Siege State

A reverent stillness hung in the air of the chamber. Tom looked to Rosa, and she returned his gaze, her face placid.

Tom was spent. Utterly. Once they had killed the Smith, they still had hours and hours of fighting to break the toughest pockets of orc resistance. They managed, but they were exhausted. They had given everything of themselves to achieve victory.

After they had broken the last orc battalions that had not been dissuaded from fighting even by the death of their general, they had moved on to the rabble. Many orcs, though they had chosen not to fight, had not fled far. The Hunters, Guardsmen, and Watchmen had combined to truly disperse the army, ensuring they would not group up again under some opportunistic leader to assault the city once more. Only once they were sure there was no longer any imminent threat of the city being taken did they relent.

Watchmen, though they had been worked hard since the siege, had been tasked with keeping an eye on the village rings, and ensuring no more orcs began to gather into large groups. The next step would have to come later.

Tom, Rosa and Val found themselves in a schoolroom at the Academy that had been hastily repurposed. It was one of the few institutions that had gotten off relatively lightly throughout the civil war, and certainly the only one remaining that was suitable for the day’s work.

It was a lecture hall, used for new entrants, the biggest classes the Academy had to offer, though it still only had room for perhaps one hundred students. More than enough for their purposes.

Tom, Rosa, and Val sat together, with the other leaders of the Hunter guerillas. All of the leaders had been chosen because they were Hunters prior to the siege. All of them had been exiled by Wayrest, for one reason or another, and had come to its defence, even after all they had endured over the years.

The Lord General Steel, and his surviving brigadiers, sat next to them. It was a statement of sorts, one Tom was curious to see played out.

A group from the Watch sat on the other side of the Guard contingent. Tom could not tell if their Director was present. No one ever really knew their identity for certain, and current events only muddied the waters further. It was entirely likely they had been killed during the siege. Tom assumed the ones in attendance were chosen from among their highest ranking remaining officers.

The third group in attendance were the Administrators from the schools of Wayrest. Tom was glad to see Director Steppenson had survived. He was bracketed by several other prominent figures. Tom recognised a few of them as Instructors from the Academy; others he recognised as being Directors of the regular Wayrest schools.

The Artisans made up the fourth group. Of all the groups there, they were the largest, and seemed to have suffered the least attrition from the siege. Though the Artisans represented Wayrest’s Idealist crafters, their skills were not suited to combat. It made sense that less of them had been killed in action.

The last two groups were tattered and threadbare. The Nobles and the Church had been targeted by the Lord of Blood and his rebels, and had lost a great deal of their members. The ones in attendance were younger, uncertain, thrust into their positions by circumstance.

To Tom’s surprise, his father sat with the Noble contingent. He made no effort to acknowledge, or talk to the man, and he made no move to approach Tom either. Tom didn’t even know whether he knew his wife had been killed.

Archbishop White had been killed on the first day of fighting. An older woman with a hard expression seemed to be the most senior clergy present. Tom watched her as they waited. She was thin, and had eyes that he was sure missed absolutely nothing. And yet, she did not engender the same wariness in him that the old Archbishop had.

Lord Hammer, Lady Stone, and Lord Ember had all been slain as well. The Church and Nobles had been left without leadership, adrift.

Tragically, Lady Gauze, head of the Healers in Wayrest, had been killed as well. A single Healer, a man by the name of Rensdelve, was representing them. Every other Healer was still working overtime trying to stem the flow of death.

Aside from these main groups, several runners stood around the perimeter of the room. It was a suggestion from Director Steppenson. As the first session of the Council after the siege, ad-hoc as it was, he had assumed there would be orders to be carried out immediately.

Everyone was gathered, but the room suffered from a peculiar kind of inertia. No one was sure who should be taking the lead.

Generally, the Speaker for the Council would start the session, but the speaker was dead, the Council Chambers were in ruin, and his staff was buried under tons of rubble.

Eventually, Director Steppenson stood, and waited as the low conversation in the room ebbed and guttered. He cleared his throat quietly.

“Thank you all for coming,” he began. “We come together today to discuss the future of Wayrest. Who has items for the agenda?”

The Director, usually such a strong, decisive person, seemed lost. Everyone knew there was plenty to discuss, and more work to do, but they were also all aware of the scope. Problems so large, so entangled, defied easy beginnings.

No one spoke. Until Rensdelve, the Healer, stood.

“It seems somewhat redundant, but I propose a minute’s silence for our fallen,” he said solemnly. “We should begin the session by remembering those who sacrificed for us.”

He bowed his head. Tom bowed his with him. His heart ached. He had lost his mother, only so recently returned to him. His chest was a complicated boil of emotions. He loved her, but she had walked a path that almost seen that love die. It was only very recently she had made a choice to try and salvage their relationship.

He was sad, but not distraught. He didn’t know whether it was the burden of so much loss, so close together, or whether they had simply not reclaimed enough of their damaged relationship, but he did not feel as overwhelmed by her death as he imagined he should. The thought felt traitorous, unkind.

