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Two days later, the orcs finished a second trebuchet. The first brought the wall below 1,200 structural points. The trebuchet’s rate of fire slowed significantly at night, when shadows complicated carrying and loading rocks from the river. They aimed at the same section of the wall. At this rate, they would breach the castle walls in four days.
I considered making sorties to wear down their morale and slow their progress, but our scouting reports described hundreds of orcs scouring the banks for stones. The Orga stretched miles from the crossing at Iremont to our settlement. I didn’t possess enough firepower to slow down their supply chain. Shutting down a stone’s retrieval left 99 percent of the banks unguarded, and the enemy worked around the clock.
Even I had to admit that the orcs showed remarkable grit. They slept in bedrolls on the open meadow. Only the emperor, generals, and dignitaries used the tents clustered along the tree line. When it rained, they didn’t shelter beneath the trees or occupy the vacant buildings around town—they slept, ate, and worked during the downpour.
I spied on casters encircling the enemy’s construction projects with my Eagle Eyes. They gesticulated Detect Magic and Detect Stealth to sniff out saboteurs. Their vigilance maintained a constant defensive perimeter around each site, searching frequently at unpredictable intervals. Their watch foiled thoughts of sneaking out of the castle and disrupting their undertakings.
Scores of campfires, bonfires, and barbeques peppered the meadow, burning night and day. Faint hammering and occasional chants carried across town. The construction projects intended for our demise took shape outside the castle walls.
One evening, I dropped from the parapets and charged the siege towers. Drums sounded before I made it to the nearest tower. Avoid Ammo deflected missiles and dumping mana into my Mana Shield staved off melee damage. But they depleted my mana pool faster than I expected. I reached the construction sites with a double Slipstream and tossed Glowing Coals and Earthquake under the towers. The orcs fell on me so fast that I had to invoke Holy Smoke before seeing the results.
When I awoke on the altar, I ran to the parapets.
Eren’s long face told me how ineffectual the attack had been. She’d watched me with the Eagle Eyes. “I’m sorry, sir. Your sortie wasn’t successful.” She handed the eyeglasses to me.
Glowing Coals accomplished nothing but charring the rollers with a thin ash veneer.
Eren shook her head. “The other tower shook but suffered no structural damage.”
My shoulders fell.
News of my failed insurgency dampened morale to 71 percent. The settlement interface still labeled it upbeat, but the mood didn’t feel like it.
Yula brooded on the parapets, and militia members learned to bother her only when necessary. I tried to comfort her, but every attempt ended in gloomy statements. “Waiting for Veegor ees bad. He will use overwhelming force. Many attacks at once.”
“What else can we do?”
Hawkhurst’s commander stared at the various construction sites before answering. “We must wait.”
Unlike clock time chimes, the twin trebuchets worked at inconstant rates of fire. Sometimes, we waited as long as a half-hour passed between thuds, and the irregularity made everyone cringe when a payload shattered against our walls.
Soldiers on the parapets watched the trebuchet. Doing so psychologically prepared them for each impact. The pounding disturbed the animals and unnerved Beaker so much that I dismissed him to spare him from the torment. No corner of the castle found peace from the heavy thuds. The sound even pervaded the austerity of Forren’s temple. The pulse of destruction spared not even the Dark Room, for outside noise carried into the transdimensional space.
I might have thought the sporadic rhythm to be a form of psychological attack, but our scouts in the river reported a greater infrequency of river stones. The enemy showed incredible industry in orchestrating a feed of boulders for their machines. Scouting reports told of impromptu quarries sprouting along streams and rockslides. Orcs cleaved boulders into ammunition-sized masses by measuring their weight—a process that took dozens of engineers. Many teams of the enemy scoured the riverbanks for munition.
Further upstream, teams of canoes repelled our swimmers from venturing beyond the old goblin mine. The shallower and swifter current made spying more treacherous. Orc canoes could move swiftly and intercept our scouts. Yula ordered scouts back to deeper waters, closer to the Hawkhurst region.
The palisade gave the orcs enough lumber to finish two siege towers. They tested rolling them and adjusted their axles until they could move the towers to a brisk walking pace.
