Chapter 37 - Impending Siege

Emeria sat on the walls surrounding the fortress that was Arcaeus Peak, legs hanging over the edge, staring out at the vast expanse before her. She swung her legs to keep them warm, though, her toes were beginning to feel like chunks of ice. A thick cloak hung from her shoulders and was crumpled before her lap. Sharp winds still poked through and chilled her neckline. She brushed aside unbound strands of her hair trying to wrap around her face with a pair of trembling fingers. Fingers that trembled not in cold, but in anticipation. In fear.

Color came to the horizon like the unveiling of of stage curtains, turning from grey to a dark blue to an eventual sky blue. Behind Emeria, two soldiers sat around a square table, sipping from steaming cups and playing a game of cards, pressing down on all of their plays to hold the flimsy paper pieces from flying away. Their last few games ever perhaps. A barrel filled with heavy bolts was next to the table. And a heavy ballista was on the opposite side.

The soldiers grumbled something to her about it not being safe to sit in such a place. Emeria leaned forward. It was close to four storeys down if she were to fall. But that seemed so trivial. Lord Serene had considered having her return to the capital since the roads had been temporarily cleared by Elizia and other horsemen. But that hadn't come to be. Emeria's mother sent messenger birds notifying Lord Serene of riots and rebellion within the city. So was she stuck here, the next safest place in all Xenaria. And an army of Tarmian soldiers expected to arrive sometime during the morning.

Emeria was afraid. Afraid of being held prisoner behind these walls for what the soldiers whispered could be months. She had no close friends left here. Nothing much to do besides spar and read. But she'd read every book in Lord Serene's office already. And no one would be sparring with her now. Everyone was on edge, preparing for a siege. Soldiers from the Ekvatana Outpost had been recalled, and a third of Metsiphon's garrison called up. Supply wagons bearing grains, beans, and dried meats came in every day to keep the vast cellar stores of the fortress stocked. The fortress had some forty thousand mouths to feed, not accounting for all the servants, stablehands, smiths and physics. Emeria had been down to the cellar, amazed at the sheer size of it. But she wondered if even that amount would last the expected months long siege.

She turned around, whipping her legs to the other side of the wall before hopping down. She'd have asked the pair of men to join in on their game had they an extra seat for her. "Cold morning," she said, hoping to strike idle conversation. The wait was only making her more anxious. Her breathing was entirely out of sync and she had an urge to use the restroom despite having skipped any food and drink for the morning. She needed something to occupy herself with.

"We'll see colder ones yet," one of the soldiers said, putting down a pair of double queens on the table, one of spades and the other of hearts. Emeria wondered which game they might be playing.

The other soldier took a sip out of his cup, frowning at the cards in his hand. "I got nothing," the man said and his opponent placed down an ace, emptying his hand and seemingly winning the set. "Your highness should get inside," the soldier said, rising from his seat to stretch. "Wouldn't be good to catch a cold now of all times."

Emeria snorted. "What, I'll catch a cold and you won't?"

"Well, you're frailer. And a girl…" he said, realizing he'd overstepped as she frowned.

"A girl who hardly any soldier in this garrison seems capable of besting in a duel," Emeria retorted, opening her cloak and revealing the thin sword still at her waist. "What do you say to a bout on the walls? Just friendly. You know, to stave off the cold," she finished with an evil grin. She rested a hand on the pommel, tracing the etchings of Azurus' name on the green hilt with her fingers.

"Well, er…" the soldier stammered. He suddenly gasped. "Creator's Ashes," he breathed, staring past Emeria.

She turned to see a dark line on the horizon stretching wide. Every passing second caused it to grow in size and stretch out on the fields below the hill on which the fortress stood. As if a cloud were slowly enveloping the sun. Except the skies were mostly clear.

Thump! Thump! Thump!

Such were the sounds of the approaching army's march, akin to the dreadful heartbeat of some behemoth. The sword at Emeria's side seemed so…thin. Her breath slipped out between her open lips. The ice in her toes had near frozen her legs entirely. She couldn't find the strength to move them. Sure she'd seen thousands of soldiers lined up next to each other. But this was different. The realization of what war truly was sunk in as she stared at the Empire's army.

A small part of her had secretly thought to fight on the walls with face masked behind a helm. How foolish that part of her was. She could already imagine it from all the stories she'd heard from Lady Sar'tara and even Elizia. Clashing of metal, screams of rage and pain, bodies pressed up against each other, blood everywhere. This was no place for her. There would be no duels on this wall. No romantic fights of honor. Just brutality and a struggle to survive till the next day.

Warning bells were rung. The garrison came alive, thousands below scrambling to prepare.

