“Here,” he explained, “we are facing northwest. As you know,” although perhaps only Prince Jaspid did, “on this side Belleger’s Fist merges with the fortifications of the old city. They share this wall. Beyond are a range of forested hills.”

When the time came, General Klamath would hide supplies and horses for the King and his riflemen among the trees.

“I want a tunnel here”—Bifalt slapped the wall—“that opens near the trees. And I need it soon. The enemy is coming. I cannot give you more than three days. Two would be safer.

“Can you do it?”

Prince Jaspid raised his head. He was beginning to guess King Bifalt’s intentions.

The workmen muttered to each other, peered at the wall. Studying the crude stones, one of them grated, “In winter, Majesty? Damp earth freezes. It will be like rock. And the wall is thick. Several paces at least.”

The King waited.

After a moment, another laborer ventured, “Can we have more men?”

Sighing to himself, the King nodded. “Will twenty be enough?” The guards who had defended Belleger’s Fist had all gone to join Klamath’s army. His seneschal would have to cull the keep’s servants.

The workmen shrugged dubiously, shuffled their feet. The first speaker said, “We can try, Majesty. We have made walls. We know how to tear them down.”

Bifalt was in a hurry to start the work. Curtly, he told the men, “Then go. Bring your tools.” Picks, shovels, crowbars, wheelbarrows. “Begin at once. I will send help soon.”

Apparently, the laborers trusted their King. Or perhaps they simply craved work. They strode away without complaint.

When he and Jaspid were alone, Bifalt faced the glitter in his brother’s eyes. “I have a task for you as well, Brother.”

Speculations passed across Jaspid’s expression. He said nothing.

“Gather our stores of gunpowder.” Belleger’s alchemists had been mixing gunpowder furiously ever since Rile’s first ships had approached the Bay of Lights. “Bring the kegs here. With fuses. You can decide where to place them.”

As if Bifalt had struck a spark, Prince Jaspid seemed to catch fire. The glow of the lanterns echoed in his eyes like hints of fever.

“I can do it, Brother. I am faster than you.”

He was not talking about the ordinary chore of collecting and placing kegs, setting fuses.

Grimly, King Bifalt summoned his full authority. “You can. But you will not. I need you with me. I need you at your best.” Before Jaspid could argue, he said, “I have someone else in mind. He will be glad to do it.”

To himself, he added, If he lives.

Jaspid’s initial eagerness sagged. Clearly, he wanted to argue. After only a moment, however, he surrendered.

Waving a hand at the wall, he said sourly, “You should have started sooner. Then ten men could have done what you ask.”