My Boulder Bullets would be of no use. The trebuchet stood outside my range, and the flat terrain wouldn’t give the missiles enough hang time to grow enough to cause significant damage. Besides, the enemy could rebuild anything we could destroy.
The army tested the towers’ mobility. By the end of the day, the orcs added another trebuchet. The two dropped our wall by 200 structural points. The volley of basketball-sized rocks rained through the night, ruining everyone’s sleep. Occasionally, the orcs timed the engines for simultaneous fire.
The enemy’s engineers also built a frame and a launch tower to support the zeppelin. Beneath it, a firepit would fill it with hot air. Orcs tethered long lines through pulleys and practiced stretching the canvas.
With the siege towers and zeppelin ready, the orcs only needed to finish breaching our wall so their army could execute all attacks simultaneously. It all depended on how fast the twin trebuchets could reduce our wall’s structural integrity to 0/1500 health points.
Our defenses did not improve during that time. The ballistas lay dormant, awaiting targets. Only the easternmost siege tower would enter its 500-yard range, and the curve of the castle blocked its line of sight once it neared the parapets. By ignoring the gatehouse, the orcs effectively neutered the ballistas’ potential. The iron gatehouse would see no action whatsoever.
Clay pots lined the parapet’s inner walls. Each contained an alchemical combination of sawdust and oil. It contained an inner pot filled with explosive liquid courtesy of my alchemy set. A straw wick fuse ignited the mixture on impact.
The soldiers dispelled my notions of dumping boiling oil on invaders. Oil was too precious a commodity to dump over the wall. They joked we might as well pour molten gold onto the enemy. Instead, they prepared heated sand, which could work its way into the enemy’s armor just as well as any liquid.
We used cranes attached to the towers to haul sand, firewood, sharpened stakes, water, and whatever supplies the guards needed to maintain the watch and defense.
One morning, I heard the distinct squeak of a tower crane under stress. Someone was using it to haul heavy equipment to the parapets.
Citizens murmured to one another as dwarves hoisted a strange burden.
Accompanied by his forge helpers, Rory operated a pulley that raised a stack of giant gongs. They looked like thin metal plates. Fin guided the gongs onto the parapet platform, creating an obstacle for anyone wanting to pass. Beside them stood a row of wooden frames taller than me. They looked big enough to hang the gongs.
Angus found his tongue first. “What in blazing embers is that? Ye reckon to welcome the emperor with a stately clang?”
I shared Angus’s dismay. “Fin, there isn’t room for these up here.”
“Hold off, Guv—wait until we test them. I’ve got Jourdain’s assent to give it a go.”
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Everyone winced when another stone landed against the wall.
Blane and Bernard worked out pegs supporting the hoarding rooftop. Bernard gestured to the woodwork. “Guv, help us work this free. ‘Tis a wee bit tall for us.”
Human guards looked at me for confirmation. I nodded, and they helped them disassemble a section of the hoardings—making enough room to hang half a dozen gongs.
I searched the area for Captain Jourdain and spotted him speaking to Ally in the doorway to the castle’s forge.
By the time they removed the shell and lined up the gongs, breakfast had ended, and missing it put me into a foul mood. I crossed my arms and waited for Fin’s test.
“Where did you even find enough brass to make them?”
Fin corrected me. “Bronze. I melted down the coins you hauled from Malibar. Bronze is soft and doesn’t measure up to iron or steel in battle. But here, it might serve a purpose. See the bonny shine on the surface? We polished it with vinegar.”
Pairs of dwarves positioned themselves on either side of the gong. They retrieved wooden arms and secured them to the sides of the frames. They faced the gongs away from the orcs and spun the frames at an angle to catch the sunlight.”
My jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Faint spotlights flashed across the meadow.
After more adjustments, the hotspots blurred and tightened as they directed them toward the trebuchets.
Fin jumped, clapping his hands. “Three hundred and dozen yards—just as I reckoned!”
My amazed expression prompted him to explain. “Watching them launch stones at us gave me the idea. Blacksmiths use curves called fullers to thin and stretch metal, and the same curve can do all sorts of tricks.”
“Parabolic curves?”
Fin smacked the parapet. “That’s the word. Thrown objects make the same curve. Rory carved the same shape inside his forge to focus heat into one spot. And I got to thinking. If he can reflect heat, why not reflect light?” Fin pointed toward Puros, the pink sun.
