The sun itself had yet to reach its zenith. It, on that day, was also deeply shielded by clouds--as if unwilling to take any part amidst the noises of clanging, shattering shields; splattered blood; slashed flesh, and incessant snaps of ropes from siege engines in full swing.

For indeed, down there, courage was being put to the test; faith rocked almost to its foundations; and determination as well as unmitigated frenzy were finding wide-open outlets. Two sizeable armies--both of a race renowned as 'Albinon'--had begun to clash; one to try clinging on to their sense of honor, the other to shake it to the point of willing to submit--and this for thirty-two days.

Such was the situation on three of the city's four fronts; for on the fourth side it faced the sea itself. Here, upon the almost complete devastation of its own navy by that of the invaders during the operation's first week, the said city's defenses were already showing signs of inevitable cracking. Barrage after barrage its walls on this side of the ocean had withstood, at great costs in materials and men; and there was now, at long last, a faint ray of hope that the invaders' ships were at last beginning to run out of stones to lob forth.

Deep in the enemy's lines, in the largest field tent set in the center of one of the giant semi-circular clusters, a few heads were in deep conference poring over a scale map depicting pertinent outlines of the city in question--here marked as 'Balaras'--and several white pebbles. These were arrayed close to some of the city's edges, indicating a siege in progress.

A burly man in his armor that had been splattered with battle colors--he had not had the time to properly dress them before attending this small top-brass conference--looked up, revealing his oval face with strong jaws, thin brown moustache, hazel eyes, and an expression of unbending will. His slap on the map's center (fortunately cleared of pebbles) with a flat palm, somewhat added to this.

Hasan had been in this House's service since the last three of its previous overseer's seven-year reign. For most of that period this then-youthful commander had witnessed first-hand his overseer's attempts to mold the various powerhouses on this scarce-regarded backwater region of the 'Sunset Lands' into one single polity. The first large leap of this phase had involved ousting Yzarc, a rival contender, from his stronghold in Balaras. Alas, Husnir did not live long enough to see the fulfilment of his vision by his eldest son, now in his fifth reigning year. As he open-handedly banged the table just now, Hasan imagined grasping the hostile city and tear it down stone after stone.

There was reason to be proud.

"Today shall be the last respite of the Balarians as themselves, before we get to plant our own flag there! They best savor the moments..."

"Observe discretion, Hasan, and patience," someone to the speaker's left advised. "There has indeed been some success in your section, but nowhere a certain breach, so far as we're concerned."

One of the other conferees across the table looked up as well. This one was in an arguably better state: resplendent in his polished armor, the breastplate meticulously etched with his House's symbol. This man, however, had not bothered to don the purple robe signifying his rank. His oval face, pale complexion and unbridled silver hair that reached down to the waist completed the physical features. He was Ingeras, the reigning amir or 'overseer' to House Hospodia--and the second to style himself such.

"Matter of fact, I am still of the opinion that said breach will likely occur at their southern gate... here," Ingeras resumed, pointing at a spot on the map.

Hasan's eyes flickered, looking searchingly straight into the calm greenish ones of his interlocutor.

"With all due respect, my amir, you are likely to be giving the impression that my efforts to this day were merely some sort of diversion," he argued.

"Nothing is ever certain during a siege, or even in our brief life. You might choose to just disregard my previous opinion, if you please, as it will probably not have any purposeful effects to the course of events anyway." Lord Hospodia smiled.

"Well, my amir, but your opinions do matter--"

"You might also find it more preferable," the amir put in once more, "to ease the pressure in your eastern section; it is known that there they have somewhat fortified the defenses."

"Yes, and fortified or not, I vow to break them!"

Ingeras' smile faded.

"Maintain your calm, commanders, please. We have been in this business for a whole month now, and little to show for it so far. On the other hand, we cannot simply overlook it. Allow Balaras to fall, and this whole Sigista Island shall finally be ours."

Hasan scoffed. "That must be why they are playing tough, those remains of Yzarc's men... Might they still be expecting relief from anywhere?"

"They have only the sea to their north as the sole avenue of retreat, by now," replied another commander, giving his green coat a perfunctory smooth. Those close enough could perceive the tiny spark of a single round jewel at the end of his sheathed saber's hilt. This officer's amber eyes, meantime, observed those around him with subtle pride. "My navy in its present state, shall make short work of them in case of any attempts on seaborne retreat."

Ingeras nodded carefully at these words. "We very much appreciate it, Captain Jaras. However, you ought to check the state of supplies for your cannons and crewmen; I hear both are nearing depletion. From this point on I urge you to exercise frugality with them."