"Open the gates!" someone cried.

Emeria looked over the edge to see a final caravan of supply wagons riding up the incline path leading up to the gates of the wall. It stretched far and curved beyond where she could see. One, two, ten, fifteen…thirty, forty… she counted the large wagons one by one, eyes wide. A harsh wind touched the skin beneath her clothes, siphoning any courage she might have had and shattering any prior thoughts of valor and being equal to her friend. How do you do it, El? This… it's scary.

Suddenly, the thought of sitting huddled in her room didn't seem so bad. She wanted no part of what was to come. Didn't want to hear it or see it. The urge to use the restroom hit her harder and she finally found the strength to use her legs. Emeria scurried off, descending down from the ramparts, skipping past the steps and stumbling to the bottom.

A sea of soldiers lay before her and the castle. Officers shouted orders. Bows and full quivers were handed out and men scrambled to line up on the walls. Others aided in offloading the supply carts. Emeria hurried towards the castle, one hand holding the two ends of her cloak before her chest. No one acknowledged the First Princess' presence. A number of people bumped into her, causing her shoulders to ache halfway through. Everyone's thoughts were occupied elsewhere. Emeria reached the castle, breathing hard. The hammering of metals could still be heard from smithies somewhere inside. They rung in her ears as much as the bell at the gates.

She hurried indoors, walking between two lines of soldiers pouring out. The line disappeared behind her as she got in deeper. A number of soldiers were still inside training rooms or the mess hall. Not every squad had been called to man the walls it seemed. She paused before a stairwell to catch her breath.

"Princess?" a familiar voice called. Lord Serene descended down the steps all dressed in a full suit of polished armor with a shirt of mail beneath it. A silver eagle came to life on his breastplate as he stepped into the light of the braziers hanging at the walls. Emeria had seen him in armor only once before when she was around eight or so. The image was different. Lord Serene had more greying hairs at the sides. His face looked a little worn. Cheeks a little sunk.

"Have you been eating well?" Emeria blurted. She bit her tongue, reprimanding herself for not curtsying and speaking out of line.

"I… yes," the duke said, voice distant. He seemed so tired. "I haven't had much of an appetite recently. I thought you'd be at your quarters. What were you doing outside?" His gaze fell to the blade at her hip. "Your highness, you weren't on the walls were you?" he asked with narrowed eyes.

Emeria turned away. "No." Lord Serene crossed his arms. Emeria chewed on her lower lip. "I won't go back. Promise. I just wanted to see."

"And did you see?"

She nodded slowly.

"And did you imagine what the walls might look like when this siege begins."

"I'm scared," she said, surprised to admit it so easily. All that bravado, all that arrogance and pride at her own sword skills and she only had fear to show for it. What had she been thinking, wanting to go into battle all this time? Wanting to fight and prove… prove what? Sure she was angered by Lady Sar'tara's poisoning. Was upset at these strangers inciting rebellions. Upset at the Empire for their relentless aggression. But anyone could get upset. Anyone could speak words on the matter and claim they would change it if they were out there with weapon and shield in hand. Reality was different and unforgiving. Reality showed Emeria her own dark truth.

Cowardice in the face of adversity.

"As you should be," Lord Serene grumbled. "Fear means you're human. I would be concerned if you weren't afraid. Everyone here is afraid, princess. Afraid of dying and leaving behind tasks unfinished and people unloved. We fight to protect it all. The key is to mold fear into fuel rather than letting it sit and become quicksand beneath your feet. You'll be a fine queen one day."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

She nodded, mute, not buying his words whole.

"Go on and rest in your quarters. Or feel free to swing a training blade. Arcaeus Peak has never before fallen in the centuries that it has stood. I don't imagine our walls collapsing on the very first day. That's one worry you can put out of your head."

Never before fallen in centuries. True. But it had never been besieged before. No foreign army had ever had the chance. Emeria shuffled her feet. Should I ask for it? She met Lord Serene's eyes. So tired. He might need one more than me. "Um, can I get a hug?" she mumbled.

"Mm?"

"Can I get a hug?" she said, louder this time and with a frown, blushing. He was the next best thing she had to a parent right then. How she missed sitting in her father's lap. Lord Serene gave a withered smile as he wrapped his massive arms around her shoulders, pressing her head to his breastplate. "It's cold," Emeria complained, hugging him back.

"Forgive me, your highness."

Amidst all the clamoring, the shouting, the hammering and the bells, somehow, the one clear sound Emeria could make out was the sounds of the marching army still a long distance away from the garrison. A steady sound still matching the beating pump inside her chest. Emeria held Lord Serene tighter as he rustled her hair.

