Erik knew that James would allow refugees to trickle out of the city, in a controlled fashion, until the enemy were ashore and the eastern gates needed to be closed. From reports he had read the night before, Erik knew the foulburg - the portion of the city built beyond the ancient walls - was all but deserted. Local patrols of constables had arrested and hanged a dozen looters over the last week.
A trader with a pushcart hurried past, shouting he had food to sell, and Erik was certain the man would dispose of the last of his wares before noon. As Erik neared the palace, the level of traffic heading to the gate increased, and he ordered his escort to head around back toward the docks and then to the palace, to avoid the press of citizens.
They moved back down toward the docks, and as they rode along, one of the men in a second-story window above shouted, ‘Gods! Look at them!’
Erik lacked the man’s advantage of height, but he knew that the man could see the hostile fleet. ‘What do you see?’
The soldier looked down to see who asked, and, seeing the officer’s mark on Erik’s tunic, said, ‘Ships, sir! Must be a thousand of them.’
Erik didn’t wait. He kicked his horse into a canter and moved as fast as safety permitted toward the palace. He knew there weren’t a thousand enemy ships outside Krondor’s harbor, but he knew there were at least four hundred, by cautious estimation of how much of the fleet had survived.
Nicholas had hit them on one side of the Straits of Darkness while a flotilla from Elarial hit them from the south. At the same time squadrons of warships from Durbin and Queg raided the forward elements. James had reviewed the reports from lookouts who attempted to judge the size of the remaining fleet as it sailed past, then sent word by a series of relay riders, who would change horses every few miles. The raids had reduced the invaders’ fleet by a fourth. Others had celebrated the damage done to the enemy until James had pointed out that left a mere four hundred and fifty warships heading toward Krondor.
So instead of three hundred thousand soldiers coming ashore within the next few days, only two hundred and twenty-five thousand would invade the Kingdom. Erik fought off the desire to surrender to despair.
He entered the palace via the sea gate, and gave his horse’s reins to a lackey. ‘I need a fresh horse,’ he said, and ran off to his last meeting with Lord James and Knight-Marshal William.
He reached the conference room where William and James were overseeing the final briefing for the area commanders before they were dispatched to their respective garrisons. The palace gate out of the city was being held clear so that dispatch riders and those officers leaving could get out of the city before the riots of panic-stricken citizens began.
James stood by while William issued orders. ‘We should have ships beaching to the north of the city within the hour.’ He pointed to two of the commanders who would see to coastal defenses just outside the city. ‘It’s time for you to be there, gentlemen. Good luck.’
Erik saw the Earl of Tilden and a squire whose name was not known to him salute and depart. Erik had studied the deployment of troops for days since William had given him a copy of the battle plan, and he knew that nobles and their detachments would be the first to feel the brunt of the attack. From Sarth down to Krondor, from Krondor to the small villages north of Shadon Bay, every armed soldier that Patrick could squeeze out of the Armies of the West stood ready to repulse the invaders. But sixty thousand troops, most of them untested levies, were going to be overrun by more than three times their numbers in battle-hardened warriors. The only advantage the Kingdom possessed would be in discipline and training, and that wouldn’t come into play until after Krondor fell.
For it was clear to Erik that his first suspicion had been correct: Krondor would fall. He glanced around the room and saw that Greylock was already gone, as was Calis. Greylock was riding for the first detachment directly under his command, a mixed company of Calis’s Crimson Eagles, Hadati warriors, and the Royal Krondorian Pathfinders. Throughout the mountains to the north and east every experienced mountain fighter they could recruit from as far east as the hills above Ran and Pointers Head was waiting.
The general plan was to bleed the enemy, killing as many of the invaders as possible going through Krondor, then to shred them as they made their way through the hills and mountains, where each of Greylock’s mountain fighters would be the worth of five of the invaders. Erik had fought with the Emerald Queen’s army; most of them were satisfactory horse infantry, and a few decent cavalry, but none were mountain men. The only thing Erik worried about was the Saaur riders, for while they might not be mountain fighters, they were warriors unmatched by any force the human defenders of the Kingdom could put in the field. Erik knew they would have lost a number of their horses on the sea journey. The fodder would spoil from the constant moisture, and horses would colic, and some would be useless after six months in the hold of a ship, but enough would be quickly fit to make the Saaur a dangerous foe. And who knew what sort of magic the enemy might employ to keep the horses fresh?