Marcus led them around the side of the house. Ahead was the Dregs, crowded even in wartime. But there were Patriot Guards there, too, moving down the street in small groups. Word of the breakout had clearly gotten around.

“Now what?” Raesinia said.

“Back to Mrs. Felda’s,” Marcus said, eyes tracking the guards. “If we can.”

“What about Giforte?” Feor said.

Marcus looked over his shoulder. They’d drawn off the Penitent Damned, but the city was still full of Patriot Guards. There was no way of knowing whether Giforte and his men had made it to their forest bolt-hole without going after them, and that might bring down even more attention.

“He’ll have to manage on his own,” Marcus said. “Right now we need a very deep hole to hide in.”

Chapter Nineteen

WINTER

It took some doing, but they managed to suggest to General de Ferre that—in accordance with the generally accepted rules of civilized war—it would be only fair to offer the Hamveltai a chance to surrender before beginning the assault. The general grudgingly conceded this, but insisted on issuing orders drawing up the attack formations while the ultimatum was delivered to the fortress and a response awaited.

Winter had been worried that the general would insist on writing the note himself, but it transpired that de Ferre spoke no Hamveltai, so the task was delegated to Fitz Warus. It therefore agreed with the story they’d given Anne-Marie to carry the night before, saying that—against all the generally accepted rules of civilized war—the fortress had one hour to capitulate, and that if no surrender was received, not only would it face an assault but no quarter would be offered to prisoners or even civilians.

Of Anne-Marie herself, there’d been no sign since the previous evening. Winter had no idea whether she’d been taken in as a guest, as a prisoner, or even had her head mounted on a pike. It gnawed at her as she drew up the Royals and the Girls’ Own, in accordance with de Ferre’s orders, in two compact columns facing the southeast section of the fortress.

That the assault would be a disaster was obvious even to Winter, who was no student of siege warfare. While not as intimidating as the high walls of a medieval castle, the defenses of Antova were formidable. Instead of solid stone, the “walls” were layers of defenses. First there was a slight rise to deflect incoming cannonballs, then a ditch with an earth rampart behind it, topped by wooden barricades and studded with slits for firing. Beyond that was a narrow track, followed by an even deeper ditch and a higher mound of earth, rising to the parapets themselves, which were crenellated in brick and lined with cannon.