October 25, Year One of Sigmund I.
Prye City, Royal Capital of the Goldflower Kingdom.
Prye City in October had shed the last trace of late summer's indolence. The air was filled with a distinctive scent, a mixture of timber, rust, wet mud, and the sweat of crowds—the smell of preparations for war, tense and busy, yet carrying a sickly hint of excitement.
Atop the towering city walls, the battlements and arrow towers damaged in last year's plundering had already been repaired, and were even taller and sturdier than before. Newly laid blocks of stone gleamed with a cold, hard luster beneath the autumn sun.
Along the walltop stood rows upon rows of newly made wooden shields, reinforced firing slits, and cannon after cannon wiped until they shone, covered beneath waterproof oilcloth.
More striking still were the black mouths of cannon set up at regular intervals. They were Bronze Cannons and Heavy Matchlocks urgently transferred from armories across the land, repaired and copied day and night by court craftsmen. Though their models were a jumble and their states of maintenance varied, their numbers were considerable—enough to form a deterrent web of crossfire.
Outside the walls, the once ordinary-width moat had been dug deeper by great numbers of conscripted laborers and widened to nearly twice its former span. Muddy river water had been fed through with a living current, and the riverbed was packed full of sharpened wooden stakes.
On the far bank, every house and tree that might provide cover for an attacking force had been torn down, clearing out a broad killing ground.
The drawbridge had been hauled up tight by iron chains, the portcullis dropped, and the massive iron-clad city gates were shut fast. Behind the gates, thick logs had been used for further reinforcement.
Inside the city,