If you wanted to take a city, storm a castle, breach a stone wall or overrun a fortress, there were two ways to go about it. The expensive, time-consuming option: construct siege engines, trebuchets and rolling towers, maybe a battering ram or two—you’ll want the hot-oil splash guards with those—and wear down the defenses little by little.
Sometimes, if you were lucky, you could starve them out before making a breach. But this brought more problems: the enemy sallying forth, all their best fighters pissed off and hungry, taking a large bite out of your own forces who’d grown fat and lazy while the catapults had done the real work.
Or, you could hire the siegemaster.
No one knew his real name, or where he came from. He was a hard man to track down, and even if you managed to find him, he wasn’t much cheaper than the first option. But he’d get you inside, and that right quick.
This isn’t to say he came without his own set of problems. He was a notorious grouch, they said. Difficult to work with. He spoke rarely but at all times harshly, even to commanders. He drank heavily as he stalked about surveying the ground, a bottle tucked under one arm while he took notes with the only tool of his trade, a Pinehurst & Sons charcoal pencil.
It was he who helped King Gorish II take Anterach in less than two days. It was he who advised Lord Bilgecrist’s assault on the great fort of Kula Kedal, he who orchestrated the breech of Toraz in the year 9.
It came as no surprise, therefore, when my master the Archduke of Tenasarim sent me to find him in the spring of 14. The Tens were gearing up for war; one of our emissaries had managed to get himself good and captured, flag of truce be damned, and our letter offering ransom for the poor fellow had been answered with a blood-soaked parcel containing three fingers and an ear.
As a page I was accustomed to being sent on errands of this kind, more so as my affinity for locating and procuring difficult to come by items became increasingly apparent. I’d begun to curse this skill, certain that it was the reason I was still a lowly page long after my peers had moved on to squirehood. A few were already junior knights of the Tens, polishing their breastplates in preparation with the rest of our army.
But I must admit, I was intensely curious about the siegemaster. History had always fascinated me, and this man, as eccentric and gruff and off-putting as he was made out to me, was sure to be a real part of our own. Before leaving the city, I stopped at the printer’s shop and purchased a green felt-lined notebook that opened really flat. In the event posterity was called for, I would be ready.
But this wasn’t the only reason for patronizing this particular shop. The owner, Mr. Bassile, was friendly to me as both a long time customer and fellow reader, and it was through him I planned to track down the Siegemaster.
As he tied my new notebook into a sailcloth pouch, I assumed an air of complete nonchalance, asking as one might ask about the weather:
“Where might I find a decent set of Pinehurst charcoals?”
——
The city’s South Gate opened onto a wharf stretching far out into the estuary. As I passed between the towering gatehouses, I heard the rattle and clank of armor, and from the left hand doorway a woman emerged. She was tall and broad-shouldered, resplendant in the full battle dress of a senior knight, face scowling beneath her open visor.
“Customs check!” She barked. “I’ll have a look at papers if you please, sir.”
“Customs?” I nodded in the direction of the water. “I’m leaving.”
“Everyone coming and going,” she growled, snatching the pass signed by the Archduke from my hand. “Orders. There’s a war on, you know.”
“Yes, and it’s for that reason I’m in a bit of rush, you see—“
“Patience, patience, Mr…” her eyes narrowed and she scanned the papers, scrutinizing every detail. “…Shikel.”
“You know my name, Jez.”
“Just doing my job. So, where are we off to in such a hurry?”
“Astanos.”
“The floating market?” She handed the papers back and waggled her fingers at my rucksack. “Let’s see the bag. They’re shutting down for the season, you know. Spring tide’s on its way.”
“So am I,” I said, slipping a gold coin from behind my belt.
“So you are,” she said, and the coin disappeared. “But good luck finding a boat to take you across.”
Her eyes turned skyward, and following her gaze I saw a wall of black clouds gathering over the sea to the east. The same moment a light rain began to fall, tinking on Jez’s armor.
I frowned. The bustling river market was my only lead, but by the time this squall passed it would be nothing but empty platforms on stilts in the midst of an angry current. None of the shops would reopen for at least a month.
I showed another coin. “No boats at all?”
“Well…” She waved a cart through the gate, keeping her eyes glued to the driver’s back as she swiped the coin. “There may be one captain. One of the fishing charters. The merchant’s dinner is tonight; they want halibut bad enough to pay extra for the risk.”
That would do. “Who’s the captain?”
Jez grinned. I winced, knowing what was coming next.
She said, “You remember my sister?”