Jaras stood a little straighter.

"It shall be observed, my amir! It would be highly imprudent of me to squander this seafaring navy that you had helped to pioneer all these years, even when the late Amir Husnir was still around."

Husnir. Mention of that name, unintentional as it was, again brought a pang of sadness to the current Lord Hospodia's mien despite efforts to retain self-composure. For the latter part of seven years that man had exhausted his energy, time and patience trying to deal with this very bastion that was now being subjected to attacks on three directions and nearing collapse. Considering the numbers Lord Hospodia had managed to muster, failing to breach the city at this point would be as bad as losing, if not doubly so.

"After all," Jaras resumed after momentary silence, aiming to redress the grief he believed he had thus re-administered to his present amir, "I am but one of many in this line--"

"This, then, will likely degenerate into a battle of wills. All sieges are such, I take it."

Yet another voice echoed, compelling everyone in the tent to turn. Its owner strode up confidently to the map table.

"How are things going in here, eh?" the newcomer added. "Hopefully not more tense than the carnage outside. Seas of wrecked walls, blood and bowels pretty much everywhere in the siege lines--"

"Why are you even here, Urdin?" Lord Hospodia cut in, half-rebuking this new arrival. "You came here uninvited. I should not like to hear mention of one of our own field commanders behaving in this way!"

As immediate response, the amir got a derisive snort.

"My orders were just to start breaching those walls, Ingi. That involves much waiting, as you well know. I am about to report today's progress, and this is what I get? From my own brother?"

"Such impudence!"

The newcomer seemed not to take heed. Like his brother-master, he had flowing silvery hair, and amber eyes for Lord Hospodia's greenish ones. As to the expression, where Ingeras' suggested serene firmness, Urdin's gleamed off uncompromising ferocity.

"Say instead that I am letting events take their own course," the latter snapped. "Oh, the years of agony that billowing city had caused us! It is only fair that now they pay in kind."

To his own credit, Hospodia's present amir found himself not flinching.

The other commanders around him, however, proved themselves to be made of lesser stuff and gaped openly. Such a brazen act during such a crucial moment!

"Might you be reminded, Sir Urdin, that this is nowhere the proper stand for the next-in-line to our glorious House..." Captain Jaras put in, recovering first.

Urdin fixed his fiery gaze upon this bit of insubordination, hiding none of his controlled ire.

"Do not presume to lecture me on this line, Captain, if you please. You were not personally there when I had been beckoned to the late ruler's bedside and bid to ground Balaras--this very same fortress-city that we are facing--to dust; now, were you? I am now acting on that word and will brook no opposition; not even from a ranking officer of our nascent navy. Is that clearly understood?"

Jaras, having taken the words with a blink, inclined his head. "My deepest apologies, sir."

Lord Hospodia, who had been listening to this exchange with pursed lips, now joined.

"What would be done to Balaras upon its becoming part of our domains, Brother, shall no longer concern you in any case. I might or might not raze it to the ground as you might have wished, so why be so hard to Jaras? Without him we shall still have one front to worry about, mind..."

More seemed about to be added to this conversation, if not for the sound of a rushing messenger outside. In front of the main tent's flaps, he immediately went down to one knee.

"Reporting! Entrance to the western gate is getting under our control!"

Urdin turned to regard him, and said calmly, "Have the men there regroup with those from other directions. I'll rejoin you shortly. Dismissed."

"Sir!"

The messenger dashed away after inclining his head. This heady commander, regarding his supreme leader again, smirked with obvious relish.

Said gate had been put under Urdin's watch since the operation's commencement.

"It would seem that I have still some clearing up to do. Should I be destined alive after such encounter, sirs, I'll be sure to see you again. Viva Hospodia."

Urdin accompanied this last utterance with a touch of his own right palm to his breast, which was then uniformly imitated by those around him, before turning on his heels and was outside the main tent in five steps.

***

"Advance! Storm formation and engage!"

Having deflected three stray arrows with his round bronze shield (held in 'Argyle grip' style in his left hand) from as many volleys from the defenders, Urdin began to rally what number of his own men that he could--since the others by this time would arguably have made their way to the city's inner parts in victorious confusion--to advance in more solid battle orders, with every hope of clearing the opposition more methodically.

Amidst groans, yells and bellows of those around him, Urdin, gnashing with frustration as the tip an arrow brushed too close to his temple and scored a thin red line in stark contrast to his own complexion, once again mentally cursed Yzarc.

Just you wait, scum, he thought fiercely, you who had the audacity to stand in my father's way toward unity...

