The Maid's War (Kingfountain 0.5)

There were similarities between the battlefield and court. Both required strategy, quick wits, and an unflagging constitution. But Alensson despised politics. He much preferred the disarray and mayhem of a siege. The Occitanian army had followed Genette’s plan, and now they were facing the last enemy bastion on the road to Ranz: the city of Foucaulx. Shouts from the warriors attempting to breach the city walls mixed with the grunts and groans of men squirming in their death throes. Arrows and crossbow bolts whizzed down from the ramparts, and every few minutes the catapults inside the city sent boulders flinging over the wall, smashing anyone in the way. It was a grim death, and many had died already. Those closest to the walls were the least affected by the threat, but there were horrors to face still.

With smoke stinging his eyes, Alensson stood in the shadow of the wall, shield up, watching Genette as she waved her stained banner, shouting for the men to advance, to breach the walls that penned in their enemies. She had demanded, once again, that the city surrender and open its gates, but they had remained defiant, expecting support from Deford’s army, which was still hunkered down in Pree. It was said the Duke of Westmarch had summoned an enormous force from Ceredigion and it was marching at breakneck speed. The canny duke would not be tricked into committing his Occitanian legions without reinforcements. A mighty host was on its way to punish the Maid. And so Foucaulx held firm and Chatriyon’s army hammered relentlessly at its walls.

An arrow struck Alensson’s upraised shield, the blow battering his arm and making him stagger back. There were arrows sticking in the dried earth all around Genette. Her voice rang out amidst the cries and blasts of horns.

“Onward! Courage! Let’s drive these foes back to the ice caves! Take heart! We will win!”

Alensson admired her courage and tenacity. She had shown equal strength when dealing with the politics of court. Many nobles had gathered around the prince, whispering in his ears to distrust her counsel, warning him that she was leading his forces to their deaths. But the prince had hearkened to Alensson. Lionn had been the test, and had she not passed it? Was not the Fountain truly blessing them with victory?

Chatriyon and his inner council had ridden with them, but the prince was staying in a town less than a league away, surrounded by knights who could carry him away if needed. His army was cutting their way to the sanctuary of Ranz—and he was following a few steps behind it. Alensson felt his heart blacken with thoughts of the man’s cowardice. But perhaps he and the Occitanian prince were both fighting the battles to which they were best suited. Alensson would have sent the schemers away bleeding.

It was a pivotal moment. After Foucaulx fell, there would be a clear path to Ranz. Even if Deford decamped from Pree to face them, he would not reach the sanctuary in time. If the fortress held for weeks, the momentum would be lost. But there was victory in the air. The men were energized, and they flung themselves into danger without cowering. He watched the battering rams slam against the gates, his mind focused on the path ahead.

“Alen!”

He turned his head sharply. It was the Maid, looking back at him, her face pale. He realized she’d been calling to him for a while—he had been too lost in his thoughts, too distracted by the melee to notice until she shouted his name.

“What?” he asked, glancing around to see if there was some imminent danger.

“Move. Over there!” She pointed with her finger.

“What?” he repeated.

“I said move! Over there!” She gestured impatiently, shaking her head at him as if he was being a fool.

Alensson took several steps backward, gesturing with his sword to the spot. She nodded and then turned her gaze back to the siege.

“Climb the ladders! Get up there! Climb!” she called to the soldiers nearby.

Every attempt at fixing the scaling ladders had ended in disappointment; the defenders were quick to repulse them and send them crashing back down. Arrows felled the soldiers who attempted to bring them back up. Alensson frowned and scowled. If they didn’t succeed in breaching the gate or climbing the wall, it would drag on forever! How many men had they lost that day? He felt another arrow slam into his shield.

“My lord duke,” said a squire, rushing to his side. “Earl Doone is suggesting we fall back and regroup. We’re losing too many men.”

Alensson glanced at the squire over his shoulder. “She will say no. And I agree. We must keep at it. No one said it would be easy.”

“My lord, he swore he would send a courier to the prince seeking orders to retreat. How many have died already?”

“You tell the earl,” Alensson said angrily, baring his teeth, “that if he’s so worried, he should leave the safety of his tent and help! It’ll be dark soon and the night will help cover our movements.”

“A blind archer could hit one of us easily enough,” the squire said disdainfully.

“You tell the earl we’ll not have it,” Alensson snapped back. “If the Maid says it will fall, it will fall! How can he lose faith so quickly?” He raised his voice. “Genette! Doone wants to retreat.”

The Maid turned her head and gave him an annoyed look. “No, we fight on!”

“I will tell him, but he won’t like it,” the squire said with a shrug.

There was the sound of machinery, followed by the ominous thump of the taut timbers jerking down, and then a huge segment of castle stone came vaulting over the wall directly at them. Alensson stared at the hulking mass, saw it looming in the sky like a moon and then plummeting right for him. He tried to move, tried to get away, but his legs felt as if they were running through water. The huge projectile slammed into the ground next to him, shaking the earth. Alensson’s teeth rattled with shock as he fell to his knees. The squire had vanished beneath the enormous boulder. Alensson gaped and then turned to face Genette with an open mouth.

It had landed right where he had been standing moments before she’d warned him.

A small, tight smile appeared on her mouth and she nodded to him. “I promised your wife, Gentle Duke,” she said. “I promised her you’d make it through.”

He was still too startled and shaken to speak. His life could have been snuffed out. It would have been if she hadn’t warned him. The poor squire! Was it a trade then? A life for a life? Had the Fountain claimed its due?

“Up the walls!” Genette shouted again. She muttered something under her breath and ran toward the earth-filled part of the moat, where the soldiers were struggling with the siege ladders. She jammed her battle standard into the ground, then grabbed one of the ladders and helped the men lift it back up. Did she intend to attack the fortress herself? Alensson raced after her.

“What are you doing?” he demanded, grabbing her arm.

“I’m going up,” she replied angrily. Drawing her sword with one arm, she gripped the first rung of the ladder with the other. Before he could say another word, she was scampering up the ladder like a sailor on the rigging.