Chapter 44

The air hummed with the sheer presence of thousands of men as the armies massed several miles from the besieged city of Cincinnati. On the rolling hills and forest edges, the once tranquil wilderness was transformed into a teeming expanse of military might, a stark and unnatural blot on the verdant landscape.

Empire troops, clad in the striking blues and reds of their uniforms, moved with a disciplined precision. Their ranks of spearmen stood tall and rigid, their polished weapons glinting menacingly under the sun. Cavalry units in their ornate armor lined up beside them, horses snorting and pawing at the ground, eager for the impending charge. The vivid colors of their attire created a sharp contrast against the green and brown hues of the surrounding countryside, marking their presence unmistakably.

Nearby, the troops from Baltimore assembled in their dark blacks and purples, their attire lending them an almost spectral appearance amidst the trees and fields. Their movements were fluid and coordinated, a testament to their rigorous training and the fierce pride they took in their city. The blackened steel of their weapons and armor absorbed the sunlight, casting an ominous aura over their formation.

The two armies, though allies, maintained a palpable distance from each other, a subtle reflection of their underlying rivalries. Each faction organized itself meticulously, far out of range of the city's cannons but close enough to exert an oppressive pressure on the defenders within Cincinnati’s walls.

The effect of these thousands of men on the wilderness was profound. The once serene fields and forests now echoed with the clamor of preparation—commands barked by officers, the clanking of armor, and the rhythmic thud of marching boots. Animals, frightened by the sudden invasion, had fled, leaving the area eerily devoid of wildlife. The grass, once lush and undisturbed, was trampled into the mud, creating vast swathes of churned earth.

Temporary encampments sprawled across the landscape, tents erected hastily to house the soldiers. Campfires dotted the area, thin plumes of smoke rising into the sky and mingling with the scent of cooking food and the sharp tang of metal. Supply wagons formed long, serpentine lines, bringing in provisions and munitions, while blacksmiths set up makeshift forges, their hammers ringing out as they worked tirelessly to keep weapons and armor in fighting condition.

Alistair emerged from his tent in the Empire camp, eying the scene with an air of disgruntled disdain. The Emperor had seen fit to arrange for his presence, seeking a scholar to record the monumental events unfolding. Alistair’s eyes darted around in subdued fury as he took in the bustling camp, its chaotic energy clashing with his need for order.

"Pip! Goddamnit, Pip, where are you, man?" Alistair called, his voice slicing through the morning air.

As he spoke, he spied his weary attendant trudging through the mud toward him, a tray with a teapot and a covered plate held skillfully in his hands. Pip's face was a mask of fatigue, but he maintained his composure.

"For Oracle's sake, Pip, what do you think you're doing, wandering off like that? You know how I don't like waking up in strange places," Alistair snapped, his irritation bubbling over.

Pip, in his flat, unbothered tone, replied, "My apologies, my lord. The cooks have been setting up all morning, and I feared they’d become too occupied with the task of feeding the army to prepare something for you."

Alistair snorted. "Pish posh, I am here at the behest of the Emperor himself. Have no doubt they’d find time for us, my man."

Pip bobbed his head in acknowledgment. "There is an especially large ruckus this morning, my lord. I’m not sure your needs could be attended to at their best in the confusion."

Alistair returned inside the tent, seating himself with a sigh. Softening, he said, "You always have my needs at the front of your mind, Pip. I forget to recognize you for that often enough, but it doesn't go unnoticed."

Pip's tone remained flat as he responded, "That means the world to me, my lord." He placed the tray in front of Alistair and began pouring his tea with practiced ease.

Alistair waited, looking eagerly at the covered plate. When Pip uncovered it, Alistair's expression turned from anticipation to crestfallen disappointment.

"Ooooh, oh," Alistair muttered, his voice tinged with dismay.

Pip sighed, "Yes, I know, my lord."

Alistair looked pained as he turned to Pip. "You know better than to let this happen."

Pip glanced at the plate, more weary than regretful. "My lord, the cooks are an unruly bunch. They pay not nearly enough attention to their tasks, but I must confess I feared for my safety to harangue them further than I did."

Alistair poked the egg yolk with mild revulsion, his face contorting. "But it's not even jiggly. It’s probably hard all the way through."

"I fear so, my lord," Pip replied.

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Alistair leaned over the plate, sniffing apprehensively. "Pip, man, there's no pepper in this!"

"They had none, my lord," Pip said simply.

Alistair was aghast. "Am I to starve?"

Pip's expression did not waver. "My lord owes it to his work to take sustenance."

Alistair closed his eyes, nodding pained. "Of course you're right. As much as it might revolt me, today may be a day of momentous events, and my mind must be functioning. If I am ailing and weak from lack of sup, then I cannot fulfill the duty I am bound to perform."

He began to eat with reluctant determination. Pip, watching him, said, "My lord makes such sacrifices for the greater good."

Chewing, Alistair mumbled, "The world would be a better place if more could learn to understand what it is to sacrifice. Now, man, what’s the news of the camp?"

Pip said, "Talk abounds of New York. The new queen, Dania, has been to Boston to see the Emperor. There are mutterings that she seeks the return of the Behemoth."

