Siege State

Tom slunk along the eastern trade road, slipping from shadow to shadow. He was struck by deja vu, following the same movements he had made not a week earlier.

A growing sense of trepidation filled him. Last time he had done this, he had made a shocking discovery. He hoped that this time, he would return with less of a burden on his mind.

This trip had taken them less time than the last. There was a simple reason for it: there were less orcs around. Less wandering about, fighting with each other, fucking in the streets that until recently the citizens of Wayrest had called home.

Tom dared to hope that their raids over the past several days had been so successful as to deplete their numbers so noticeably. He knew it was not true. It couldn’t be. They had slaughtered thousands of orcs, but they had tens of thousands more. It made him itch. They could not have just wandered off, or fled. They were being used elsewhere, he was sure of it. The question was, for what?

They were almost at the second ring village they had stopped at on his previous excursion. Tom glanced to his right. A very slight blurring in the air gave away his team mate’s position, though Tom wouldn’t have noticed were he not looking for it.

The blur would be Scriber, following the path set by Tom. He knew two more would be following after the enchanter, cautiously moving from hiding place to hiding place, slowly working their way forwards.

Tom hoped the plan worked. The Lord General had contacted them again a few days ago to deliberate. The stoic general was worried in the extreme about the potential for living siege weapons being thrown at the walls. With the civil war still in full swing, they could not hope to withstand such concentrated power.

Their hand had been forced. They had to deal with the siege orcs quickly, before they could be used as intended. The plan they had come up with was slapdash, but it was the best they had. Tom and Scriber were crucial to it working.

The team of four crept into the second ring village and stole into the house that Tom indicated. He went directly to the catch in the floor, and opened it to admit them. They climbed down, and settled in.

As they readied themselves, Tom knew that the teams of Hunters turned guerilla fighters were similarly readying themselves all around the east side of the Deep. The Lord General had promised that several teams of Watchmen would be assisting as well. He hoped it was enough.

Down in the basement, light blossomed as Scriber activated some enchantments. Their other two team members for this excursion were both ex-soldiers from Tom’s unit, captured during the Reaping.

One had a variety of tanking skills, including a massive tower shield ritual weapon. The other had a handful of healing skills, nowhere near a full Ideal, but good enough for their purposes. Both Idealists had stealth skills of one variety or another, and it was for that reason, mainly, that they had been chosen.

It was imperative that they be able to carry out this plan. It was absolutely critical that they were not stopped or detained or detected. They needed a small party that could travel quickly and specialised in not being seen. Between Scriber’s enchantments and their teammates' stealth skills, they had managed it.

Tom cracked the hatch once the lights came on. He recalled all of Sere’s bodies, bar the one he kept permanently subbed. One by one, the little sparrows flitted into the house and to the hatch, hopping inside past him.

There would be no scouting with them, this time. No ring of sparrows to warn them of any danger. He needed them all for their plan. Without them, he would feel strangely naked. But they had to be absolutely sure it would work. At least he still had Sus and Sol.

The sparrows hopped over to Scriber, who began fitting the birds with tiny harnesses. Once the last had come inside, Tom joined him, helping him fit the small leather contrivances over the little birds’ wings. Next came Scriber’s mice, who were fitted into harnesses as well.

Each of Sere’s harnesses had three leather straps dangling from it, which ended in tiny metal clips. Each of the mices’ harnesses had a matching metal clip on the back. Once all of the birds and mice were fitted, they clipped three to each of Sere’s bodies.

The whole thing took them a surprisingly long time. The tiny creatures were delicate, and so were the tiny harnesses they had to fit them out in. Each had to be adjusted snugly so it didn’t pinch or twist or slip. They checked and double checked each one when they were done. They were ready.

Tom cracked the hatch again, allowing the sparrows out into the late dusk air. They flew out in a steady stream. Three mice hung from each one. Tom sent a prayer to Goddess for their success, then settled back down and made himself as comfortable as he could. Scriber had already done the same.

Tom watched through Sere’s eyes as she flew towards Ren’s Delve, and the mine where the orcs were forging abominations in the dark. Her flight felt strange to him, and Tom could tell she was struggling a little. Even with the strongest weight reducing and stamina enhancing enchantments that Scriber could manage, all crammed into the tiny drake leather harnesses, three mice each was still a big ask for one sparrow to carry.

They had run tests, out in the Deep, and found that, while awkward and ungainly, Sere’s bodies could manage three mice for a long enough distance. The only issue now was whether the attention deflecting enchantments on the harnesses would be sufficient to stop them from being spotted.

They figured the owls could carry more, but would have a higher chance of being spotted. They also didn’t want to put all their eggs in just two baskets, so to speak.

Tom watched through Sere’s eyes, his entire focus, every scrap of attention he had, poured into the birds. He watched as the orc army simmered below him, quieter in the night, but still a long way from calm. None that looked up seemed to notice anything. Still, the tension building in his chest ratcheted higher. The most crucial test was still to come.

Ren’s Delve resolved into view, and the sparrows course adjusted straight for the mine entrance. It yawned black in the darkening night. Orc mining teams still streamed in and out, carrying in food and carrying out rubble. The sparrows flew onwards.

