SIEGE

Day 5

1

The castle defenders were roused already well before the usual hour by an unusual commotion unfolding in the front yard. The new day was still but a deep blue phantom of itself when the guardians blew their whistles and severed short the uneasy slumber of the resting watch.

The first thought to occur to them at that piercing sound was naturally the worst. The enemy had launched their long-anticipated offensive and the strength of the company would be put to the test. Sandman’s spell broken in a blink, everyone donned their combat wear and rushed outside as fast as they were able, their hearts racing, dread in their bosom.

But no scene of massacre awaited them.

At first, it was highly difficult to tell what was going on only by looking, but the cause of the alarm proved soon to be a purely domestic affair.

Under Colonel Foulton’s command, the Langorian knights had seized control of the courtyard before the main entrance, and had taken over the essential floors of the towering gatehouse in a nearly bloodless revolt. To their boundless dismay, the defenders found themselves outnumbered. In addition to the thirty Langorians who had followed Foulton from the Firras garrison, several squads’ worth of Imperial troops were among them, saddling horses, or holding their confused compatriots at a distance with their bows and blades. In the confusion and twilight, it was a challenge to tell who was a traitor and who was not, which hindered any attempts to fight back.

The arrival of the commanding staff did little to change the one-sided situation.

Miragrave sought out the Langorian officer, who oversaw the preparations on horseback in the middle of the yard and went to approach him heedless of any danger.

“Mind explaining yourself, Colonel?” she icily demanded.

“As you can see,” Foulton answered her. “We’re leaving.”

A knight waved at them from the barbican above. “The bridge is clear! No sign of the enemy!”

“Isn’t this a surprise?” Foulton commented with heavy irony. “One might think there was never anything out there. Open the gate!”

Levers were turned. The low grinding of wheels carried along the cobbled earth, great chains tightened, and the gate began to split. Through the widening crack, the misty morning view of the city fell through.

“You’ll doom us all,” the Marshal told Foulton.

“I’m saving our asses,” he said.

One of the rebelling Imperial officers brought his horse over.

“Please understand!” he appealed to the commander. “It’d be madness to stay here any longer! We’re not going to last, a way out has to be found! This is the best chance we’re ever going to get. The more of us go, the easier it will be to penetrate the siege. Please, have the rest of the force join us and we’ll all ride together!”

The Marshal disregarded the argument completely. Subordinates had no place making such requests and it was the officers’ duty not to hear them. Then, General Monterey stepped forward to address all of the imperial forces in the yard in his booming voice,

“Understand that what you’re about to engage in is in violation of your orders, the very oath you swore when you entered service. A treason of the highest degree, betrayal of your comrades and her majesty, the Empress! Success will not change this! Even should you return from your venture alive, you will be afterwards tried and convicted according to the Imperial Law! There will be no clemency! I give you all one final chance: return to your posts immediately and we will overlook your transgression this once! Else...Death take you!”

Hearing this, a few men repented, discreetly separated from the departees, and took their horses back to the stable. But most of the lot turned a deaf ear to the General’s ultimatum and got ready to ride out. They had made their choice, aware of the consequences.

“It’s not for ourselves that we do this!” the Imperial captain responded. “But for our country and the Sovereign! We will accept whatever punishment our actions deserve after we come back and this nightmare is over. Please, your majesty, if you have it in your heart—pray for our souls!”

Yuliana had followed the events pale and shaken from the Marshal’s shadow; true to word, like one witnessing an endless nightmare. At the captain’s look, she stirred, remembered herself and took a quick step forward.

“Please stop this!” she pleaded with the rider in anguish. “You’re not going to make it! Please…! Don’t throw your lives away, there will be another way...”

But words alone wouldn’t change their minds. The knight heeded her no more. An apologetic look on his face, he nodded at the Empress, closed his visor, and turned his horse towards the opening gate.

Even slightly parting the entrance could bring about their end, if the enemy was alert...How could the fiends not hear the noise, the groaning of metal which echoed along the cliffs miles away, like the bellowing of an awakened dragon? But the emerging bridge lay clear and empty for all its length, and clear was the city entrance across the gorge. Nothing moved on the walls on the other side. The day dawned quiet and somber, the skies clear.

