"What in the name of the Crone happened out there?" Curane thundered.
Cadoc looked up. The air mage was badly bruised, and one eye was swollen shut. Beside him, Dirmed, a fire mage, was in worse shape. One arm was badly burned, and his hair was singed from his head on one side of his scalp. "The magic went wild," Cadoc said.
"What the hell does that mean?"
"It means that that damned energy river is going mad," Dirmed said. The right side of his face was peeling from a burn. "It threw our power back on us. The Flow's unstable. All the magic's making it worse."
"And Finten?"
Dirmed shrugged. "Finten was unlucky. We think he struck close to Martris Drayke. Our guess is that, Drayke latched onto the power and used it as a channel for his own magic. Finten was standing next to me when he caught on fire. It wasn't pretty."
"A dozen mages, and the best you can do is make some people down in the ginnels sick," Curane replied.
Cadoc glared. "Blood magic is slow and costly. Every time we do a blood working, one of us is half dead for at least two days. And each time we experiment with another nasty little pox, the Flow gets further out of reach. It's starting to break apart."
"How can a river of energy break apart?" Curane flicked his hand dismissively. "Can the wind break apart? Can the sea split itself down the middle? I'm tired of excuses."
"I've found that magic is the answer to every problem—for people who aren't mages," Cadoc said. He took a step toward Curane, fury in his eyes. "I've lost three apprentices conjuring up poxes for you. We've had to lock down half the ginnels because of it. At least a quarter of the villagers are dead. No one's been in or out of midquarters since we locked the yetts, but from the smell, it's a good bet they're dead. I don't know how many Margolan men the plagues are killing, but they've probably murdered more of our own people than the enemy."
"There's only so much lime we can dump from the walkways," Dirmed said. "And no way to keep the rats and the vultures from spreading what's on the other side of the gates. If the Margolan army does break through the wall, they'll likely find a city of the dead."
Curane smiled. "Let them. Plague's cheaper than soldiers. Your magic protects us."
"For now," Cadoc said. "But if the Flow fails us, the magic dies with it—and so do we."
"This'll be over before that happens." Curane replied.
"Is that why you sent the girl and her baby away? Because you're sure victory is imminent?" Dirmed asked.
"I sent them away because the girl needs a stern hand and I know of no one more suited to the task than Lady Monteith. Lady Montei-th can turn that slip of a girl into the mother of a king and show her the proper way to raise a prince. When the boy is older, Lord Monteith can introduce him to the Trevath court. It's about time King Nikolaj realized that I've presented him with an outstanding opportunity."
"The fact remains that we're as hard pressed inside the walls as the Margolan army is outside," General Drostan said. "It's true that with fewer villagers our firewood and supplies have lasted longer, but the villagers who are still alive are getting desperate. They fear the plague more than the army outside. I don't have the guards to put down an insurrection and fight a siege."
"Then take hostages. Separate out the essential workers and guarantee their compliance by taking their families as surety. You're a military man, Drostan. You can figure this out."
"With all due respect, Lord Curane, the battle has gone hard on 'military men.' We lost General Arnalt when the East tower collapsed in the bombardment. General Eddig burned with his garrison when one of the fireballs hit the south wallwalk. General Nerin lost an eye to shrapnel. Siencen and I are the only two generals still uninjured. Our ranks are down by a third. There's precious little room to dodge boulders inside stone walls," Droston said.
"Are we beaten so easily by a boy king?" Curane thundered. "Every day, Martris Drayke becomes more vulnerable. His army weakens. And while he's busy here, our man at Shekerishet grows closer to solving another problem.
"The net's tightening around the new queen. And as it does, our partners in Isen-croft are making sure that Donelan is far too busy with his own problems to worry about Margolan." Curane smiled. "Great plans take time. Just a while longer, and we'll be the regents behind the crown—not just of Margolan, but of Isencroft as well. A handsome payoff for a bit of messy work, wouldn't you say?"
"I learned a long time ago that a soldier should never count on his pay until the battle's been fought," Drosten replied. "Especially when magic's involved."