They slowed, judging the best course of approach as they neared. The orcs had been hard at work, and the entrance was much bigger now. That was good; it allowed them to slip in unseen even easier.

The first few sparrows darted in. No orcs paused, no alarm was raised. More sparrows chased the first, then more. The majority wheeled about in the sky, waiting their turn. Every few minutes a couple more of them filtered slowly in.

Sneaky! Stealthy! Hiding! Sneaky! Sere sent him. The stream of messages sounded facetious, but she was focusing with all her might.

By the time the last sparrows had entered with their cargo, the lead sparrows were well into the mine. It narrowed, past the majority of the efforts the orcs had been making to widen the tunnel, but it became darker too.

The first few sparrows reached the cavern. Shadows loomed, throwing bizarre, freakish shapes across the stone. There were several chieftains in the centre again, though whether they were the same ones as last time, Tom could not tell.

He tried his hardest not to focus too long on their creations, and yet he could not help but look. Some sort of morbid curiosity drew his attention.

They were much the same as last time he had seen them. Grotesque and straining, massive and hulking, lying on their stone slabs as the chieftains periodically added more flesh and muscle, blood and bone, to their masses.

The sight threatened to tip Tom’s anxiety into sickness. In the basement, he was vaguely aware of a small gasp coming from Scriber. It was the first time anyone but Tom had seen them. He took a strange comfort in it, that he no longer had to bear the burden of such sights alone.

When half the sparrows had reached the cavern, he spread them out. The sparrows still in the tunnel sought a convenient spot and landed too.

The mice unclipped each other with their tiny, clever hands, and then went to work. The sparrows played lookout, keeping watch for any sign that their industry had been noticed.

The orcs trudged along below in the gloom. None of them noticed the mice etching enchantments into the roof, and walls, and supports. The scratching of their tiny enchanting tools could not be heard over the clap and shuffle of orcs coming and going.

Sere’s bombardment of messages through the bond changed to cheering on the mice. Go! Yes! Scratch the walls! Yes! Good! Yay! Hurry!

Those in the cave spread all around. It was a much, much larger space, and it was why they had devoted fully half the mice to it. They scurried along the base of the walls, etching furiously. When they were done, they grouped into threes, and a sparrow came to meet them. They clipped each other back into their straps, and the sparrows flew them further up the walls.

The cavern was natural, but it had been extended and expanded over time by the miners of Ren’s Delve. The smooth looking adjustments that human Idealists or miners had made only extended so far up the walls. There was no point after a certain height. It meant that the walls, everything above ten feet or so in height, was rough and natural.

In other words, there were plenty of nooks and crannies for the sparrows to land, and the mice to carve. So carve they did, and when they were done, they carried on higher.

After hours of intense focus, the mice in the cavern had made it to the apex of the cave. Being so naturally acrobatic, and wearing their weight reducing harnesses, they could cling to surfaces far past where an unenhanced mouse would fall. The cavern roof was also filled with stalactites, which gained rings of enchantments around their bases, and more near their tips.

The mice in the tunnels worked backwards from where they had landed, scurrying forwards at any opportunity, laying more enchantments everywhere they possibly could. Most of the length of the tunnel entrance had been covered now.

Scriber reached out and placed a gentle hand on Tom’s shoulder, and spoke a quiet word. They were done. Mice gathered back into threes and clipped themselves back into harnesses. All except two.

The sparrows left, slowly working their way back out of the cavern, back out of the tunnel, filtering gradually back into the warm night air. Tom tried not to look at the gargantuan orcs as he left, but he could not stop himself. One last image of giants, half formed, some limbs outrageously big, finished, and others comically small, still to be worked on, filled his mind.

The thoughts chased him out of the mine. He urged Sere to greater speed, pushing her to return home as fast as possible. Soon enough, Tom stood, opening the hatch again to admit them.

Sparrows streamed back in. They were swiftly released from their harnesses, to their great relief, as were the mice. Tom sent reassuring thoughts down the bond. The familiar had done some good work tonight. She had potentially saved Wayrest, with Scriber’s mischief. She returned tiredness and pride back to him. She knew she had done well. She also sent resolve. She knew her work was not done.

Sus and Sol had been stationed outside, keeping watch of the nearby village. Their eyesight was superb, especially in the dark, but there were only two of them. Their superlative sight and hearing could only catch so much. Tom felt a weight lift off him as he cracked the hatch again to let Sere back out to resume her watch.

Mice flowed back into Scriber’s robes. He stood and stretched slightly, though he looked ready to go immediately. Tom felt incredibly drained, mentally, but he supposed the enchanter was both at a much higher tier than him, and used to such extended periods of intense focus from his work.

Their two teammates readied themselves as well. Tom gave them the all clear as Sere spread throughout the village, and they climbed back up, and stole back into the night.

Sere was so tired she almost didn’t realise there was anything wrong for a few seconds longer than usual. But the mass of orcs, packed onto the eastern trade road, spreading out wide into the adjacent villages, were impossible to miss even so. They were moving slowly, and extremely quietly. They were scouring the environment around them.

Fear lanced through Tom. Somehow, the orcs had anticipated them. Somehow, they knew that they would be near here. And they had guessed close enough to make no difference.

They could not get past without discovery. Thousands upon thousands of orcs stood between them and home.