Then, suddenly, Aydrian started into motion, dropping Tempest in line with the city gates. The white noise disappeared from Braumin's thoughts, but before he could even register that fact, a tremendous blast of lightning exploded from the gleaming shaft of the magnificent elven- forged sword that Aydrian held so deftly, bursting out in a sudden flash to smash against the Palmaris gates.
Metal melted under that searing heat, and supporting stone pillars split apart, and in the flash of an instant, the great city gates were gone, replaced by a pile of smoking rubble.
Braumin's eyes widened in horror.
The Allhearts led the charge into the city.
The defense broke apart, the folk and brothers running for cover.
And in denial of any possible countering strike, the white noise returned.
Bishop Braumin stood in the front gatehouse of St. Precious Abbey, looking out over the main square of the city, now occupied by the army of Ursal. The fighting had gone on, in pockets of resistance, throughout the day and long into the night. But now, the morning after Aydrian's assault, the city was quiet once more.
Braumin could only imagine how many had died out there in the fighting.
He had heard that the Ursal soldiers were offering little quarter to the dark-skinned Behrenese. He felt profound guilt for retreating to his abbey, along with many of the remaining brothers. He should have been out there among the folk, fighting to his last.
No, he shouldn't have, he reminded himself. When the gate had fallen, when the soldiers had charged into the city, the general battle was ended, the outcome a foregone conclusion. If all the folk of the city had taken up arms and charged back at the Allhearts and the Kingsmen, they would have been slaughtered to a man, woman, and child. And so Braumin had called for, and had followed to the letter, the predetermined plan.
The defense of the city was never considered plausible for any length of time, and so the bishop had never called for that. If the wall was taken, so went the order, the people were to flee back to their homes.
The fight had come quickly to St. Precious, as Braumin had known it would. He had hoped that his resistance would be stubborn and very costly to the invaders. He had hoped that he would strike a profound and devastating blow to the ambitions of the young usurper Aydrian.
But now that the soldiers had finally closed about the abbey, now that they were at last within range of Braumin's fury, the white noise had accompanied them, denying the magical response.
And they had come prepared, Braumin saw. They had taken the artillery from Palmaris' wall, dragged it to the corners of the square, and reassembled it over the course of the night.
The bishop winced as the first bombs smashed against St. Precious' wall.
He looked across the square to Aydrian, who stood resolute with Tempest upraised. He looked to Aydrian's side, to Marcalo De'Unnero, who stood calm, staring back at him.
"Braumin has ever been a stubborn one," De'Unnero explained to Ay-drian and Kalas, as the bombardment of St. Precious continued around them. "He will not surrender, and will willingly die for his cause. He was like that when he stood beside Elbryan, your father, against Father Abbot Markwart."
"Is such strength of character not to be commended?" Aydrian asked.
De'Unnero nodded. "Braumin is a fool, and misguided," the monk explained.
"He followed Jojonah and Avelyn and helped to create this ridiculous imposter of a Church."
"Nearly as ridiculous as its imposter predecessor Church," Duke Kalas remarked.
De'Unnero shot him a glower. "The people here believe in Braumin, and deeply," he went on, speaking to Aydrian and trying to keep his gaze away from Kalas. "If we tear down St. Precious and kill him in the process, they will remember, and it will not reflect favorably on the man who would be their king."
"You just said that we could not turn him," Duke Kalas remarked.
De'Unnero had no answer.
But between them, Aydrian merely smiled.
Bishop Braumin felt a sense of relief as he finally managed to loose a bolt of lightning at the attackers sometime later, as the white noise finally diminished somewhat. Apparently, there was a limit to Aydrian's strength and stamina, though that limit seemed far beyond anything any other mortal man or woman had ever achieved! So now the monks could use their magic again. But apparently the attackers had anticipated such a turn, for the square was all but abandoned, and the bombardment continued only