***

Kalin sighed as he watched the royal heir climb up the steps. Poor girl. She'd been relieved to learn that Azurus hadn't in fact slain Lady Roxanne and her family. Had been excited to return to the capital to meet him too, since the roads had been checked over by House Serene's cavalry on their way out of the duchy. But then came news of riots in the capital. That left Kalin wondering after the queen's welfare. He also wondered where it was Sir Draumen had disappeared to.

He stalked off outside to join the archers on the walls. Armed men pressed firm fists to their hearts in salute as he moved through the ranks. He checked over the ballistae despite knowing his soldiers would not be fool enough to neglect their management. The last of the supply wagons came in and soldiers carrying heavy and pointed iron barriers headed out the gates, digging into the dirt path before them and placing the spiked barriers there. They would slow any attempt to carry a battering ram up the path and give archers time to harass any such attempt.

Kalin took a spyglass hanging from his belt and examined the approaching army. A mix of well-armed men, militia, and independent mercenary troupes with flags of their own. He then examined the siege weapons, breathing a sigh of relief when seeing the catapults. A strange thing to be relieved at when knowing those weapons would be hurling massive stones at the walls. But nothing about them seemed out of place. No strange designs.

Kalin had studied siege artillery at length and could measure their strength and range potential through eyes alone. He stood still, staring for a long while, getting a better look the nearer the Tarmian army got. Those boulder throwers didn't have lengthy enough arms to make up for the incline that the garrison was perched on. If they tried approaching closer, they risked damage to return artillery from the walls. The less steep side was not of worry with the Greyscale Lake acting as a natural barrier. The only threat remaining were siege towers. Archers would slow them, but if ordered to push through, they would inevitably reach the walls.

So what options of attack remain then? In the end, it would come down to the resilience of the Empire's forces in comparison to the soldiers of the garrison. Or they surround us and sit still, starving us out. That was the most probable route —one in which Xenaria held an advantage. A long stretched siege through winter would take its toll on the assailing forces. Kalin continued his walk along the wall. Greyscale Lake shimmered beneath the sun. Elizia's captured dromons were still moored there. They would soon be Empire property again.

They could try poisoning our water supply. A tunnel beneath the lake connected to the garrison's interior, providing water. But no. The same lake would be Tarmia's water supply as well. Or would they trying marching back to the Cinder River to attain their water? Not likely. The soldiers would be upset at having to carry water back and forth such a long distance in cold weather. With such a mixed band making up Tarmia's army, maintaining cohesion would be of import or deserters would harry their camp.

Good. All bases were covered. And yet, Kalin felt his muscle fibres twitch.

Fear.

Also good. He was still human. But there was something else there. A different fear. The fear of having failed Sar'tara. Her new home was under threat. At least she wasn't here to see it. But then, would he ever see her smile again?

"Lord Serene, sir, everything is prepared!" a middle aged officer said with a salute. He stood beneath a silver eagle banner fluttering proud, as it should. "The artillery is ready, ammunition for them plenty. All of my battalion are accounted for on this side of the wall. Is there anything else we should do? Should we prepare boiling oil?"

"No," Kalin said, shaking his head. He tried recalling the officer's name. A familiar face but the name was lost. "No need to waste precious oil with winter at our doorstep."

"Yes sir!" he said with raised volume, saluting again with more enthusiasm.

He was on edge, making up for his own fear by seeming ecstatic before his squad. A fine officer. But what's his name, Kalin thought carrying on.

***

Arcaeus Peak. There it lay, not a mile more away, perched atop a hill and basking beneath the sun. Or so Kazir assumed, hands on the reins of his horse. The skin on his bare torso felt warm despite the temperature. He'd been under the sun for a while. And judging by the increased mutterings of the soldiers, he could only assume that he was close now. Very close.

Kazir had seen the fortress before. He had a mental image of it, of its defenses and potential attack points. There were little of those. The siege would be a long one. And scouts reported caravans of supplies pouring into the city day after day.

"That's our commander over there."

"That's Kazir Windsinger? Why's he hunched forward like that?"

"He looks like a decrepit."

"Ain't he blind? You sure we joined the right side?"

"Flames if I know. The cripple's paying us mighty fine. Just sit back and let them farmers do the dying."

Decrepit. Blind. Cripple. Kazir was used to such words. Expected it too from proud mercenaries. And had heard questions time and again from newly recruited militia. He was hunched because there was no reason to sit up. No reason to utilise eyes which no longer worked. And yet, he sat up straight, displaying his carved body that he worked so hard to maintain. Half the insults stopped. The mercenaries snorted, making bets on how long it would take them to beat bloody a blind man, oblivious to the fact that he heard every syllable of every ill spoken word with the clarity of polished glass.

