"How much longer can the siege camp outside Mountain City of Baza hold out?"
Wisps of smoke curled through the air. Thomas the Grand Inquisitor's face was hard, solemn and grave as the mountains of the Pyrenees.
At those words, King Fernando's brows lifted slightly, his expression stirring. In that instant, countless thoughts passed through his mind, shifting endlessly like smoke. But in the end, when smoke faced mountains, a thousand clever changes all drew inward, condensing into only two low replies, like cold, conspicuous falling snow.
"Honored black-robed friar, may the Lord protect us! Before your arrival, the morale of the siege camp could only have lasted another half month or so. And now..."
King Fernando paused, his eyes indifferent, and answered without emotion.
"As long as the Inquisition's 'salvation' trials can continue, I am confident I can make the besieging camp hold firm for another month!"
"One month..."
Thomas the Grand Inquisitor pondered briefly, then asked again.
"Then, Fernando, how much longer can the Moors' Mountain City of Baza hold out?"
"..."
Hearing this question, King Fernando pressed his lips together. He was silent for a moment before answering.
"Mountain City of Baza is a solid, perilous mountain city. The dozens of mortars we transported here can hardly strike the city walls. The city stored a full year of grain, and we have already besieged it for half a year. If the defenders' morale remains steady, they can last another six months."
"Of course, the morale of the Moorish defenders in the city is also extremely low. They have no reinforcements at all and cannot possibly hold out to the end. At most... at most, they can defend it for another three or four months! King Haab of Granada has an agreement with us and will not come