Life in the siege camp was a new experience for Edwin. On one hand, they weren’t marching anywhere or fighting anyone. On the other hand, there seemed to be more work in the day than even the entire division could finish. The camp and the siege outpost needed to be protected around the clock, as well as the surroundings patrolled to make sure they weren’t attacked by surprise. The fortifications for both also needed to first be built and then improved, which meant that at least one or two cohorts were stripped down to their waists and wielding shovels at any time during the day. Finally, the siege outpost and the catapults needed a large quantity of wood and a steady supply of rocks, which had to be sourced from further north, as either the defenders of Artelby or attacking armies had long ago depleted both resources in a wide area around the walls.
Having foreseen this problem, convoys of empty wagons began heading back almost the moment that they arrived at their designated campsite, staffed by logistics section personnel and protected by soldiers and adventurers. The latter were exclusive charged with protective details of all kinds, which gave Edwin some variety at the very least. On one day he joined a patrol, ranging far enough to see the flat, reflective plane of Lake Latimer extend toward the horizon. On another, he stood amongst the wooden spikes that littered the earthen berm of the siege outpost, sneaking curious looks at the engineers and mages that erected impressive siege weaponry out of raw logs just behind him.
If anything surprised him, though it really shouldn’t have, it was the materialists coming into their own. Both the engineer captain and the logistician tasked with retrieving the wood sang their praises in the daily command meetings, as a single mage capable of converting a mana blade could cut down a thick tree in an instant, and even help with loading it up if he was so inclined and willing to spend some additional mana. The outpost with its catapults was seen as an interesting challenge, one to which the mages under Master Gregory took with a fervor.
The space for the catapult was flattened and transmuted into magestone. Load-bearing beams were equally reinforced, making the siege engines sturdier overall and reducing tolerances, which in turn increased their accuracy and the weight they could propel without breaking. The trenches on the outside received a thin coat of a brittle magestone that would either cause an attacker to slip when climbing out, or break like glass into a thousand shards that could pierce trousers and boots.
Whenever Edwin had time, he looked in on Archibald and his colleagues. The ritualism team was locked away in a tent that had been erected next to their wagon, where a large, fairly even but otherwise unassuming rock rested on a wooden pallet. Each time he dropped by, the bands of magesilver runes that were molded directly into the rock had grown, snaking from one side to the other like a spiderweb. It was slow going, as the unique shape of the ritual forced them to double check everything and repeatedly redo entire sections. With a flat ritual, it was fairly easy to keep the spacing between every line and the runes themselves even. With a ball, where it was impossible to see more than half of it at once, it was much harder. Time and time again, Archibald cursed their eagerness to take on this challenge, grumbling that “three-dimensional rituals were a folly better left to the Pioneers”.
Edwin didn’t stay too long there, his fingers itching every time he saw them deviate from the ghostly blue image of perfection that Walter overlayed onto the rock. The Lich’s mana-based mind could perfectly envision any shape, no matter how complex, and project it into Edwin’s vision as clearly as the boulder itself. The Wall Slicer was without a doubt among the most complicated rituals designed by man, but even when he’d been alive, Walter hadn’t been particularly patient with other peoples’ ineptitude, reasonable or not, and compared to the vast glory of the Immortalizer it seemed like it had been designed by an infant.
One habit Edwin had kept up were his nightly strolls. Any time he didn’t have watch himself, he spent an hour or so just walking around the camp, soaking in the sights, sounds, and smells, though he could very well have done without the latter. By now it seemed that everybody had heard of his strange routine, and the patrols always greeted him cheerfully. According to Bordan, some of them had even made something of a game out of it, betting on who, if anyone, would come across him. Edwin didn’t know how he felt about that, but at least he didn’t have to worry about being held up as an intruder.
While his route always differed, the place he always visited last on these outings was the southern wall, the most well-defended part of the entire camp, where the earthen berm was the highest, and partially reinforced with magestone. From up there he could look out over the plains, see the soldiers moving around in the well-lit siege outpost, the never-ending dance of the catapults that threw rocks and burning wood into Artelby at all hours of the day, and in the distance the fortress itself. It was a strange feeling to be close enough to the enemy to see them, close enough that with a small surge of mana he could clearly make out the guards on the wall, standing and walking from one pool of light to the next in a mirror of their own sentries. For some reason he couldn’t get used to looking out towards the foe he would have to fight to the death if they were an closer, then turn around and head back to bed.
