The Chaoswar Saga: A Kingdom Besieged, A Crown Imperilled, Magician’s End. Raymond E. Feist

suddenly a gust of wind cleared away the morning fog and presented Martin and the other onlookers atop the walls with a clear view of what they faced.

      ‘Damn me!’ the sergeant swore.

      ‘Indeed,’ said Martin softly, not sure he was making sense of what he saw.

      A company of soldiers stood arrayed across the entire approach to the town from the castle, just out of arrow flight from any but the stoutest longbow. Martin took in their garb: a traditional Keshian metal helm with a chain metal neck piece hanging behind, a sharply pointed spear tip at the crown (effective at discouraging an enemy from dropping on them from above, he thought); a chain coat and heavy woollen trousers tucked into calf-high boots so that the fabric belled out. A leather vest was drawn over that, cinched at the waist by a heavy leather belt with an iron buckle. The combination of leather over mail would be very effective against arrows, slowing down a broad-head enough that the chain would catch it, earning the target no more than a nasty cut rather than certain death.

      Each man carried a scimitar – the traditional curved sword – and a round buckler. Every fourth man also carried a short bow slung over his shoulder.

      ‘I see no siege engines,’ Martin said.

      ‘But look what else they brought.’

      Behind the line of soldiers a flood of people could be seen coming up from the docks and going into the buildings. Men, women and children, several who seemed to be scuffling over some scavenged item or another, and among them moved what could only be wardens or marshals, breaking up fights and commanding them to go here or there.

      A runner came up the steps from below, out of breath. ‘Word from the tower, sir.’

      ‘What?’ said Martin, not taking his eyes off the scene below.

      ‘A large company has broken off and is taking the north road, but …’

      ‘But what?’

      ‘They don’t look like infantry or cavalry, sir.’

      Martin’s curiosity was piqued. ‘What do they look like?’

      ‘Well, sir, like farmers coming to market, or rather it would if they were going the other way. I mean, it looks like they’re herding cattle and sheep up the road.’

      ‘Heading to the farms, crofts, and pastures,’ said the Sergeant. ‘Well, now, isn’t that a kiss from granny?’

      Martin frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

      ‘Look what they’re bringing up.’

      What appeared to be a company of engineers was hurrying up the road, while horsemen drove the milling men, women, and children out of the street, making way. They were carrying building materials unlike anything Martin had seen before.

      The line of infantry parted, letting the engineers through, and then Martin saw what they were putting together. ‘It’s a barricade.’

      ‘The bastards just walked in and took the town, sir. Now they’re telling us to sit here and rot, or sally forth and drive them to the harbour.’

      ‘They’re not going to attack?’ asked Martin, now completely confused.

      ‘Why should they? They’ll just sit and let us starve.’

      In the distance a great rumbling could be heard. The sergeant turned to the young runner. ‘Joey, back up you go and find out what that is, then come back, straight away, there’s a good lad.’

      The boy ran off and Ruther said, ‘Well, it’s clear whatever else they have in mind, they mean to stay. They brought a whole damn town with them.’

      After a few minutes Joey returned. ‘They’re unloading some big machines by the docks. Kelton says they look like trebuchets.’

      Kelton was the soldier Ruther had put up in the tower because he had the sharpest eyes in the garrison.

      ‘Well, if that’s what he says they are, then that’s what they are. Maybe they’re not going to try to starve us out after all. But at least they’re in no hurry to attack.’

      That worried Martin more than anything else. They would have to assume that the moment they were spotted, the call for reinforcements would go out and reinforcements would be on their way. Why weren’t they in a hurry?

      The day wore on and those in the castle watched in fascination. The fortification on the eastern edge of the town was quickly made secure, and at sunset a daunting wall rose up that had been bolstered with sandbags brought up from the shore. Now there was a six-foot breastwork with a firing platform behind, where archers could fire upon anyone venturing from the castle.

      ‘If we had sortied this morning …’ Martin clenched his fists, the frustration of not knowing what the enemy’s next move would be taking its toll.

      ‘We would have run into who knows what, sir,’ finished the sergeant. ‘We can only see that lot. Who knows how many more soldiers they have unloaded down by the docks, or still waiting aboard ship? They don’t seem worried about us.’

      ‘Which is why I am concerned,’ countered Martin. ‘It’s as if—’

      ‘Sir!’ came the shout. ‘A white flag!’

      Martin looked in the indicated direction and saw what must be a Keshian officer approaching under a flag of truce. He came up to the gate and looked up at the faces there. ‘I seek parley!’ he shouted. ‘Who is in charge here?’

      ‘I am!’ Martin shouted back. ‘I am Martin conDoin …’ He hesitated, then added, ‘Prince Martin of Crydee.’ He was entitled to the honorific, though no one in his family had used it since Prince Arutha had left Crydee to take up the office of Prince of Krondor. His brother, Martin’s namesake, had insisted only the title of duke be conferred upon him, a tradition followed for three generations after.

      ‘Greetings, Highness,’ replied the officer. ‘I am Hartun Gorves, Captain of the Fourth Legion, Third Regiment, servant of His Most Honoured Majesty, the Emperor of Great Kesh, blessings be upon him. My lord and master bids you depart this land, peacefully, and safe conduct to the East will be guaranteed. He reminds you these lands are Keshian, ancient Bosania, taken from the Empire most violently and without cause by your ancestor.

      ‘He bids you depart and swears that he will treat harshly any of his servants who would trouble you. Take with you your possessions and goods, livestock and chattels, but begone at once, otherwise I am instructed to deal with you in the most severe manner.’

      Martin stood uncertain for a long moment. Of all the things he had expected to hear, the simple demand that he and everyone in the duchy pick up and move wasn’t one of them. That Kesh meant to occupy this land was now beyond doubt: this was no simple raiding expedition, for booty or political gain; they sought to reclaim land that had not been part of the Empire in over two centuries, yet were treating the Kingdom’s expansion as if it had occurred but a few weeks prior.

      At last Martin said, ‘You’re joking.’

      The officer bowed. ‘Most assuredly not, fair prince. I and two of my officers would be willing hostages in your travels. Once you reach the borders of the land called Yabon, we will leave your company, and you may deal with the garrison there.’

      ‘Garrison?’ shouted Ruther. ‘What does that mean?’

      ‘By the time you reach Yabon, it will once again be Keshian, as will the so-called Free Cities and that abomination known as Queg. The garrison at Yabon will escort you to the border at Questor’s View and then on to Krondor. From there you will be free to continue on to the borders of the Kingdom and cross without harassment.’

      ‘Borders of the Kingdom!’ echoed the sergeant furiously. Martin put his hand on his arm and the old soldier fell silent.

      ‘And where is this border?’ asked Martin.

      ‘Darkmoor. That was your traditional