Siege State

Tom sat perfectly still, his attention focused through his birds. Next to him, Val and Rosa sat, waiting patiently.

The Hunters had spent another day readying themselves for battle. It had taken them another three days’ travel, hiking through the lighter outskirts of the Deep, to reach their current position.

The orc army had moved slightly more north to begin their assault. They didn’t know why. They might have detected some minor weakness in the enchantments there, or perhaps it was simply more favourable to them in terms of the logistics of managing such a large host. Certainly, much of the former territory they’d been concentrated in had been ruined by explosions. They might have been concerned about further sabotage.

It left the majority of the orc army almost directly north east of Wayrest. There were forces spread out around the rest of the city, of course, assault forces, and contingents at each of the four gates, but the main orc host was here, before them.

Where previously, the host had been more diffuse, with parties scavenging and looting, gathering resources for the siege and patrolling the Deep, now the Smith appeared to have asserted a firm grip.

The army was condensed. Tom looked upon it via Sus and Sol, the two owls being better for picking out details than Sere.

As close as he could figure, there were one hundred thousand orcs arrayed between them and the city. Perhaps another fifty thousand were spread around the rest of the walls.

The centre of the army was in the middle of the inner ring village closest to the wall, outside the range of surge skills from the Guards manning it. A visible knot had formed there, around the Smith and his chieftains, pulsing, twitching, as he gave commands to his Idealist underlings, and saw them filtered out through the army to be enacted.

Two siege orcs waited nearby him. The massive, hulking creatures simply sat, occasionally swatting irritably at any orcs that strayed too close to them. For the most part, they were given a wide berth. It seemed even the voracious, violent orcs were afraid of the abominations they had forged.

Tom was glad the siege orcs had not been sent into the fray. Not yet, at least. The enchantments on the walls were visible, currently, shimmering in a great curtain as a howling mass of orcs pounded and clawed at it.

Flashes of light, spears of ice, webs of metal, balls of fire and rock, and streaks of blinding, actinic energy, poured down from the battlements into the crush.

Every minute, hundreds of orcs died, vaporised by the multitude of skills hailing down on them. For now, the defenders seemed to be conserving mundane munitions. They could always regenerate mana, after all.

Eventually, the orc morale gave out under the withering fusillade, and they withdrew. Tom watched as the tired Guards on the wall trudged off, and fresh replacements marched out to take their places.

Since the Hunters had arrived and made their way into the second ring village behind the army, Tom had watched this same situation play out multiple times. Sometimes, a squad of Idealists would accompany the assault, shielding the assault group from above and hurling offensive skills into the curtain shield.

At other times, multiple groups would attack all along the same section of the wall, and the defenders would have to spread out. Every time, the orcs had retreated ignominiously, unable to weather the barrage of skills from above. They were holding, for now.

Tom watched the centre of the army carefully. He was unsure why the Smith hadn’t sent the siege orcs against the walls. He was unsure why they were still only committing smaller forces to the assaults, instead of smashing the entire army against the wall. For that matter, he could not understand why the Smith himself had not taken the field. The supreme leader of the orcs surely had powerful skills to use.

Tom watched the siege orcs carefully, kept Sus and Sol’s eyes trained carefully on the centre with the Smith. Sooner or later, they would make a move. It was what the Hunters were waiting for.

As soon as the entire army committed to a proper assault, they would strike. It was a daunting prospect, especially with the bird’s eye view he had. The hundred odd Idealists in their little band seemed woefully insufficient against such overwhelming numbers.

Tom prayed it would be enough. He had endured countless lectures from his father on the principles of the sword, in hopes it would increase his understanding of it enough for him to manifest it. A sword’s cutting edge was slim, its point tiny, but with enough force, striking in the right place, they were deadly.

They hoped to apply the same principle here. A focused strike, directly to the weaker rear of the army, allowing them to thrust through and pierce its heart. If they could destroy the Smith, and his chieftains, the army would fracture and crumble.

As Sus and Sol soared through the air, they could see plumes of smoke from inside Wayrest itself. The civil war was still in full swing, it seemed.

Not an hour ago, the Lord’s blood dragon had dived from a tower where it had been perched, waiting. A distant thump as it impacted a building far below was all he had heard, and he had not seen it since.

Tom was not foolish enough to hope that it had been killed. Dragons were notoriously tough beasts, and a Flawless tier blood dragon familiar would be no exception.

Tom spared a little attention for Rosa, crouched next to him. He squeezed her hand and tried to give her a reassuring grin. She looked nervous, but determined.

He glanced at Val, where she sat beside him, holding Scriber’s enchanted device. She had been charging it for hours. Cub had explained that Scriber had turned all of the enchantments on the device, every one, towards maximum potency, range and capacity. He had not built any in for retaining mana, or recharging it.