Grunting, Urdin shoulder-barged an adversary coming too close to his reach, knocking out three of his front teeth. As the unfortunate man laid writhing on his back, his life was soon torn away by the protruding of a steel tongue through the back--by whose hand, he did not even know.

Nor did it matter anymore.

"Secure the sideways!" Urdin bellowed to those behind him, instinctively realizing more had come up by this time to plug the gaps. "This entire city must be secured by midday at most for our amir's entrance!"

"Prince Urdin!"

Turning once more, the commander perceived a panting, sweating Hospodian soldier dashing his way and at proper distance dropping on to one knee. It was evident from the colors of his armor and soot-soaked face that he had seen much more of the city's chaotic brawls than might be imagined at first glance.

"Reporting, sir! You are likely to encounter stiffer resistance as you progress. This city's population seems to have adapted to the current situation and organized themselves accordingly in go-by bands of sneak-attackers operating in alleyways. I barely survived being knifed by a yelling mid-wife bursting out of her burning house just down this alley... Several children from multi-storied buildings still left intact had also dared to pelt some of my men with stones from simple self-made slingshots or even with their bare hands. Cases of minor injury..."

As he listened, Urdin recalled one part of his units that he knew might make short work of this kind of hurdle: the mubarizuns, or 'champions'. This corps, which by the start of the previous amir's reign numbered slightly over three hundred, had now grown to about two thousand and had gained renown whilst participating in Husnir's vision with unflagging vigor.

The general considered calling them in now.

"Any survivors from your band still, soldier?" he inquired at length.

"Five to ten, out of about twenty I came along with. Various conditions. Some of them you might encounter some distance ahead."

The commander nodded. "I've heard enough. Get your wounds tended."

"Sir!"

This time Urdin watched as his column parted to make way for the staggering soldier. When it closed again, he found himself looking at a sea of faces contorted by professional eagerness.

"Observe strictly the rules of engagement," Hospodia's top general announced grimly, just enough to carry on with the rest of his band. "Proceed, and this time exercise sharper caution!" Turning to himself, he snorted. "Got pelted by brats, did we..."

At some points in the line, three wailing notes were heard, the last one sounding slightly longer than the two before, and Urdin's column edged forward with more to follow. High up, the hawks circling above the beleaguered city began to quarrel with the incoming crows; each side just as eager for their share of the mounting, rotting spoils.

***

The overall-unpleasant affair lasted for another hour before it gradually subsided. Chants of 'Viva Hospodia!" could be heard from the soldiers lining up in two lines, as Lord Hospodia came in ahead of a procession from Balaras' battered main gate. An escort of his personal guards marched directly behind him, followed by bearers of Hospodian war flags, green being the dominant color.

Ingeras halted when he perceived some of the city's remaining top commanders, still in bruised armor, standing before Yzarc's lifeless body with their heads down in silent salutes to both victor and vanquished.

"Accord to your former master the proper burial of a worthy adversary," Hospodia's amir ordered.

"My lord," one of the lined men spoke. "Do excuse me. I am Yasnar Rahandria, former aide to the late Lord Yzarc and hence the most senior officer of these men here. I am in charge of this city's keys and defenses, and would now gladly entrust both into your care."

Lord Hospodia dismounted and looked at him slightly longer.

"Look up."

Yasnar did, revealing thick light-brown hair with tiny streaks of silver around the forehead; clear, smart-looking grey eyes, and thin lips with no moustache. A ten-day-old stubble was growing on his chin. Save for this, his face bore a mildly-dressed scar on the right cheek from a dagger-cut, swung with some haste.

"You all put up a great defense," Ingi remarked.

"As was and remains our duty, sir."

"Perchance did you come across an officer named Urdin?"

"I have the honor to inform you that it was him giving me this scar, in self-defense. Tough, he really is. You will find him somewhere along this line, I believe."

Lord Hospodia nodded, partly in wonder at how his brother of all people would actually take the decision to let go of someone responsible for the enemy's defenses. Was he being dumb, or visionary to a level even the amir could barely match?

"Expect to see me again." Ingeras tapped Yasnar's shoulder, re-mounted his coal-black steed, and proceeded on to the city's main keep. He found his brother halfway through, looking at him calmly and smiling instead of keeping the gaze lowered as others did.

"Congratulations, my amir, on this auspicious victory," Urdin muttered--in the proper gesture--to his brother's slight sideways nod.

The port-city of Balaras, having stood independent for slightly over ten years in the wake of what was known as The Second Trial, that day altered its banners unconditionally. The Hospodians, it could be fairly said, were at last well on their way to reasserting their own rule.