Chapter 35

Alistair emerged from the stairwell and stepped into the lively and bustling common room of the inn. The room was a warm and cozy blend of richly stained wood paneling, old timber beams, and sprawling stone hearths that brought a genuine sense of character and antiquity to the historic building. Mismatched chairs, benches, and stools were arranged around the room, each surrounding a collection of rough-hewn wooden tables scarred by years of spilled drink, dagger carvings, and countless patrons.

Thick tapestries adorned the walls, depicting scenes of legendary battles and valiant heroes who had once roamed the land. Sturdy iron chandeliers hung from the vaulted ceiling, housing flickering candles that cast a soft glow over the room, while a well-trodden carpet strewn with hay and rushes covered the cold, flagstone floor beneath.

The tavern's atmosphere was alive with an infectious energy that was almost too insistent for Alistair's weary disposition. The battle-hardened soldiers of Boston and Baltimore filled the room, their voices a cacophony of raucous laughter, heated debate, and the clashing of tankards.

Their attire clearly marked which soldiers hailed from which city; Boston's men wore the navy blue and red, their uniforms refined and austere, while the Baltimore troops were garbed in a vibrant purple and black, their clothing a bold display of ostentation and pride. The ostensible unity between the two factions seemed to hide a seething tension, the prideful suspicions of long-held rivalries simmering just below the surface.

Rather than engaging in polite conversation, the Baltimore commanders occupied themselves with loudly recounting the decisive role their forces had in the recent victory at the Battle of Oxford. Their voices rang with authority, their boisterousness an unabashed declaration that they were the true conquerors and masters of the battlefield. Though these claims were not without merit, their haughty demeanor and lack of humility served to only further intensify the growing rift between the two allied factions.

On the other hand, the more poised and reserved Boston officers sat stiffly in their chairs, their displeasure barely masked by a veneer of civility. The sidelong glances and arched eyebrows betrayed the officers' indignation and unwillingness to acknowledge Baltimore's contributions. Seemingly unaccustomed to being outshone on the battlefield, the men of Boston appeared to be struggling to come to terms with their current predicament. Their rigid, straight-backed demeanor hinted at a brewing storm, signs of an impending crisis that could strike at any moment.

Alistair, perceiving the ungodly hour as nothing short of an affront to his senses, traced his steps into the room, his eyes searching for Pip. He soon spotted his manservant sitting in a dim corner, attempting to blend into the crowd.

"Pip, man, what are you doing without even having arranged breakfast?" Alistair asked, barely concealing his indignation.

Pip, glancing up with flat sarcasm, replied, "Sorry, my Lord, I wasn't to expect you at such a wee hour of the morning. Was my Lord's sleep interrupted?"

Alistair groaned, visibly suffering, and said, "How is one to sleep with this chaos? Do these bastions of their cities not need to re-energize their own minds? A mind such as mine can hardly be expected to operate at full capacity on a mere ten hours of sleep, Pip! I shall suffer today."

Pip nodded sympathetically, his tone dripping with irony. "It is the cross you must carry for your brilliance and dedication, my Lord."

Alistair grumpily took a seat, sighing in resignation. "For the greater good, my boy. Now, must I ask again how long I will need to wait for my tea and eggs?"

Pip stifled an eye roll and approached a serving maid. After a brief exchange, he returned to Alistair and said, "The kitchens are busy, my Lord. There may be a wait involved."

Alistair slumped weakly in his chair, lamenting, "The world has no appreciation for a man of my importance."

Pip added, "Indeed not, my Lord. I believe there has been some extra chaos added by events in New York."

Alistair's eyes, now filled with curiosity despite his misery, turned to Pip. "Events in New York?"

Pip relayed the news, his tone dispassionate. "Yes, my Lord, it appears that King Erik has been assassinated."

Alistair, now fully engaged, bolted forward in his seat. "My God, man, lead with that! Who cares for breakfast? King Erik slain... my God, the implications! Is there speculation on the perpetrator?"

