the end, the crusaders were granted use of one broad, paved street leading to the Purelice Bridge. The Grave Street. The Purelice Bridge was the broadest and longest of the three Viscesment boasted.
The crusaders found the cross streets all blocked with carts, wagons, and furniture, the barricades backed by local militia. The distrust shown by the locals accentuated an ages-old southern attitude toward the cousin in the north.
The Purelice Bridge, named for the Emperor who ordered it built, humpbacked over the middle of the Dechear to make it easier for traffic to pass under without having to unstep masts. Today, few riverboats or ships depended on sail power.
The bridge was straight. The west end could not be seen from the east end because of the hump. The bridge’s west end had been barricaded. Eighteen falcons loaded with pebbles backed those barricades. Buhle Smolens and Kait Rhuk were in charge. They had several companies of archers and spearmen in support.
The rest of the Patriarchal firepowder weaponry was scattered along the Arnhander route of march, hidden, sited by Drago Prosek. The point was to stun the crusaders into surrendering. If they failed to be convinced by the cruel logic of their situation.
Should the falcons be discharged they would generate noise and smoke enough to summon the rest of the Patriarchal force to cut off retreat to the east.
From the bell tower of Sant Wakin’s Church—the Anti-Patriarchs’ own—the Captain-General could observe both ends of the Purelice Bridge and most of Grave Street. Nowadays, nobody knew why the street was called that. Some locals would not use the name for superstitious reasons. The street filled. First came determined Society types who suffered catcalls and occasional thrown stones as they excoriated the locals for being sinful. Then came the gaily caparisoned nobles who commanded the army, followed by their lances, foot, and train.
“What a lot of clutter,” Hecht said. “We aren’t that bad on the march, are we, Titus?”
“Not so much. But if you let the men bring their families …”
That touched a nerve. That was one way Piper Hecht differed from other captains. He did not allow a lot of noncombatants to form a tail that impaired his mobility.
Despite his efforts, though, the force inevitably developed a drag whenever it remained in place more than a few days.
The leading priests reached the height of the hump in the bridge. And came face-to-face with dread reality.
Hecht said, “I wish I was out there. I should’ve gone out there.”
“Better you’re here where you can control everything but Smolens and Rhuk.”
“Looks like the priests are yelling for their bishops and archbishops.” His breath came faster. He trusted Colonel Smolens. Yet … Bishops were clever. One might convince Smolens that …
“Smolens will stay the course,” Consent said, reading his unease. “Kait Rhuk wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“I worry about Kait, too. He enjoys his work too much.”
“You’re never happy about anything, are you?”
“Not so much. Not at moments like this. Oh, damn!”
The falcons had discharged into the churchmen and Society brothers. Smoke rolled up and drifted eastward, concealing the western end of the bridge. By the time the rumble reached him Hecht knew part of the plan had gone south. Flashes shone inside the smoke. Kait Rhuk’s falconeers continued to fire.
Below, a wave of consternation ran back along Grave Street. That turned to fright. Fright turned to panic at the speed of rumor.
“Hold off, Prosek,” Hecht muttered. “Hold off. Let’s don’t kill anybody we don’t have to.”
Consent gave him an odd look, then whispered to a messenger. The messenger dashed off to give that word to Drago Prosek.
The rattle in the distance slackened, then stopped. Smoke continued to conceal the far end of the bridge. Hecht could see only mass confusion as mounted nobles and knights tried to push back east into a street already filled. While below the bell tower calmer crusaders continued to push west.
The panic faded after the falcons fell silent. Attempts to break through the street barricades declined. The militia showed remarkable restraint.
Hecht began to breathe easier. “All right. We killed a bunch of Society priests. That isn’t so bad. They weren’t going to survive anyway.” If Count Raymone had a say.
Firing resumed at the bridge. One salvo. “Fourteen weapons,” Hecht said. “That means several are out of service. Unless …”
Titus Consent observed, “You do need to take time off.”
“Where’s Pella?” Continuing to worry. Realizing that he had not seen the boy for two days. Feeling sudden guilt because he had not been