your Excellency,” he said. “We’ve already made that quite clear to them. No rapes, no murders. The second Grey’s men surrender, they’re to be detained and spared. Nothing more.”
“Thank you,” Leo said. His throat grew tight as he moved on, though he couldn’t identify precisely why. “As for… as for the Duchess. It’s possible that once Grey realizes the battle is lost…”
“Don’t worry, Leo,” Lucius said. It was an interruption, but a remarkably gentle one, especially considering who it was who’d done it. “We’ve passed that along as well. Your wife’s safety is the most important thing. If it comes down to saving Cirilla or capturing Grey, I’ll sail the man to Sutherpoint myself before I let anything happen to her. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
Leo exhaled a shaky breath and blinked furiously to push aside the tears threatening to form at the corners of his eyes. He nodded forcefully and bit the inside of his cheek to distract himself, then offered Lucius his hand.
“Thank you, Lucius,” he said. “No one ever deserved their title more.”
Lucius laughed at that, rapping his knuckles playfully on Leo’s breastplate and flashing a more typical smirk. “Don’t get used to it. I’m just aiming to be the first elven count in the Isles.”
“Bring me Grey’s head and you’ll have earned it.”
For all the great and monumental events that the last year had held, never was the reality of what he had wrought more apparent than when Leo stood fast through the next few minutes, watching thousands of soldiers—his soldiers—preparing to assault the city. The air itself felt sodden with anticipation. He grasped the pommel of his sword, the metal slick with sweat from his palm, and did his best to appear resolute.
The army mustered in a single, broad formation, though knowing the truth of the plan, Leo couldn’t help feeling that their true ploy was obvious. Buchanan remained at the center, barely a dozen paces ahead of the place where Leo stood, prepared to lead the main body of their army forward in a headlong charge. Buchold commanded the right flank, a thousand or so elves who would veer sharply to the north, following the curve of the city until they found some promising gap to exploit. Sophe, on the other hand, had deferred command of the surviving trow to Lucius. Given the primarch’s severely depleted numbers, it was likely a wise decision. Lucius was well-liked, even among the trow, and given the fact that his left flank was comprised mostly of veterans who’d returned from the north with the elven baron, it was a reasonable decision to make. Leo had already noted the primarch’s willingness to sacrifice ego for the sake of his men and the army as a whole and planned to reward him for it.
Now, as it had during the first skirmish against Count Bordeau’s troops, Leo’s army seemed to hold its breath. The foremost ranks maintained their discipline, but there was a twitchiness about them. Spears jerked anticipatorily in the air and half-drawn swords grated against the interior of their scabbards as their wielders fought the urge to bare the naked steel.
Leo couldn’t blame them. His own nerves were shot, his heart racing and his breath coming in ragged inhalations that whistled through his painfully tight throat. Had it not been for Karran and Nyssa on either side of him, he had no notion of how he would have managed.
Both, he suspected, were quite aware of his state. But it was Nyssa who spoke, naturally.
“Easy, Master,” she murmured, her words teasing as much as they were soothing. “Don’t go running off this time, yeah?”
He chuckled despite himself. “No promises,” he said. To his surprise, the words didn’t catch in his throat.
“You know why we’re here!” Buchanan’s voice boomed suddenly. Leo’s heart skipped a beat. “Time to earn your freedom! Sergeant Hempson, all battalions forward march.”
The army shuddered, lurched, and glided forward with the slow, irresistible motion of a square-rigged ship at sea. It took a few seconds for the momentum of it to reach
Leo, standing as he was a stone’s throw from the front. But, once it had, he staggered forward the same as every soldier.
“Remember to stay close,” Nyssa said. It was an unnecessary reminder on multiple levels and one Leo might have gently scolded her for if it hadn’t been for the transparent nervousness behind her words. He glanced over. Nyssa was not looking at him, but her brow was furrowed and her hands were white-knuckled as they grasped the hilts of her swords.
“I will,” he said, smiling indulgently. Somehow, rather than being disconcerting, Nyssa’s unease soothed the worst of his fears. “Just make sure you do the same.”
This time, she did look at him. And for an instant, her fear, bewilderment, and apprehension were writ plain across her face. Then her worried expression relaxed into a grin.
“Always, Master,” she said.
Leo turned to Karran next, but the ambrosian was already shaking her head. Though she couldn’t speak, she hardly needed to. Huffing in obvious exasperation, she rolled her eyes and stretched her claws.
“Fair enough,” Leo agreed.
The main advantage of lingering near the back of the formation, beyond the relative safety it afforded, was the fact that Leo wasn’t forced to endure the awful, stomach-churning moments before the battle began in earnest. One moment, he was marching along with hundreds of grim-faced elves in every direction. The next, they’d drawn so near to the city’s barricaded entrance that he could make out individual stalks of thatch and straw of the overhead rain shelter and a sudden, deafening eruption of enraged bellowing announced that the battle had begun.
The elves around him surged forward, threatening to break ranks in an effort to reach the site of the conflict. Leo was not quite so enthusiastic, though he did stride forward to avoid being caught in the sudden stampede. Peering through the tightening crowd, he was relieved to spy vast numbers of soldiers streaming away to the north and south in strict, rigid formations.
Duke of Minds (Master of Monsters Book 4) Page 24