Pip continued, his voice bland and uninterested, "Speculation abounds, my Lord. The assassin wasn't seen, but there are whispers that some saw a winged creature fleeing the tower. Some believe a fiend of some sort killed their liege. More widely, it's held that it was an assassin from the South King."

Alistair's mind raced, probing the situation. "Rumors have been that the two kings were forming a secret pact, to unite and break away from the Empire. It hardly seems likely that this would be the moment for an assassination."

Pip explained further, his tone still disengaged. "As the two sides have been negotiating, there has been much mingling among the nobles of each kingdom. As you know, my Lord, the two kingdoms are compressed upon each other, and many of the lands held between are arbitrarily sided to one king or the other. Belief is that the South saw an opportunity: by removing Erik and allowing his daughter Dania to inherit, the North would weaken. Young and inexperienced, she may be the city's Sword, but she inspires no one. Many of the lords and lands are likely to join the South. It is believed that the South King's attempt to form a pact was nothing more than a pretense to create this very situation, weakening the North terribly and setting the stage for a conflict where the South has a significant advantage."

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Alistair listened intently, his eyes darting as he considered the implications. "It bears all the hallmarks of the long, nuanced, and treacherous relationships between the two. My God, Pip—what are we to do? Cincinnati is in retreat, Brightforge is dead or dying, and Baltimore and the Empire are moving to siege the city. Such rare and momentous events, and yet what's unfolding in New York is just as rare and exciting. For centuries, neither side has held an advantage over the other. We cannot miss the chance to record these events as the stalemate may break. What are we to do—remain here and observe the events or travel east?"

Pip, ever unimpressed, shrugged. "Life is ever a challenge, my Lord. What do you wish of me?"

Alistair hesitated, indecision clouding his face as he weighed his options. Groaning, he said, "I really can't think. Pip, is there really nothing you can do about this interminable delay with my morning meal?"

Pip sighed, bored and weary, and stood to approach the kitchens. "I live to serve, my Lord."

Chapter 36

As Arcstone's Footfield began to dissipate, the feeling was akin to being submerged in water and suddenly emerging into the open air. A weight lifted, and the peculiar sense of time speeding up was replaced by a jarring return to normal movement speed. It took a moment for Nicolas to adjust, his senses overwhelmed by the abrupt shift. He felt as if he had been dragged out of a dream and thrust back into harsh reality.

His gaze shifted to the outer gates of Cincinnati, which led to the low order, low tech portion of the city.

Looking through the gates, he could see streams of people running in panic, their hopelessness and fear etched across their faces. They gathered what little they could carry—food, belongings, injured loved ones—before they ducked into hastily-built hideouts, in the vain hope of finding some safety. Mothers held their children close, the sounds of young screams accompanied by the anguished sobbing of their guardians. Elderly couples clung to one another in their shared fear.

He saw desperate troops and city guards running to reinforce the outer defenses, their faces a tense blend of determination and dread. They braced themselves, preparing barricades and sharpening weapons, praying with every breath that their efforts would be enough to hold the invaders at bay.

Amidst the panic, priests and holy men hurried through the streets offering comfort and guidance, their soothing words of strength and faith barely piercing through the cacophony of panic. Still, they persevered in their attempts to bolster the spirits of the beleaguered populace.

As Nicolas took in the pandemonium, the grim reality of the desperate situation sank in. Cincinnati, once a beacon of stability and prosperity, now teetered on the brink of oblivion, with the shadow of Baltimore's fury threatening to snuff out the light it had worked so hard to maintain.

Bryan came up to Nicolas's shoulder and said, "I don't know how bad our losses were, but the division is worse off than we hoped. We left a lot of bodies behind us, and a lot of the lads who made it back aren't in a fit state to fight."

Nicolas winced, casting his gaze at the 3rd. Every soldier seemed to bear some wound, from bloodied faces under helmets to legs that would surely need to be removed. They had paid a dear price to protect the rest of the army.

Nicolas said, "A siege is coming. The Empire won't take long to make it here with our force out in the field. We need to find out how many divisions made it back, how many are battle-capable. Some might be locked out of the city by enemy movements."