Alistair laughed, sipping his tea and arranging more food on his plate with his fork. "Oh, fat chance of that. The Behemoth was removed from New York, as so many other Talismans were taken during conquest, as a way to keep the city subdued. Returning it to them would only be begging them to cause trouble, especially with the recent rumors of their rebellious intents."

Pip nodded, fully aware of this unnecessary lecture. "Indeed, m'lord, I understand that the Emperor is unlikely to fulfill her request."

"What else of New York? The South?" Alistair asked, continuing his breakfast with a surprising lack of distaste for the hard-cooked, pepperless eggs.

"Some say that the death of Erik has broken any possibility of revolt. Dania is far more conservative than her father and intends to yoke in under the Empire. Many say that without the commitment of the North, the South won't attempt to break free on its own," Pip replied.

"And what do the other whispers say?" Alistair prompted, leaning in slightly, his curiosity piqued.

"There are also reports that the South is capitalizing on the weakness in the North. None are inspired at the prospect of Dania leading the North, and I have heard that many of the nobles in the lands between the Towers are aligning themselves with the South. There are even those who say that the South is amassing enough support to move against the North, unite the Towers, and thus present a united front against the Empire in revolt," Pip said, his tone steady and informative.

Alistair chuckled, dripping with condescension. "Oh, there's a fat chance of that. Taking a tower, my word, such silliness. The full might of the Empire is pressing Cincinnati, and there is still little chance they actually take the city, let alone the tower. It does feed the question, though, who sent the assassin that killed King Erik? The Empire seeking to interrupt the planned revolt? The South attempting to achieve exactly what you'd described, a weakened North and nobles rushing to switch sides..."

Pausing from his chewing, Alistair leaned back in his chair and sipped his tea. He mused aloud, "What could Dania have been thinking, hoping to get the Behemoth back?"

Pip, ever ready with information, replied, "Apparently, she promised to use it to bring Cincinnati to its knees, to make quick work of the siege and cement the quick and complete victory the Empire so desperately needs, thus putting pause to the thoughts of rebellion in other cities."

Alistair chuckled, returning to his meal. "And I suppose she has no intent of turning the machine against the Empire, or the South, once the siege here concludes? She has a point, though. The Empire desperately needs a victory here. Just think of the economic cost alone of having so many Griidlords amassed here, patrolling to keep the Cincinnati suits from harassing the army. The Footfield trains that cannot be conducted must be costing an unimaginable toll on trade."

Pip added, "Perhaps that's why they're assembling the Warwolf."

Alistair spat his mouthful of eggs and bread in astonishment. "The Warwolf! Pip, man, are you bloody serious?"

"Yes, m'lord. They're assembling it as we speak."

Alistair stared hard at Pip, detecting a hint of satisfied amusement on the man's face. Overcome with excitement, Alistair scrambled from his chair. "Where, man? Where is it?"

Pip said, "Why, my lord, just behind your tent. Work is progressing as we speak."

Alistair looked witheringly at Pip before rushing for the door. They hurried around the tent, and Alistair whimpered with amazement. He breathed reverently, "The Warwolf."

Pip nodded. "Yes, m'lord."

Alistair gazed at the immense siege engine being assembled before his eyes. Towering over the encampment, the Warwolf was a marvel of engineering, its massive wooden frame bristling with potential energy. Soldiers and engineers swarmed around it, adjusting the mechanisms, preparing the giant trebuchet for action.

"It's like history come to life," Alistair murmured, his voice filled with awe.

The scene was a hive of frenetic activity as men assembled the gargantuan trebuchet, a marvel composed of steel and gigantic carbon tubes. The arm of the machine extended into the distance, seemingly stretching for miles. Its sheer scale dwarfed the surrounding encampment, a testament to the Empire's engineering prowess and determination.

Hundreds of carts bustled to and from the site in a steady stream, delivering parts with precision and efficiency. Teams of laborers, soldiers, and engineers worked in unison, their movements synchronized like the inner workings of a colossal clock. The sounds of hammering, clanking metal, and shouted orders filled the air, creating a symphony of industry.

Alistair moaned with delight, his eyes wide with awe. "Pip, man, do you know what you're seeing? This hasn't been seen in a century! I assumed it had been sold for materials long ago. What a treasure! In this age of utter ignorance, when all these barbarians seem to think that history dawned with the day Padraig Dragonheart summoned the first tower, one feels like the eons that came before have been forgotten. But someone was very clever in naming this beast, for the first Warwolf was a siege machine built by an ancient king, Edward Longshanks. It was then the greatest device of its kind ever conceived, though of course that first incarnation pales in the face of this."

Pip, uninterested, merely said, "Yes, m'lord."

Alistair turned to him, exasperated. "My god, man, summon some enthusiasm for once in your life! This is truly a moment of history. Fetch my Griidnomicon. I must start writing at once. To think, my god, to think, we nearly went to New York. What a waste that would have been. Oh Pip, the Warwolf! Well, I suppose the Emperor had a trick up his sleeve after all. If this is employed, then there won't be a Cincinnati at all in a few days."