The next day was like any other, back to the monotony of watching death tumble over the walls and eviscerate a huddled populace.

  It was starting to occur to Rastod that Bieskul, Niedon and Cern — the three mercenary leaders camped on the plain outside of the city — had no desire to damage the great white walls of Olern. After the first day, none of their catapults had so much as nicked it, instead, they ravaged the houses and stores and flesh below.

  And they were supposed to be the righteous ones.

  Did they think they targeted only barracks and empty buildings? Or did they know the city was in fact overflowing with commoners from the surrounding lands?

  Was this what life was for a man like Rastod with no coin or lineage, simply choosing which of two evils to support?

  The sun was high in the sky when they took their first break. They sat in their usual square, their small slice of peace, though another of the tenements that bordered it had collapsed onto itself a few days back.

  Kasia was practicing her bow, a broken door propped against the statue at the centre of the square as her target. Most of the arrows missed the door and statue both, plinked into the front of the building behind. Some poor bastard would return home after all this was done and find all his windows shattered and wall covered in holes.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Rastod watched her practice, made him miss hunting, passing a wineskin back and forth with Ezlos.

  "Did they say what type of Vessels the Baron has?" Ezlos asked.

  "No," Rastod replied. He was not enjoying the interrogation since returning from the keep.

  Ezlos grunted. "I wonder what a Burnt Vessel could do against stone."

  "I suggest you stay far from powers you do not understand, Ezlos," Rastod said.

  Kasia loosed an arrow, it whooshed through the air and made a satisfying thunk in the door. Rastod gave her a small clap, earning an eye roll as she clutched for another arrow.

  "This Ankat," Ezlos said, "the one the Baron had removed, what did he look like?"

  "An old soldier sick of putting up with younger men's shit."

  Kasia turned to look at them over her shoulder, bow raised. "I can relate to that." She pulled back and let the next arrow fly with a twang.

  "My sources say this Ankat is in the stocks, not executed," Ezlos said.

  "Good for him," Rastod muttered.

  "Why do you bleeding care?" Kasia asked sharply, so harsh even her Vilnas accent could not soften it.

  "Perhaps Ankat could help us." Ezlos took a swig from the skin, rubbed his wispy beard. "A man on the inside would help."

  "Who the hell is us?" she asked, brow furrowed and lip twisted.

  "Those who want the siege to end," Ezlos muttered. "We are not helpless, Kasia."

  Kasia strode across, standing over them bow in one hand, arrow in the other. "You want to help the people of this city? Shift rubble, dig graves, and eat less of your rations. Don't spend your days sneaking around and scraping information from the gutters to hatch grand conspiracies."

  "Information is power, Kasia."

  "Power is power!" said Kasia, shaking the arrow in her fist.

  Rastod stood. "Many of the civilians are getting out of here, that’s a victory enough for me." He walked away, too exhausted to listen to the closest he had to friends in this place.