December 16, southwestern Serbia, Priština.
The weather grew colder and colder. Gleaming white snow blanketed the land, and most soldiers huddled around fires in camp for warmth. Only the artillerymen endured the bitter cold, operating their guns to bombard the distant walls.
A canopy had been erected over each gun emplacement to block the wind and snow, keeping snowflakes from landing on the vent at the breech and soaking the nearby black powder.
Boom!
The Siege Cannon thundered. The blast shook the canvas canopy above it, dislodging a little snow from its edges and scattering it over the gun crew's sergeant.
The sergeant shook off the snowflakes, observed where the shot landed through his telescope, then ordered the gunners:
"Load."
The bombardment continued. The distant walls flickered in and out of view through the gunsmoke, silently enduring the Siege Cannons' pounding.
Suddenly, a gunner stumbled while loading, and the Silk Powder Charge slipped from his hands into the snow. The sergeant shot him a fierce glare, bent down to retrieve the charge, and placed the soaked bundle in a nearby wooden bucket.
"It got snow on it. We can't use it for now. Get another powder charge, and hold it firmly next time."
At noon, Priština's southern wall reached its breaking point. Cracks spread upward through the masonry, and shattered stones came rattling down. When the dust cleared, a breach roughly four paces wide had appeared in that section of wall.
A few minutes later, Damien arrived after hearing the news. "After days of shelling, this wretched wall finally collapsed."
He was in no hurry to attack. He decided to wait another day and blast open more breaches before storming the city.
The snow stopped falling, and he led his guards on an inspection outside the city.
At this stage,