No obstacle kept the mutineers from riding to meet their fate. Their hope greatly reinvigorated by the view, the haphazard mass of riders began to line up.

“Foulton!” Miragrave called the Langorian, her voice hard as stone and about as warm. “I told you this on day one! Go through those gates, and they will not open for you ever again. Do not forget!”

The Colonel received her words with a look of annoyance, but ultimately chose to leave them without a response.

“We will return in four days’ time to liberate the city,” he said instead to the General. “Do what you can to hold till then.”

He urged his horse on, left the Imperials, and moved past the line to take the lead point.

General Monterey leaned towards Miragrave and whispered in her ear,

“The Praetorians are in position. We can suppress them here.”

Miragrave turned around to the main building, as if to make sure no one could attempt to read from her lips, as unlikely as it was in the limited light.

“Stand down.”

Pausing, perhaps taking this as a sign of uncharacteristic compassion, the General turned to signal with his hand at the bowmen on the walls to hold fire. Meanwhile, Miragrave took Yuliana’s arm and left to escort the reluctant sovereign back inside.

“Come. It’s not safe here.” On the way, she made eye contact with Carmelia, who stood a short distance away on the castle stairs. “Can I leave this to you? See nothing slips through.”

The Court Wizard replied with a solemn nod and they went past her into the building.

The portcullis was raised just by enough to allow the riders to pass under it without hitting their helmets. The two grand halves of the main gate were now fully divided and, wasting no more time, the insurgents began to pour out onto the drawbridge and down the castle street. A light, milky mist coiled at the foot of the houses of Walhollem and not one gull was there to watch the knights’ departure, and no daemons either. The rumble of hooves for an accompaniment, the cavalry line vanished one pair after another into the silvery haze that awaited and were gone.

Those left behind watched the ease of the deserters’ passage, and more than a few began to think they had picked poorly. Were they there because of wisdom and loyalty, or only cowardice? What were the leaders thinking?

Maybe the riders could make it, after all?

Maybe help would come?

Maybe life still had a future?

But it was too late for regrets. As soon as the riders were gone, General Monterey ordered the gate closed once more and the mages renewed the sealing wards.

Silence returned to the castle grounds, a silence greatly deepened.

2

The morning meetings had never been particularly cheery occasions. Even though one major source of glumness had been removed from the room in Colonel Foulton, the others felt little easier for his absence. A bad companion was still better than none, and being so heartlessly divorced made no one merry. Words had no power to describe such a sentiment. How to begin to process it?

At last, the General made an effort to interrupt the general apathy.

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“Looking on the bright side,” he said, “they took no supplies worth mentioning with them. Which means, the firewood, provisions, and water we have now should last us well into next week, if sparingly spent.”

“While I personally feel speaking of next week is sheer utopia,” Miragrave added, “this sport we have given them may perhaps sate the daemons for a time. Buy us a day or maybe two. That is certainly something to rejoice for.”

“Rejoice?” Yuliana repeated, raising a brow in open disbelief. “I...I can’t believe you would say that. Almost as if you wanted them to go? We let those people ride out to certain death against better judgment. We might as well have killed them with our own hands. It’s a crime. We are murderers, all of us!”

“No shit, I wanted them out!” the Marshal spitefully replied. “It was only a matter of time before we had a revolt in our hands. This was, by far, the cleanest way to handle it, and I’m actually grateful to the Colonel for making the arrangements.”

“What?” Her majesty’s dismay was only worsened by the response. “But you—you tried to talk him out of it…?”

“Of course I had to act the part,” Miragrave answered. “Had I let him go without any resistance whatsoever, he might’ve grown suspicious and stayed!”

The news that her countrymen had been disposed of with such ruthless calculation struck Yuliana quite unfavorably. She sat back in her chair at a loss for words, and looked ill. The Prince of Luctretz left his chair without a word and walked out of the room.

“My, how fearsome,” Arnwahl remarked further down the table, a smile on his face. “Hearing that, I’m rather glad now that I didn't take the Langorians’ offer.”

“He asked you too?” Izumi commented with some surprise.

“Why, yes, he did. I’d be surprised if there was anyone he didn’t extend an invitation towards, if he judged them even slightly open to adventurous proposals.”

