Clash of Empires by Brian Falkner

Author:Brian Falkner
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780374300791
Publisher: Farrar, Straus and Giroux (BYR)

Book Two

THE MISSION

October 6–October 14, 1815

THE SIEGE OF FORT CARLISLE

Thibault walks briskly through the courtyard of Fort Carlisle, his latest conquest in Ireland, and the one from where he intends to defeat the anticipated English counterattack.

Three battlesaurs are chained to huge bolts driven into the walls. Not one bolt, but four for each of the greatjaws. The idea of one of these creatures getting loose during the night is too awful to contemplate. They do not distinguish between French and foe. They can be controlled; that is all.

They are his girls, but they are not pets. They are not tame, nor tameable.

They growl and bellow at his approach, thrashing against the chains, but the links are large and the walls are resolute. The largest of the three girls, Mathilde, snaps at him as he walks almost within range. A meter closer and her great teeth would have taken his head off. She is his favorite.

Another cannon roars in the distance and the whistle of an approaching cannonball makes Thibault look up. There is a dull thud as the ball hits low on the outer stonework of the fort, where the wall is strongest and the cannonball will do little damage. The British dare not bring their cannon any closer as that would put them within range of the fort’s cannon, so they content themselves with the occasional shot primed with extra powder for longer distance.

“They expect us to cower behind these walls while they besiege the fort,” Montenot says, emerging from a doorway. He holds a letter and the canvas pouch it arrived in. Odette, the youngest of the saurs, snuffles and snorts at his presence.

“That would be the conventional approach for a smaller force protected by stone walls.” Thibault smiles. “There are nearly six thousand troops out there, if our scouts are correct. We are vastly outnumbered.”

“But we are not a conventional force,” Montenot says.

“Indeed,” Thibault says. “And tonight the green fields of Ireland will run red with British blood.”

“And again I protest this decision,” Montenot says. “Battles are best fought in the day. Darkness only produces confusion and disorder.”

“Exactly what I am hoping for,” Thibault says. “The saurs hunt better in the dark, and the British will not be expecting it.”

“You risk the lives of our saurs,” Montenot says.

“But not unnecessarily,” Thibault says, looking back at the beasts, admiring their sheer size, their simplicity, their ferocity. “They are beautiful, are they not?”

“They have a raw power,” Montenot agrees.

“Unhampered by emotion or sentiment,” Thibault says. “Unafraid. The perfect soldier. If all my soldiers were as fearless no empire could stand against us.”

“None will,” Montenot says.

“You bring news?” Thibault asks, gesturing at the letter that Montenot holds.

Montenot glances down at it as if he has forgotten it. He nods.

“From the Sonian,” he says. “We have the name of the collaborator who helped Willem to escape.”

“Who is he?” Thibault asks.

“A she,” Montenot says. “Sofie Thielemans, a resident of Antwerp.”

“I trust that Baston is even now interrogating her,” Thibault says.

“He is not,” Montenot says, holding the letter out to Thibault, who ignores it and waits.

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