I squinted at the trebuchets. The extra light didn’t seem strong enough to do anything but raise the temperature a few degrees. It didn’t seem sufficient to warrant dismantling a section of hoardings. “But will it be enough to see something on fire?”
Fin shrugged. “Hammered if I know. But if it makes them sweat a little, they might slow down.”
Six spots of light brightened the war machine. I put up the Eagle Eyes and watched the orcs shield their eyes.
Yula crossed her arms, unimpressed. “Blinding zem will do no good. Machines are already aimed.”
By the time she said anything, I wavered in my objection. “No, Fin might be onto something. They’re getting hotter.” I shielded my eyes from the sun. “It’s good we have clear weather.”
The orcs operating the trebuchet under the spotlights wiped their brows and looked at the wall in confusion. They stopped operating their equipment and distanced themselves.
I gasped. “Is it really getting that hot?”
The war machine received half a dozen doses of sunlight. In minutes, the rope strands smoldered and smoked. After a few more, they caught fire, and soon, the orcs doused it with buckets of water and sand. The smoking continued despite the fire brigade’s efforts. Flames grew, and the trebuchet collapsed, disassembling into a pyre of burning components.
Fin cupped his hands to his mouth. “Onto the next!”
Six bright spots moved to the second trebuchet as the gong crews gingerly swiveled the frames. Hawkhurst’s militia clapped and called, teasing the enemy once again.
Swiveling the Eagle Eyes to the emperor’s tent at the edge of Hawkhurst Meadow, I caught him in a heated argument with one of his generals. I observed him in case he sent more Fireballs.
When the second trebuchet fell apart, Veegor stormed into his tent.
We’d eliminated one of their three points of entry.
The siege towers stood a little further away. As Fin directed the gongs toward them, the spotlights spread, dimmed, and lost focus.
Fin shook his head. “We cannot direct the mirrors yon the trebuchets. We need a different curve altogether.”
“Can you recalibrate them to hit the siege towers or the balloon?”
“Aye. I’m game for trying. It’ll take a bit of measuring. I’ll pound a new mold and reheat the metal to reshape them properly. It’ll take naught more than a couple of days.”
I grimaced at the news and studied the nearly finished siege towers. If the enemy gave up on trebuchets, the orcs might attack soon. “That’s how long it will take to build more trebuchets. Do we have enough metal to make more mirrors?”
Fin shook his head. “It’s a shame, but I cannot. These are as thin as I can pound ‘em.”
I crossed my arms and watched the trebuchets burn. The mirror operators changed targets. They set piles of equipment and resources ablaze.
Unfortunately, the mirrors proved so effective that a pattern emerged. Everything near the 300-yard mark caught on fire, but nothing else. When the orcs saw this, they moved their gear outside the danger range.
I turned to Fin. “If you can figure out the range of the towers, go ahead and try. I doubt we’ll get as lucky as we were with the trebuchets.”
The smiths disappeared into the forge to make a new mold, and we left the gongs on the wall to harry the enemy. We couldn’t light anything else on fire, but reflecting the sun inhibited their vision.
The emperor’s response to losing the war machines puzzled me. His engineers didn’t rebuild trebuchets, nor did he settle for launching only his siege towers. Instead, the orcs bided their time for a day, accomplishing nothing I could see through my magical binoculars.
Without the uneven countdown of doom banging on Hawkhurst Castle, I summoned Beaker. He still didn’t like the orcs camping outside our walls but knew enough not to approach them. His companionship didn’t settle my nerves or prevent me from dwelling on why the orcs weren’t attacking. I’d already scanned the heavens for upcoming celestial events in the orrery and saw nothing remarkable. We could hold against one breach, but two siege towers would overwhelm us.
On the morning of the following day, word hailed from the walls that enemy engineers were filling the balloon with hot air. The canvas stretched over the thin frame until the air pressure shaped the material into an oblong, aerial assault zeppelin. Beneath it, a basket hung, occupied by a pair of orcs in robes—likely alchemical specialists in charge of handling quicklime.
Drums pounded out rhythms in intermittent bursts.
