A few days before the great battle in the eastern sands, before the fall of General Amir Kahn, the watchers upon Beirot's battered walls saw the first signs of movement. At first, it was distant, uncertain, little more than a shifting haze beneath the morning light. Then came the glint of steel, the slow unfolding of banners, and finally the undeniable shape of an army advancing with purpose.
Ninety thousand soldiers. Two hundred cannons.
They came under the command of General Basim Quaraz, a man known for persistence more than brilliance, and for a willingness to spend men and metal alike if it meant grinding down an enemy.
Within the city, Marshal Lannes stood upon the ramparts and watched them approach.
They waste no time," one of his officers said.
"No," Lannes replied. "Nor shall we."
Behind him, the city bore the scars of its recent capture. The breaches in the walls remained unrepaired, their jagged edges a reminder of how Beirot had fallen. What had once been weaknesses were now reinforced from within, barricaded, fortified, turned into choke points that could be held even if the outer defences failed again.
His force was not large. 32,000 infantrymen. 3,000 cavalrymen. 150 cannons. And 3,000 militia, men who had taken up arms to defend the city they now inhabited under new rule.
Outnumbered, surrounded, and with no immediate hope of reinforcement.
Lannes did not see a disadvantage.
He saw a test. "Double the watches," he ordered. "Every breach is a gate, and every gate must hold."
General Basim Quaraz did not rush.
When his army reached Beirot, he did not throw his men forward in immediate assault. Instead, he studied the city, its damaged walls, its altered defences, the careful work that had been done in the weeks since its fall.
"They expect us to attack quickly," one of his commanders said.
"Yes," Basim replied. "Which is why we will not."
He gestured toward the artillery. "We break them first."
The siege began in earnest on the second day.
Cannons rolled into position, their placement careful, deliberate. Where once the Luxenberg army had stood, now the Sultunate's guns took their place, facing inward toward the same walls they had lost.
When they fired, the sound echoed with a strange familiarity.
Lannes stood unmoved as the first volleys struck.
"They have learned something," he said quietly.
His artillery answered immediately.
The walls of Beirot, though damaged, were no longer unprepared. Guns had been positioned to cover every likely approach, their crews drilled and ready. The return fire came swiftly and precisely, striking at the enemy batteries as they attempted to settle into position.
For a time, the exchange was even.
Then the numbers began to tell. Basim increased the pressure.
More guns were brought forward. New batteries were established under the cover of night. By the fourth day, the bombardment had intensified, the walls shaking under repeated impact.
Inside the city, the strain began to show.
"Section three is taking heavy damage," an officer reported. "The barricades are holding, but not for long."
"Reinforce it," Lannes said. "And rotate the men. No one stands under that fire for more than an hour."
The order was carried out.
Men moved through the city in constant motion, replacing those at the walls, carrying ammunition, hauling water, and extinguishing fires sparked by incoming shots. The militia, though less trained, proved valuable in this, freeing the soldiers to hold the line.
"They fight harder than I expected," one captain remarked.
"They fight for their homes," Lannes replied. "That is reason enough."
On the sixth day, Basim tested the defences.
A probing attack was launched against one of the former breaches, a column of infantry advancing under covering fire, attempting to force a quick entry before the defenders could fully respond.
They were met with prepared resistance.
Lannes had anticipated the move.
"Hold fire," he told the men at the barricade as the attackers approached. "Let them come closer."
The enemy advanced, climbing over broken stone, their formation tightening as they neared the opening.
"Now," Lannes said.
The volley was devastating.
At close range, the defenders fired into the packed column, cutting it apart in moments. Survivors stumbled back under a second volley, their advance shattered before it could truly begin.
From the walls, Lannes watched them retreat. "They test," he said. "They will test again."
They did.
Over the next few days, Basim launched repeated assaults, each one probing a different section of the defences. None were full-scale attacks. Each was meant to find weakness, to stretch the defenders, to force them to reveal where they could be broken.
Lannes answered each in turn. "Shift the reserves," he ordered constantly. "Never let them see where we are thin."
The defenders moved like a living thing, reinforcing one point, then another, always just enough to hold. But the cost was growing.
By the end of the second week, the situation had worsened.
The bombardment had not ceased. The walls, already damaged, were beginning to fail again. Sections collapsed under sustained fire, forcing the defenders to fall back to inner barricades.
Casualties mounted.
"Half the western guns are out of action," an artillery officer reported. "We cannot maintain full return fire."
"Then we maintain what we can," Lannes replied.
He did not allow despair to take hold. "They have more men," he told his officers. "More guns. That does not mean they have more endurance."
Outside the walls, Basim grew impatient.
"They should have broken by now," one of his generals said.
"They have not," Basim replied.
He looked toward the city, where smoke rose in thin columns, where the defenders still answered every shot.
"They are led well." He paused, then nodded. "Then we end it."
The third week began with escalation.
Basim ordered a full bombardment, every available gun brought to bear on the weakened sections of the wall. Day and night, the cannons fired, their thunder unending. Within Beirot, the defenders braced.
"This is it," one officer said.
Lannes nodded. "Yes," he said. "Now we see who breaks first."
On the fourth day of the third week, the wall gave way.
A section already weakened collapsed under the sustained fire, opening a breach wide enough for an army to pass.
"Positions!" Lannes shouted.
Men rushed to the inner defences, forming lines behind barricades, muskets loaded, bayonets fixed. The militia took their place alongside them, faces pale but determined.
Outside, Basim raised his hand.
"Advance."
The final battle for Beirot had begun.