“Right. I’m more surprised you didn’t jump at the opportunity.”

“Goodness me, is that how little you think of me?” Arnwahl replied, his good humor unclouded. “I am still her majesty’s champion first and foremost. The same as yourself. My alignment should therefore go without saying.”

Izumi said nothing.

The same as myself. In other words, you’re a coward too.

Then Carmelia spoke, drawing everyone’s attention.

“Before you get carried away with counting your blessings, I’d like to remind you that the changes in our personnel make the situation that much harder on those who remain. It is only as a group that we may best withstand the psychological pressure the enemy inflicts upon the living. This protection has now become greatly lowered, which necessitates vigilance unlike ever before from each of you.”

“Going by the roll call,” Laukan added, “nearly seventy of our company left with the Langorians. Which means that our military strength right now is reduced to a barely half of what it used to be. Even though many of the civilians have volunteered to join the watch, they are most of them aged and unaccustomed to warfare.”

“Certainly, securing the castle grounds becomes more difficult,” General Monterey said. “We have no choice but to lengthen patrol routes and leave the less essential areas without an active watch. I’ll be honest with you; I don’t like this. There are too many openings to exploit. The men still endure, but in time, we may have to consider abandoning the outer wall entirely. Focus only on holding the main building.”

“We’d embrace death doing so,” Miragrave replied. “Leaving the wall means relinquishing the gate, the water supply, as well as our emergency exit. We’d be trapped here like rats, only waiting to expire. We must hold the wall for as long as we can, even at the expense of forsaking the defense of the castle and the associated buildings.”

“Isn’t that well?” Arnwahl commented. “There should be no chance of the enemy suddenly appearing behind our backs, yes?”

No one dared to answer. The possibility of there being more undiscovered passages connected to the city couldn’t be entirely denied. An remote sewer tunnel, an outhouse hole—even openings inaccessible to humans might not necessarily keep daemons out. And if they were surprised with a sneak attack from the inside, they would certainly be done for.

Everyone fell back into melancholic reflection.

Izumi felt obligated to keep the conversation going.

“Let’s say we lose the wall. What are our options after that?”

“The chapel in the back of the main building,” the Marshal answered. “We will make our last stand there. When it looks like we can’t hold the wall anymore, we’ll evacuate there, starting with the civilians. Then pull our forces into the main building and seal the exits. Our order of retreat from there is: the entrance hall; the throne room; the central corridor; and the chapel last. And that is where we die. Of course, this is assuming the enemy fights us like goblins in nice, orderly hordes, one wave at a time, one area at a time. Which they won’t. They’ll make no move until they know for certain they have us, and when the end comes, it comes in a heartbeat. And all of our plans here and now will be naught but meaningless circles in sand for the raging sea to wash away.”

“…Eh, are you okay?” Izumi asked, alarmed by the woman’s tone, in which no ring of hope or energy whatsoever could be heard, only thickly undulating irony, vitality replaced by pure spite.

“Never fucking better,” Miragrave replied and stood. “The meeting is over. Get back to your stations.”

Under this grim air, the confidants left their seats, to resume another day of quiet anticipation. But as they began to head their respective ways, Miragrave came over and caught Izumi’s shoulder.

“You’re coming with me.”

“Huh?”

Providing no additional details, the Marshal strode towards the exit, evidently expecting the champion to follow. With an anxious frown, Izumi chased after the soldier, wondering if she wasn’t in trouble.

3

The courtyard between the main building and the front gate remained busy as a beehive through the morning, even after the departure of the rebels. Miragrave led Izumi out there and past the working soldiers. On the way to the curtain wall, she began to explain,

“We can’t be sure how Foulton will fare out there. Will his pointless excursion entertain the enemy, or only annoy them? Should worse come to worst, we must be ready for the scenario where the daemons retaliate against the castle in force. Which is why I want you to take a post here. You’ll be under Monterey, just do as he tells you and look sharp.”

“Me?” Izumi repeated in surprise—and unease.

“Yes, you. How many champions do we have?” Miragrave replied as she went on to climb up the stairs to the wall. “Arnwahl has the postern side. I don’t trust that man enough to leave the main gate to him. You will have Master Beuhler for backup, and the main brunt of our remaining force.”