The army filtered from the forest, gathering in staging areas behind the siege towers. An entire cohort stood by each structure. Warriors donned their armor, tested their weapons, and readied themselves for the assault signal.
More drums rattled off messages to one another. Brassy gongs sounded from the emperor’s base camp.
The bugbears remained in the forest by the imperial tent. Even at 2,000 health apiece, I could pick them apart with hit-and-run tactics, for I knew the territory well.
Groups of more important-looking orcs stayed by the emperor’s tent, guarded by the remnants of the third cohort. Yula had explained that the emperor needed the dignitaries and political bosses to support him, but they weren’t crucial to command. Hundreds of servants and noncombatants attended to them. The emperor kept a strong honor guard nearby, so they weren’t all soft.
Their assaulting troops would need their best healers. If the siege preoccupied them, I considered infiltrating the tent, but the feat would likely end with me invoking Holy Smoke. I’d reappear in the temple at the cost of wasting my unused daily cooldowns.
Uproar almost certainly wasn’t part of the assault—that wasn’t his style. Based on Fabulosa’s description of their encounter, he wasn’t much of a threat in combat. As an elf, he stood more likely to be cut down by enemy troops before meeting me inside the castle. I hadn’t figured out what he planned to do during the siege. He’d been absent from the emperor’s tent for days.
After tattling to the emperor about my sword, it wasn’t clear why Veegor kept Uproar around. A seasoned and savvy ruler wouldn’t trust an elf unless he provided an important role or asset. What value could an outsider add?
I curled my lip at the thought of attacking the emperor’s tent. Pursuing the relic meant abandoning the castle defense, and with their casters spamming Detect Magic and Detect Stealth, I wouldn’t get far before being discovered.
Orcs entered the base of the towers, stood beside them, and pushed from behind. After so many days of inertia, seeing them move felt like my eyes were playing tricks on me. Drums beat behind them in a slow, steady cadence, and enemy laborers lifted their voices in a repetitive chant.
The orcs weren’t the only ones preparing for battle. Mendacium wouldn’t be a game changer in mass combat, but I wanted every edge I could manage. I’d retrieved it from the Dark Room, and all four companies of defenders readied themselves between towers along the wall. We’d known their plans for a while, long before they started moving their siege towers.
Yula’s and Thaxter’s groups prepared themselves for the brunt of the attacks. Delta Company’s seven Alliance Pikes proved themselves to be stalwart defenders. Rolling Merciful Touches could support them from the back ranks for a sustained defense.
Alpha Company needed help, but we could pour significant amounts of missile fire from behind the hoarding’s protection, whereas the orcs inside the towers could not.
We also readied a small crew dedicated to operating the ballistas. They would target the orcs pushing the towers. The longer we could slow their progress, the more damage we could inflict.
Still, a thousand orcs staring us down more than quadrupled our militia numbers. Aside from the meager few who served in the town’s guard or mercenary guild, the orcs were much better fighters.
The town needed me on the parapets.
A clamor from the manor arose, and the door slammed open. Lloyd ran out the door as fast as his spindly legs could, but no one on the battlements could hear what he shouted.
I saw no telltale columns of smoke—at least nothing looked to be on fire.
While Iris commanded the fire brigade, Lloyd agreed to care for his grandchild in the manor and provide a measure of reassurance to the other noncombatants.
Seeing him flee the manor alone gave no portents to what might be the source of his excitement. Still, Lloyd wasn’t one to be easily shaken.
Voices from guards near the gatehouse arose, convincing me something terrible had happened.
I peered over the great hall to Eastshore, looking for smoke or signs of commotion. Yet our eastern banks looked tranquil, abandoned, and boarded like the rest of the town.
A solid concentration of red dots appeared on the interface map at the town’s radius spanning the Orga River. The maps showed a count of over 500 enemies.
Lloyd’s panicked voice reached my ears. “Dreadnought-ho! The orcs have a dreadnought!”
The enemy crewed an ad hoc galleon. They’d festooned the starboard deck with gangplanks, poles, and swings for rapid infiltration. With square-rigged sails, it powered itself, sitting high enough above the waterline to deliver a fourth cohort of orcs behind our defense straight onto Hawkhurst Rock.
Yula hadn’t exaggerated when she said Emperor Veegor believed in redundant attacks.