It is said that Cyprian, the first Priest of the Angelus, bound at least two daemons with his faith, and so we celebrate him and ask for his guidance each year when we renew the bindings he set during the Cataclysm. Precisely which two is a matter of some debate, and the church does not like to discuss the specifics.

* François du Lutetia, A History of Narvonne

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12th Day of New Summer’s Moon, 297 AC

Trist’s eyes were gritty from lack of sleep; he’d been woken twice during the night to help fend off assaults on the city walls, once at the north gate and once at the west gate. Each time, he’d sprinted along the parapet to the point where enemy soldiers had snuck across the no man's land between their camp and Rocher de la Garde under cover of darkness, and thrown up ladders. Each time, he’d helped push the assault back, while keeping one eye out for the sparking yellow threads which would signal an opening daemon-gate somewhere in the city. Over the long night, he’d taken four more Tithes, including one for himself.

Whatever Sir Moriaen’s plan was, it did not involve Bathin opening another gate quite yet. Perhaps the death of first Vinea, and then Zepar, had made the enemy commander hesitant to risk further daemons falling to Trist’s blade. If so, he intended to drive the point home on the second day of the siege.

Clarisant rising had woken him. They’d both slept on the second floor of the broken guard tower at the north gate, pressed together on a single cot with a blanket of coarse wool. Each time he’d been roused, he’d left her to rest there, for she would not hear of going to the keep. In the dim gray light of the morning, she sat up on the cot next to him, and took hold of his shoulder to shake him.

“It’s nearly dawn, husband,” Claire murmured. “You should eat something before the day’s fighting.”

“I have been fighting all night,” Trist responded, with a groan. “Once at the west gate, and once here. I feel as if I have only just closed my eyes.”

“Perhaps that is part of their plan,” Claire said, after a moment’s consideration. “To exhaust you. Come and eat, that will help. Father Erasmus should be joining us at dawn.”

Trist rubbed his eyes, and with another groan, sat up and swung his legs down from the cot. He didn’t bother with his armor, leaving on only the padded gambeson and shirt of rings that he’d slept in, but he did belt his longsword on. Claire rose, as well, standing, and together they made their way over to the door, and then down the stairs and out onto the cobblestone street that ran from the north gate, south past the Cathedral of Rahab, and then to the inner keep where much of Claire’s family sheltered.

“My lady!” the priest from the Cathedral called, hurrying toward them with a large pack over his shoulder. “It is a comfort to see you safe,” the middle-aged man said, between huffing for breath. Trist judged him neither used to carrying a heavy pack, nor running even short distances.

“It is a lucky thing that my father made us play all those games in the catacombs,” Claire admitted. “Or I would not be. Any word of Sir Sagramor’s fate?”

The priest shrugged. “Your brother ordered all exits from the catacombs closed and guarded, and locked where possible. So far as I am aware, the knight has not emerged. He must be well and truly lost by now; we may actually need to send a search party down to retrieve him.”

“By tomorrow, he will be weak from lack of food and drink,” Trist suggested. “But if there is much delay past that, we risk finding a corpse.” No matter how convenient that might be, it was not how anyone deserved to be treated.

“I will send word to see to it, Sir Trist,” the priest said. “I know that we met only briefly yesterday. I am Father Erasmus, of the Cathedral of Rahab.”

“It is good to meet you properly, Father,” Trist greeted him. “I trust you have brought everything we asked for?”

“I have,” Erasmus said. “Though nothing like this has been attempted since the Cataclysm, m’lord.”

“Let us hope,” Clarisant remarked, “That it need not be attempted now. If we have guessed wrongly, it will mean the death of a good many fighting men. Now, my brother will be waiting with breakfast. Shall we?”

Trist offered her his arm, and once she had taken it, they led the priest into the undamaged guard tower, and up the stairs to the room that had become Sir Gareth’s command center. There, Gareth, Sir Florent, Dame Etoile, and Sir Lucan sat, just digging into a morning meal.

“Sister,” Gareth said, rising from his seat at their entrance. “I hope you got more sleep than I did.”

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“More than my husband did, at any rate,” Claire remarked, and left Trist’s side to embrace Dame Etoile. “It puts my heart at ease to see you alive and whole,” she told the broad-shouldered blonde knight.

“I understand I have your husband to thank for it,” Etoile said, returning the hug carefully. “And I must beg your forgiveness, Lady Clarisant. I failed to protect you.”

“Nonsense,” Claire said, and Trist stepped in to support her.

“You defeated three men,” he pointed out to Etoile. “When surprised by four. No one could expect any more. If you had not fought like a wildcat, my wife would not have had time to get into the tunnels, and Sagramor would have had enough men to mount a proper search for her. They might well have the Codex, and Lady Clarisant a prisoner as well. I believe everyone here considers your duty fulfilled, and that we are lucky to have you fighting beside us.”