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The defenders were mostly content to sit behind their wall and let themselves be pummeled by the catapults. Twice in the first week did they rush out of the gate with a small contingent of soldiers and most of their mages, advancing just far enough that they were within fireball range, only to unload the mages’ entire mana supply toward the Harvand camp in half a minute and retreat long before a counterattack could be mustered. They were impressive shows of arcane power to be sure, painting the sky a fiery orange with several dozen fireballs, but their efforts fell short of the intended outcome. There were two anti-fireball rituals, one each in the outpost and in the camp, and both took to clearing the skies with abandon. The first attack took place during the night, and despite the men that crewed the ritual taking precious long moments to be fully ready, only a single fireball made it through.
It dealt damage, of course, flattening the sleeping area of an entire cohort, setting fire to a number of tents and a cart, but the alarms had been sounded the moment Artelby’s gates opened, and the healers and other mages descended upon the impact site immediately. Dozens of men were wounded, some of them within an inch of their lives, but burns were among the easiest injuries to heal. The division leadership learned from the attack, and the next time the Marradi tried the same stunt, the crews reloading the rituals were ready, allowing not a single spell to fall low enough that the fire threatened the camp.
It still made for breathtaking fireworks show, though, turning the night into day as the spells popped high in the sky, spraying flaming liquid in all directions that burned out within a few seconds. Once it was clear that they weren’t in danger the Harvand forces started to cheer and clap, mockingly thanking their foes for the entertainment. They didn’t try a third time.
After a week, 5th division’s plans were coming to fruition and the day of the attack was drawing close. The Wall Slicer was almost ready, the catapults were ranged in and ready to deliver it, Artelby had been scouted exhaustively from all directions and a number of battle plans had been drawn up. They were only waiting for the finishing touches.
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“Home, sweet home!” Leodin cheered as 9-1 trotted back into their campsite, flicking a finger against the flagpole in passing and heavily sitting down by the firepit, massaging his calves. “Ah, that’s the stuff.”
Another new development of the previous week was the banner. The tailors of the logistics section had done marvelous work, and even Edwin couldn’t help but feel pride to see the green flag fly above their area, the direboar looking positively vicious and the skull in its mouth smiling disconcertingly. He was torn between feeling uncomfortable and extremely amused about how close it looked to Walter himself, that he was effectively flying a banner with his own face on it. Not even the self-proclaimed King Marrad had gone that far. Walter shared his amusement, though not his impulse to procure blue thread and a needle and sneakily add in the eyes.
Edwin chuckled, stabbing the spike of his glaive into the dirt next to his tent and pulling off his helmet to shake out his hair. They’d been on their feet since the early morning, and while he didn’t feel the same fatigue as his friends, he was looking forward to a bit of rest just the same.
“Alright, people, take a load off!” Bordan announced, dropping his gear next to Edwin’s. “I’ll pop over to command and report in, so don’t get naked just yet. Unless we didn’t notice the Marradi encirclement when we got back, I’ll head to log right after to secure us some chow. We’re not the only ones returning right now, so if you don’t want to stand in line for half an hour, be ready to get going by the time I get back, understood?”
Mumbled assent, half-hearted cheers, and some sarcastic clapping answered his promise of hot food, and the adventurers dispersed to put away their weapons and grab their bowls and utensils. Before they actually had a chance to leave, a runner zipped into their camp, shouting before he’d come to a stop.
“Bordan and Edwin? Are Bordan and Edwin here?”
“Yes, that’s us,” Bordan answered, pushing through the other adventurers. “What is it?”
“Emergency command meeting,” the boy said between heavy breaths. “You’re to come to the command tent immediately.”
Edwin shared a worried look with his friend, and Bordan turned to the closest banner officer. “No clue how long this will take, so you go and secure chow.” They left without waiting for an answer, breaking into a jog once they reached the wide path that led to the center of the camp.