The Broken World by J.D. Oswald

Dondal. Why do you do anything? To save your scrawny neck. Osgal.’ Melyn nodded at his captain and felt the telltale surge in the Grym as Osgal conjured his blade of fire. It cast an eerie white light
over the room, harsher by far than the smoky daylight outside.
    ‘Inquisitor, please. I can be of great use to you alive. Ballah would—’
    ‘Ballah would sell your neck for a handful of beans, Dondal. Why do you suppose he’s sent you upcountry when all the important things are happening in the south?’ Melyn focused on the duke. He was easy to manipulate; his fear was real and intense. It was a shame he probably didn’t know very much about the king’s battle plans at all. Still, Melyn was determined to extract every last nugget. He built up an idea of what it might feel like for a blade of fire to burn its way through skin, cauterizing blood vessels as it bit its way down towards the spine, searing through bone.
    ‘I only know what they discussed at the council of war before Ballah sent me here to recruit more men.’ Dondal’s words spilled out like water from a broken dam. ‘Geraint was to take the main force to Wrthol to guard that pass. Tordu was in charge of the smaller garrison at Tynewydd. That should have been my command, but—’
    ‘But Ballah couldn’t trust you not to let me in without a fight. He’s wise. That’s why he’s king and you’re begging for your life. What of Dafydd? Is he in his father’s army, or has Ballah put him in charge of the city defences?’
    ‘I’ve not seen Dafydd for months. Nor his wife either. Ballah sent them to Talarddeg to get them out of the way. The boy kept coming up with wild schemes that would only end up getting him killed.’
    ‘So who’s guarding the city then?’
    ‘Guarding it against what? Any attack would have to
get past Tordu or Geraint. And even then it would have to march for two weeks at least to reach Tynhelyg. Ballah would have plenty of time to prepare the city for a siege.’
    ‘How many soldiers are garrisoned there now?’
    ‘A thousand maybe. Plus two hundred of Ballah’s palace guard.’
    ‘So few?’ Melyn probed Dondal’s mind as he spoke the words, looking for the lie. But it wasn’t there.
    ‘Geraint wanted to leave five thousand men, but Ballah shouted him down. Said if he didn’t want them they could go with Tordu’s army. Then he sent most of his guard out with the army too.’
    ‘And what of your own efforts? If the army that met us here is anything to go by, you’ve not been too successful in drumming up more men. When were you going to slink back to your master and admit your failure?’
    ‘King Ballah wanted me back in time for the festival. And I’ve already sent three thousand men to the front, so I don’t think he’ll be too upset.’
    ‘The King’s Festival? I’d have thought with war looming that would have been cancelled. But no, I suppose that’s not Ballah’s style.’
    Melyn settled back in his chair, digesting the information. If it was true that Tynhelyg was largely unguarded, neither Llanwennog army could ignore his threat. If there were just a way to isolate the king from his palace guard … They were the problem. A thousand men with iron swords were no match for even a hundred warrior priests, but two hundred well-trained magicians would ruin everything. Then again, if the king was outside the city, and with thousands of people gathered for the festivities … The
elements of a plan even more daring than his strike through the forest and into the northlands began to form in Melyn’s mind.
    ‘Lady Gremmil, I said you needn’t fear for your life. I’m sorry, but I lied.’ He concentrated on the Grym, summoning it to him, channelling it. Lady Gremmil turned at his words, but she scarcely had time to respond. With a mental flick he unleashed a surge of pure energy at her. She let out a tiny ‘Oh’ and crumpled to the ground, dead.
    ‘You …’ Dondal’s eyes bulged in fear and anger.