Etoile bowed her head. “Be that as it may. I owe you my life, Exarch. I will endeavor to repay the debt by watching over Lady Clarisant, if you both will permit it.”

“I, personally, would be grateful for it,” Claire said. “Especially as my husband will be in the thick of the fighting today.”

“Which,” Sir Gareth said, “brings us to our plan for the day. Everyone be seated and get something to eat; you are going to need a full belly for what we have planned.” At Gareth’s invitation, they all sat around the long wooden table, slathering thick, freshly churned butter onto bread still warm from the keep’s ovens. Smoked bacon, from the cellars, along with turnips which had been chopped, spiced and fried, and hard-boiled eggs, filled out the meal. Trist poured himself a mug of ale, as well, and began to fill his plate.

“They struck us on three sides yesterday, as well as snuck a group inside the city,” Sir Florent reviewed. “They’ve burned the northern quarter of the city, and hammered our walls all day and then through the night, pausing only to mount two assaults with ladders. While we’ve thrown the enemy back at every turn, and Sir Trist has killed one of the daemons, Sir Moriaen is free to rest his men in shifts, but the constant siege wears on our own soldiers. Worse yet, we’ve lost our docks and most of our fishing boats - as well as the men who crewed them. We had counted on the sea to supplement our stores, and we no longer have that.”

“Thank you, Sir Florent,” Gareth said, after washing a mouthful of bacon down with a gulp of ale. “And thank you, Father Erasmus, for coming. Our plan for this day hinges on you. Sir Trist has given me to understand that as a Priest of the Angelus, you may be able to see such creatures as faeries and daemons.”

“It is so,” Erasmus said, looking up from slicing his bacon neatly. “Rarely called for, since the Cataclysm, but all priests blessed by the Angelus are capable of seeing them as they truly are - not only the Angelus, but the fae and the daemons as well.”

Trist nodded. Claire’s research in the Marian Codex had brought to his mind the time in Falais when Acrasia entered the Church of Saint Abatur, and Father Kramer had recognized her instantly. “And you have found the binding prayers?”

“Less found than unlocked,” Father Erasmus admitted. “We have kept them carefully stored in each church, since the time of the Cataclysm, even copying them over once each century for safekeeping. I have the incense, and all that I need. But I must caution you all that no living priest has attempted to bind a daemon. The most any of us have done is to renew a binding, on the Feast of Saint Veischax each autumn. I cannot guarantee success.”

“We understand that,” Gareth assured him. “Still, with Sir Trist out of position, you will be our only chance of dealing with a daemon, in the event they send one. I will attach two knights to you. It would be more, but we are somewhat spread thin, at the moment. You will watch, from the wall, for one of these monsters to join the assault, or to open a gate. If that happens, the knights escorting you will occupy the monster while you bind it.”

Erasmus frowned, but nodded his head.

“In the meanwhile,” Gareth said, “Sir Lucan has had men scouring the city for boats all night.” He turned to Trist’s cousin. “What have you found?”

“Two rowboats that were not at the docks,” Lucan answered. “And one skiff which only had shredded sails, somehow, after the attack.”

“I had hoped for more than three boats,” Gareth admitted grimly, “But it will have to be enough. We will send them out with fishing nets and lines, just as we did yesterday morning. They will angle apart as they head out to see, as if we are trying to slip one or two of them past by sacrificing the third. With any luck, this will draw out the leviathan.”

“And what then?” Dame Etoile asked. She had missed most of the planning, Trist recalled, recovering from her wounds. If he had not used the Graal Boon, she would have been bedridden for weeks, if she ever recovered at all.

“Then, the Exarch will engage the daemon,” Gareth said, and all eyes turned to Trist.

“I still do not like this plan.” Clarisant, Trist noticed, had gone back for a third helping of bacon. “There will be no one to help him if he gets into trouble out there.”

“That would be true even if I fought it in the city,” Trist assured her, recalling the face of Sir Carados as the man died. “If I fight it on the bay, at least no one else will be close enough to be hurt.”

“And what if you can’t get back?” she insisted, rounding on him. “You could drown out there!”

“That is why the three boats will remain on the water,” her brother joined in. “If they see Sir Trist struggling, they will make every attempt to get to him.”

“We have been over the plan three times,” Trist said, gently, turning from his plate to take his wife by the hand. “It is the best we can do right now, and we need to do something to turn this siege around. Do not worry for me.” Clarisant scowled, but before she could continue, she was interrupted.

Outside, a bell began to ring, and the knights leapt from their seats.

“That will be another volley from the siege engines,” Sir Florent said. “And then likely another attempt with the ladders.”

Gareth nodded. “Sir Lucan, send out your fishermen,” he ordered, and Trist’s cousin ducked out of the room. “Exarch,” he continued. “You killed one daemon for us yesterday. Are you ready to deal with another?”

“Aye,” Trist said, pushing aside his plate. “Let us teach these monsters they cannot come against this city without losing their own.”