Sieges ruined armies. He knew that well. If it were not by steel, arrows, and catapulted stone, it would be by the slow, rot-scented creep of hunger and starvation.
Basil understood that perfectly. Just as he knew that all the Crownless Prince of Oizen had needed to do was show a single ounce of iron spine, and what was now Yarzat's greatest, most dazzling glory would have turned into a catastrophic defeat.
Things could have so easily gone the other way. His father might have been forced to turn his bleeding army around and march home with nothing to show for it, never with a kingly crown on his brow, and never with Oizen in his pocket the fortnight after.
But things had not gone the other way. Cowardice had prevailed in Prince Sorza, and now, Basil had his own grand prize.