Kazir ignored them. Or so I tell myself. Why was it I sat up straight?

The Scorpion sent after the duke's daughter had yet to return. That could only mean one thing. She'd been sent out along with the cavalry that Kalin was using to quell whatever rebellion breathed fire on Xenaria's tail. That was the best point of attack. Rot their minds and squeeze their hearts. It'd been a while since the assassin had been sent. Kazir expected his man to return with Elizia's head in a box soon enough. And if he didn’t, well, would the duke know better if he were shown a battered head with brown hair mounted on a pike?

The girl was said to be tall. Perhaps selling the lie would be easier if it was an entire body with similar body proportions. The mercenaries had brought with them an assortment of whores to keep entertained during the nights. Undisciplined rats is what they were. But then, somehow, without rigorous training, mercs were particularly good at seizing glory and spreading their feats far and wide. Many named men were among their unholy bands. And many named women no doubt. Killing one would only be necessary if the assassin didn't return with Elizia's head before the year's end.

"Master Kazir, we have arrived," one of his aides whispered. It sounded like shouting to Kazir. Almost everything sounded like shouting. "The soldiers are setting up camp. I will let you know when the command tent has been erected."

Kazir nodded. He had heard the army spreading out and laying camp before he'd been informed of it. And he would know when his own tent was made before anyone told him so.

The grinding wheels of siege engines had come to a halt, awaiting orders to proceed or decide the best possible placement. No need to use them on the first day. No need to rush into combat. Day one didn't need to see any bloodshed. Day one that was. No one said anything about night. Night attacks would do more to hamper morale. Would be more effective in tiring Xenarian soldiers. Kazir had well rested the Empire's forces the day before for that exact purpose. "But you're probably prepared for that aren't you, old friend," he muttered. After all, only about a fifth of Arcaeus Peak's current numbers would be required to man the walls.

"Pardon?" the same aide said, no longer whispering. His voice rung in Kazir's ears.

"Nothing. I'm going to go give the duke a greeting before we surround the fortress."

"A greeting, master?"

"Just something to rile him up and bolster our own spirits. For we'll be needing that in much excess if we're to sit here for winter's ever plentiful duration."

"Should I accompany you and let you know when you're in range of their bows?"

Kazir turned towards the voice and frowned. "I am not so crippled so as to need something like that," he hissed. He felt the man's nod in the silence that followed.

Kazir kicked at his horse and it trotted forward. The clamoring and shouting died behind him as he left the immediate vicinity of his own soldiers. He breathed in the cold air. It carried with it a lingering smell of morning dew, and a fainter one of freshly oiled metals. It carried with it sounds as well. Sounds of a distant eagle flying high above, of banners flapping in the wind, and of mutters and whispers of soldiers on the walls. That's about far enough. Kazir tugged on his horse's rein. He felt it lower its neck and heard its teeth grinding down on dead grass. Its head jerked up as three arrows sank into the ground before it. It let out a whinny, a terribly loud one, and reared back. Kazir tugged hard to force it into obedience. It stopped eventually.

And so hung an eerie silence between him and the walls.

Kazir tilted his head and filled his lungs with air, preparing his ears all the while. "You're there aren't you, Kalin?" he bellowed. "Looking down at me from your higher branch as you've always done. I warned you, didn't I? I told you that you should’ve killed me. And look where you're at now. The first Serene to ever let Arcaeus Peak come under siege!"

Silence.

Flaming bastard. "How's your daughter, I do wonder," Kazir continued, eardrums aching with a horrid ring. "The Huntress. Must be hard, carrying the weight of her mother's name. The weight of all her duties. The weight of all her targets."

Mutters. Good.

"And the crown princess too. I hear she's inside right now. Do give her my regards. Tell her I'll be in there soon enough with a gift most suited of the royal heir. A pair of bloody silver wings to stare at as men have their way with her."

Hisses now. Even better.

"And you, my old friend. How have you been? Is it cold at night without the duchess? Is it lonely? Have you succumbed and lain with whores? None would blame you. There's no reason to keep it a secret. Or… Have you grown so desperate that you forced yourself on Sar'tara's limp body? You said you'd kill me when next I came. Well, here I am! Kill me!"

Silence again. No. There was a sound. A clanking of metal. A loud creak. And constant clicking as if someone were spinning a crank and stretching back a heavy string. The sounds of a ballista being prepped. Kazir's queue to leave. He turned his horse and kicked it to force a gallop.

You're angry aren't you, Kalin. Shame. Shame that words are the only dagger I can plunge into your heart. I wish I could have seen your expression. But I'll settle for the sounds of that ballista instead.