It made sense. They would only have one chance with it, one chance to paralyse as many orcs as they possibly could and give themselves a chance to reach the Smith. Every orc they took out of commission was one less they had to kill to reach him. Every ounce of power they could eke from the device counted.

The rest of the Hunters waited, silent, or talking quietly amongst themselves. Every one of them was outfitted with at least enchanted leather, and every one had an enchanted weapon of choice. Every person had a miracle mouse, and stamina and mana replenishing enchantments besides. Many had shielding enchantments, or stealth ones, just as useful in open battles as for infiltration.

His mother and Cub were standing not far off. Both Marget and Cub were coming into battle with them. The thought made Tom sick, but he could not deny her her place. She would potentially save many lives by being available for immediate healing, and if the city fell, then all their efforts were for nothing. They needed every single edge they could muster. They needed her.

That was not to say they had not taken precautions. Everyone recognised the value of a full Healer accompanying them. They had layered her with the best possible armour they could find that Scriber and Cub had made, layered her with as many shield and mana replenishing enchantments as she could carry. She was even better protected than any of their tanks. Tom prayed fervently that she would be fine.

They were ready, one and all. They just needed to pick their moment.

Almost as soon as Tom had thought it, the centre of the army began to twitch. The Smith, a tiny figure far below, began to issue orders. His chieftains, instead of merely passing the orders to subordinates, and from there to the army, began to disperse.

There were six of them that Tom had been able to pick out: the Smith’s chieftains. Back when he and Val had scouted the original encampment, there had been nine of them. Tom assumed they had managed to kill three in the explosions: two in the mines, and one with Scriber’s last stand.

The chieftains were clearly the biggest orcs in the army, only smaller than the Smith himself. If the freed captives were to be believed, only the chieftains and the Smith possessed this twisted Ideal of the Forge. It seemed the Smith had not had time to replace them. Either way, it was a small boon for them.

Four of the chieftains moved to the front of the army, spreading out all along the wall. The other two moved to the rear. The Smith stayed in the centre.

Tom frowned at the two chieftains moving to the rearguard. The Smith would obviously know that they were still out here, and likely be expecting an attack, but only two chieftains seemed low. The majority of the other, larger, Idealist orcs underneath them were moving towards the front too, though a substantial amount were headed for the rear of the army as well.

Tom tried to balance the scales in his head, weighing the approximate amounts of Idealists, factoring in the two chieftains, accounting for the rest of the regular orcs, trying to judge whether the Hunters would be able to break through them, and enact their plan.

He couldn’t tell. The measurements needed were too fine, and his data was too imprecise. He could not see exact numbers, and there was no way to tell how effective the orc Idealists would be in a pitched battle. They had no way of knowing if the device would be fully charged in time, and it seemed the first, full assault on the walls was imminent. If it was not charged enough, it might not have the strength to fully subdue an Idealist orc, even if it could paralyse a regular one. The variables were just too many.

The chieftains reached their intended destinations in the army. They began ordering Idealists around, using them to coordinate the rank and file. The entire army began to surge. Tom could hear the howling from where he sat in the second ring village.

Then the inevitable happened. The siege orcs stood, surprisingly lithe and fluid for creatures so massive, and began to wade forward through the army ahead of them at the shouted command of the Smith.

Tom watched as the bulky forms slowly made their way through their smaller brethren. Each of the two had a passage open ahead of them, the smaller, regular orcs pressing themselves against their fellows to make room. The siege orcs were so large they could easily crush a normal orc underfoot, and any that got in their way were likely to be mangled by a casual backhand. They reached the piles of boulders and logs deposited near the front of the army, and began to arm themselves.

Tom could see the defenders on the wall desperately milling about as they watch the siege orcs approach the front line. The tired shift they had just replaced was called back with urgency. Even more Guards filed onto the wall every minute. They would need every man on deck. Tom thought he could make out the Lord General, clad in his titanic set of plate armour, watching like a metal sentinel of old, as the army adjusted itself like some squirming, questing creature, ready to press itself against the skin of the city.

Tom diverted his attention back to his body. Sesame nuzzled at his hand, picking up on the tension, the adrenaline coursing through him.

He turned to Val. “It’s time.”

She gave him a grim nod, then whisted at the rest of the Hunters. Conversations were immediately dropped. Nervous hands ran over weapons, checking straps and blades that had been checked a hundred times already.

They began to move out, as one. Near one hundred Idealists, captured by orcs, honed to points in the Deep. Born to Wayrest, coming to its defence.

In the distance, the roar of a hundred thousand orcs floated on the wind.