Tales of the Vangen: The Siege of Middengard (Book 2)

Chapter 46: Desperation

(We've lost nearly six hundred men over the course of the siege. Most from the Battle of the Breach, but with every new encounter we find ourselves whittled down little by little. With only fourteen hundred guardsmen left, we have to prepare wisely against the final push. Too hard a charge and it could break us entirely. I wish Captain Dux were here. He'd know what to do. He always seemed to know.)

-Captain-Chronicler Libro, an excerpt from, "The Siege of Middengard."

"Heave! Heave! Put your backs into it!"

The trebuchet groaned as Regis pressed his shoulder into the heavy, wooden frame, teeth gritted as the lumbering war machine moved by half an inch. Cent and Moss cursed and spat beside him, sweat trickling down their temples despite the cool evening weather.

"Heave, damn you!" He dug his heels into the cobbles, snorting as he tried again, muscles straining as they pushed one final time.

"Fecking hells," Cent muttered as the trebuchet finally settled into place. "But I hate this part. And here I thought swinging a sword all day was hard." He bent down, hands on his knees, puffing his rosy cheeks out. "I've a new respect for the lads that have to do this all day."

"Aye," Moss agreed, face still stiff as a stone, but even Regis could see a twinge of color.

Regis groaned as he straightened out, his lower back twinging in protest. "I'm getting too fecking old for this shit."

"What? Fighting or pushing?" Cent asked.

"Both honestly, but as an old friend once said, I'll get my rest when I'm dead. For now, there's still some work to do."

"Your old friend sounds like a stubborn bastard. Did he rub off on you or did you rub off on him?" Cent spat onto the ground and rubbed it out with his boot.

"A little of both I'd say." Regis recalled the times he'd sat by the fire with Dux. They'd bitch and moan for hours, lamenting their woes, their misfortunes, but each night it would end the same. Dux would stand up, piss on about his knees and get right back on the horse, as the term went.

"Still, don't know how effective this type of work is going to be. Middengard's wall looks mighty sturdy for the stones we'll be tossing at it." Cent nodded his head further up the courtyard. "Doubt we'll do little but make their head's ring."

Regis turned and regarded Cent's words. The last wall of the city loomed ahead of them. A literal curtain of gleaming black iron, polished surface scoured of rust, its many towers and krennals like rows of sharp, hungry teeth.

"Better than nothing at all," Moss said with surprising thoughtfulness. "If you can't kill them then at least make their lives difficult."

"Suppose you're right," Cent said, in a way that didn't sound much agreeable at all. "Wish we still had those cannons, though. Damn that mercenary bitch but her toys were quite effective. Why the Captain didn't just kill her and take everything is beyond me."

"We're not all bastards, you know," Regis told him, knowing full well he fit the category perfectly." "Some of us still have their integrity."

"Yeah, well, I'd give up my integrity if it meant never having to push another fecking trebuchet again. Seven hells, I still can't feel my fingers." Cent shook out his hands, rubbing life back into them.

There was a loud crash as the trebuchet beside them suddenly came apart, metal braces crumbling like wet clay as the beams split apart. Men ran in all directions as the counterweight came thundering down, dust kicking up as it impacted against the flagstones. Regis threw a hand up as a spray of grit spat into his face, wind rustling at the loose strands in his hair.