nothing they can't carry on horseback."
"He won't try to storm us; Harald doesn't waste men. We aren't what he's here for."
The castellan looked curiously at the other man, waited.
"He wants the King. Not sure I . . ." He stopped, looked around. "Harald summons us to siege, we send word. The King comes to lift the siege. Not your problem or mine."
The castellan nodded agreement, took one more look at the fires—there were more now—then started down the tower staircase.
The next afternoon the cats were again on the move, out the beaten path through the woods to the road just out of sight of the castle—a route most of them had already ridden four or five times. They left behind stacks of gathered firewood and two octaves of the Order, with instructions to keep fires going until the castle ran out of patience or they ran out of wood. Harald reached the next royal castle south a day later and summoned it too to siege. The next day he left another small group behind to tend fires, with scouts south to warn them if a relief force approached, and rode west into the plain.
In camp that evening, sitting with Egil, Harald ran over the possibilities.
"If they had birds—and they should—His Majesty got word from Markholt three days ago, Grayholt yesterday. His people, Eston levies, central provinces. Messengers to Stephen, Brand. Might think he could get four thousand men up north. My guess he's on the way. Waits too long, looks weak, who knows who might come in?"
"If he thinks you have the whole host, part of the Order too?"
"Might sit. Either way, calls what he has north. South Keep, twenty decades, that's a lot. He'll pull half, easy. On the road now if he has a bird for them. Up the east edge while