At the same time, he knew his mother had made her choices. She had chosen to leave their father. She had chosen a more dangerous life in the village rings. When Tom was proved right, and the orc threat was verified, she had chosen once more to help, to place herself in harm’s way.

And at her last, she had chosen to save her son. He felt love and pride for her. He did not think she would want him stricken with grief. He let her sacrifice remind him, by its sudden absence, of the good remaining in the world.

When the minute ended, and a restful susurrus of noise began as people shifted and stirred, Rensdelve addressed them once more.

“The Healers are at capacity. We expect to be for some time. If there are any reserves of mana or health replenishing goods left, we would greatly appreciate them.”

“The Guard had stock remaining,” the Lord General said from his seat. “We will see them delivered in haste.” He beckoned one of the runners over, delivering orders to them in a rushed whisper. The runner took off a moment later.

“We will take an inventory from the families and deliver anything we find,” a middle-aged nobleman said. A representative of the Artisans echoed them, and pledged alchemist and enchanter support for creating new items. Healer Rensdelve nodded in thanks.

There was a lull for a moment, before the Lord General spoke again.

“There are still many thousands of orcs loose around the city. They need to be taken care of.”

The statement seemed to open a floodgate. The competing interests of the city clamoured.

“We need to reelect a proper Council first!” said a noblewoman.

“We need to resettle the village rings,” said an Artisan. “We are full to bursting, and we will need our food supplies up and running again sooner rather than later.”

“We cannot resettle the rings until they’re safe! The villagers won’t leave until the orcs are dead!”

The argument came to a stalemate and stalled. To Tom’s surprise, it was Lord Cutter who broke the silence.

“It seems obvious that clearing the remaining orcs should be our priority. As long as two remain alive in the Deep, there remains the chance for the infestation to flare again. We need to exterminate them.”

There were many nods from around the room. The Lord General spoke.

“We can volunteer some Guards. We will be needed for defence, and many will be needed to help with reconstruction, but we will spare as many as we can.”

Lord Cutter nodded graciously. There was an awkward silence, and the attention in the room fell on the Hunters. They sat quietly for a minute. Eventually, Val gave a small sigh, and stood.

“The Hunters will continue their work. Monsters in the Deep are monsters in the Deep, I’d say.”

“Thank you. I think I speak for all of us when I say how grateful we are for the Hunters. Without you, the city would be utterly lost.

“The stories of the Hunters fighting the enemy in the Deep, sabotaging them, striking at them, have spread throughout the siege. Many of the citizens are… enamoured. I think you will find you have many volunteers.

“I move to rescind the exile of the Hunters. I propose they are established as Wayrest’s external military branch, and given seats on the Council.”

Lord Cutter spoke smoothly. The audience immediately broke into hearty agreement. Tom was only mildly aware of it. The shock of his father speaking on their behalf was too much, let alone the agreement of the highest ranking members of every faction remaining. He had always viewed the Hunters as a stain on the collective honour of the city, an embarrassment best not to be spoken of.

Was this some game he was playing? Rescinding their exile? Seats on the Council? It would change the political landscape of Wayrest forever. Perhaps he hoped that Tom would give him clout with the new faction, allowing him greater sway.

It certainly seemed as though the Cutter house was among the best positioned of the remaining nobles. If his father gained a seat on the Council, and he rescinded their exile, then his heir, Tom, would be legitimised again. If his heir also happened to be extremely well regarded by a new, influential faction in the city…

Fury flared in his gut. This was exactly like his father! Using tragedy to manoeuvre for position. And yet, Tom could not gainsay him. The Hunters, after all they had done, deserved to be welcomed back into the city.

Val spoke. “Thank you. The Hunters gladly accept. As to the Council, it seems the details will take a bit of hammering out. But we’ll hunt down every last orc we can find. And we’ll gladly accept anyone who wants to help.”

“I know several of my Guards who’ll take you up on the offer,” General Steel said.

“Wouldn’t want to step on your toes,” Val told him. Steel shrugged.

“It seems to me,” the old woman from the Church said. “That much of the old structure is broken. I am in the unfortunate position of leading the church, though I’m not certain if Archbishop feels right. No matter, it is the height of folly to throw away good men and women because of their Ideals. As long as I’m in charge of the Church, no one will be exiled. Not purely for their Ideals, anyway. We will find some other way to manage genuine criminals.”

The older woman paused, looking around the room, daring anyone to speak against her proclamation. Several of the clergy behind her looked distinctly unwell. The room laid in absolute silence.

“I propose Val Carver be made leader of the Hunters, and Lord General Steel be made head of Wayrest’s combined military: the Guards, the Watch, and the Hunters, overall.”

Both Val and General Steel looked shocked. Shocked and uncomfortable. Tom grinned at Val. He couldn’t think of a better woman to lead the Hunters into a new era.