Bryan nodded and said, "It was utter chaos out there when Baltimore showed up. No idea how many properly formed up, how many got a Footfield train with Griidlords, how many were left to march. There'll still be slaughter for those caught unsupported."

Nicolas watched Arcstone marching quickly towards the center of the city to the tower, with the grievously wounded Brightforge in his arms. Looking down, he could see Brightforge's blood trail.

Another Footfield bore down on them - Haldor's field - and winked to a stop nearby, thousands of troops not much better off than the 3rd division appearing. Haldor looked around, seeing Nicolas, and said, "I have to get back out straight away. More troops to be gathered. Baltimore is laying bloody wreckage to the units they can chase down. Your 3rd are the heroes of the hour. Without their sacrifice, we might have nothing left."

Bryan stammered, "Is this it? Do we sue for peace?"

Haldor shook his head and said, "Not an option. The Empire will make an example here. We need to hold out, follow Jorin's plan. If the other cities rise up, then the Empire will have more than it can handle."

Nicolas said, "That's about all that can save us now, with overbearing force pressing on the city."

Haldor said, "We're ready for a siege. We have been since the war started. It's our last resort. Cities are almost never taken by force; the tower is too great a defense. Nicolas, Arcstone will take command once he's done what he can for Brightforge. He'll need help organizing the guns. It might be best if you can get up there once you've organized the 3rd."

Bryan and Nicolas watched Haldor turn abruptly and streak away under Footfield. Nicolas said, "He's putting himself at great risk going alone like that. Hunter must be doing the same. A Griidlord alone is very vulnerable, especially if they encounter suits of a type with an advantage against them."

Bryan asked, "What guns is he talking about?"

Nicolas pointed to the gleaming, glowing metal Tower at the center of the city and said, "The area around the Tower always has Order. You know that."

Bryan, annoyed, said, "Yes."

Nicolas explained, "That means high-order weapons will function there, plus the tower has the ability to extend order around the city as needed. All cities keep a stock of powerful high-order weapons for defense, which is why it's so hard to take a city. Attackers, Griidlords aside, are outside areas of order, restricted to swords and bows. But defending, we can have rifles, cannons, and our Scepter can rain fire safely from the tower. The Empire will besiege, but an assault is very unlikely, far too costly with the tech differential. Instead, they'll wait us out, let us starve. That'll take some time."

Bryan nodded and said, "They didn't teach me any of that in training."

Nicolas slapped his shoulder, attempting to find humor, and said, "You never needed that knowledge. I have no idea how to defend a city myself. I learned to command and maneuver in the field. The next phase of the war is not ours to lead. The 3rd will have some time to heal and re-organize, then await orders on how best to defend the city."

The two men set to work organizing the 3rd, navigating through the chaos and panic that had engulfed the city. The wounded soldiers lay sprawled on the ground, their pained moans and cries for help filling the air. Injured men clung to life, their will to survive evident even as their blood seeped into the ground.

Nicolas and Bryan moved among them, offering words of reassurance and coordinating medical aid for those that could still be saved. As they organized the troops, it was impossible to ignore the widespread sense of anxiety that colored every move, every choice they made.

Meanwhile, the citizens of Cincinnati scurried like frightened mice trying to find any semblance of safety. Families huddled together in their homes, doors bolted shut, while others rushed to join loved ones trapped outside the city's walls. The air was thick with tension, the grief and despair of the people manifesting as a dark cloud that hung oppressively over the city.

Throughout it all, the commanders kept a wary eye on their surroundings, dreading the first appearance of the enemy army. Every sound, every movement in the distance triggered a chill of apprehension that ran down their spines. The specter of their impending doom loomed over the city like the shadow of a bloodthirsty predator, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Nicolas and Bryan urged their soldiers to remain vigilant, even as the thought of the enemy's arrival weighed heavily on their minds. They knew that every passing minute could be the difference between life and death, even if they did not yet know when or how the blow would come.