“Wasn’t I supposed to be her majesty’s guard?” Izumi asked.

“De Guillon and Caalan will watch over Yuliana. She’s got nothing to worry about. Your sword goes to waste indoors. The men will feel better knowing a hero stands with them.”

“But, you know I’m as much a hero as I’m a florist, really.”

They reached up to the wall walk, upon the threshold of which Miragrave abruptly paused and spun around, aiming an annoyed look at the woman behind her.

“Is that fear I hear in you?”

“No kidding?” Izumi replied, raising her hands. “I’m not a robot like Mai-chan. Even self-deception has its limits. You should know as well as I do that if those things get onto the wall, not even Superman could peel them off. My chances at it aren’t much better than the next person’s. I’m only a target board up here, a hero or no hero.”

“So?” the Marshal shrugged. “Do you have somewhere better to be?”

“Well—”

“—Would you like to organize our defenses yourself? Perhaps you have more creative ways to handle it, using your fabled otherworldly knowledge? Yes?”

“No, that was not what I was—”

Miragrave gripped the woman’s arm, leaned in and brought her face close right in front of Izumi’s nose.

“You’re the best we have!” she whispered, her eyes sparkling with a desperate will. “Let this be the last I hear such weaseling!”

Izumi bit her lip and fell quiet. They continued on along the battlements to the wide gatehouse balcony and peered through the embrasure to the drawbridge below, and the way to the city.

The castle hadn’t been threatened by an outside force in many centuries, but the old defensive mechanisms were still operational, diligently maintained in the name of tradition. In the later stages of his paranoia, the old king even began several renovation projects to enhance both the wall and the armaments. In the northwestern corner of the yard was even erected a tall construction scaffold, where work to repair the corroded wall had been underway up until the day of the calamity.

In the gatehouse, knights hauled up kegs of oil found from the cellars, to load onto the iron cauldrons installed around the gate, with braziers under them. Upon being brought to the point of boiling, gallons of hot fuel could be discharged onto unsuspecting invaders on the bridge, and surely no one would want to be there.

But rocks, arrows, javelins, oil—whatever deadly traps human minds had conjured over the ages were only minor inconveniences for daemons.

Across the bridge lay the whole of Walhollem, silent as a mausoleum behind her walls, the morning mist persisting on the lifeless streets, which the rising sun dressed in an ethereal, colorless glow.

The air was cold, dry, and crisp. It made one feel uncannily, unnecessarily alive.

“The possibility is slim,” Miragrave spoke, “but we may yet have to fend back mortal aggressors as well.”

“You mean the runaways?”

“If any survive, they are sure to scramble back here for refuge. I wouldn’t put it past the enemy to chase them here just to watch the show. But under no circumstances may we open the gate again. If you see any on our side attempt that, do not hesitate; cut them where they stand.”

Izumi leaned over the edge to look at the tall fortifications that surrounded the way in. “They should know they can’t get through. If even the daemons can’t.”

“Despair may drive man to attempt the impossible,” the Marshal dryly replied, “if he thinks to perceive an illusion of hope therein. Our riders took their share of the Yodith arrows, and there went mages with them. They know about the postern and our patrol routes. If they live, they will attempt it. And even if we know to expect company, they still have ways to inflict losses on our side, when we can ill afford any more.”

“If we let the prodigal kids in, we risk Trojans,” Izumi summed. “And if we fight them, we’ll just play into the enemy’s hand. Nothing but awful choices, as always.”

“There is only one choice,” Miragrave retorted. “Anything that comes within a hundred yards of that gate is to be exterminated, no questions asked. Do we understand one another?”

“…Sure,” Izumi answered with a pause.

“Good. Report to the General when you’re ready.”

Miragrave turned and left to continue her inspection round along the wall.

“Hey,” Izumi called after the Marshal.

The woman stopped and turned half back with an irritable look in her narrowed eyes.

“Try to lighten up a little?” Izumi told her. “I may not be thrilled about this, but I’m not going to run away either. We’re all in this together, okay? All the way.”

Miragrave stared on for a moment.

“You have changed,” she then remarked and went on.