Strahteegos Thoheeks Grahvos of Mehseepolis keh Eepseelospolis, Vahrohnos Mahvros of Lohfospolis, and Vahrohnos Neekos of Kehnooryospolis were spotted when their mounts first put hooves to the pinelog roadbed Milo had had constructed over the old stones of the bridge. By the time they had completed their slow progess to the north, the High-Lord and King Zenos were atop the wall to greet them.
They had come, announced Grahvos, to discuss the terms of Lord Milo’s surrender. Milo courteously suggested that his pavilion might be a more comfortable setting for any discussions and, upon Grahvos’ assent, several brawny troopers lowered a bosun chair and drew the three noblemen onto the wall.
Fresh mounts awaited them on the north bank. Then, Milo and his guards led the emissaries on a wide swing, giving them a good look at the camps of well-armed, well-disciplined troops, at a horizon-long wagon train of supplies and at the bristling defenses of the castra.
When the three guests had been seated and wine had been served, Grahvos cleared his throat and asked bluntly, “How many men do Your Majesties command here?”
Milo chuckled. “You’re a direct man, aren’t you, Lord Grahvos? I’ll be equally candid. I don’t know, not exactly . . . though I can get the answer from my staff. In the camps you’ve seen and in some you haven’t, I’d estimate a total fighting force in the neighborhood of one hundred thousand, perhaps a few thousand more.”
“Then why,” demanded the Thoheeks, “are Your Majesties’ forces cowering behind walls and rivers? Why not meet us in open combat? True, we have a few more troops than you, overall, but you’ve the edge on us in cavalry.”
Milo shrugged. “My reasons are my own, Lord Grahvos. Suffice it to say that I have no intention of meeting in an open combat . . . not until I’ve bled you here for a while. You see, I have more troops arriving daily. How many reinforcements can your lord call up?”
Grahvos avoided the question. “Your Majesties, the High King has no desire for a battle himself. He has empowered me to speak for him in saying this: if Your Majesties will join forces with him, you may retain both your lands and your titles . . .”
“Be Zastros’ lickspittle in my own kingdom?” interjected Zenos. “No, thank you, my lord!”
“Then we’ll crush you.” Grahvos sounded confident, but a brief scan of the man’s surface thoughts showed Milo much confusion.
“Brave words,” said the High-Lord gravely. “Spoken by a man of proven bravery; but your position is untenable for long, Lord Grahvos … and I’m sure you know it.
“Your army has no boats, and you saw how solid is the wall blocking the bridge. We got those stones by destroying the only ford between here and the mountains. Of course, you could fell trees and try rafting. My catapult crews would be most gratified to see such an attempt … they’d also like to see an attempt to build a floating bridge, if you had that in mind.
“No, Lord Grahvos, your king sits at the end of a very long and most tenuous supply line, deep into hostile territory. His army has already suffered the loss of thousands by the activities of our partisans. Entire units have deserted and marched back to your homeland and, I understand, camp fever has incapacitated more thousands. It might occur to your king to send for his navy.”
Grahvos started. That very thought had been on his mind.
Milo grated. “Forget that thought and persuade your king to do likewise. I had hulks towed from Kehnooryos Atheenahs and scuttled in the channel just west of the Lumbuh delta. There is but the one channel and your dromonds could never negotiate it… now.
“The longer you sit on the south bank, Lord Grahvos, the higher will be your losses—more men and units will desert, more will be ambushed or killed in raids, more and more will die of disease. Any attempt to cross the river, by any of your available means, will be fatal to the troops employed.” And it was, to almost all of them. The first… and last… assault was launched just after the next day’s dawning. First onto the bridge came two elephants, sheathed from head to foot in huge plates of thick armor that turned the six-foot darts as though they had been blunt children’s arrows. A sixty-pound boulder struck a massive headplate with a clang heard the length of the bridge, but the beast halted only long enough to trumpet his pain and displeasure, then came slowly on. It was then that Milo gave the order to fire the bridge.