Tales of the Vangen: The Black Ministry's Betrayal (Book 1)

Chapter 6: A Plan With no Substance

Morning came alive with the sounds of groaning wood and screaming stone. Trebuchets of various sizes and calibers whipped and cracked and jolted in a song of pure destruction. Regis watched on as the counterweights swung down fiercely, tipping the firing arms up and over, their payloads soaring. Stones sang through the air in a graceful arc as they collided into the rebel fort over and over and over.

There was something about a proper siege that got the blood pumping good and hot, Regis thought. The sounds. The smells. The utter skill needed  to fling a stone several hundred paces. You could easily kill a man solely with sword or ax, but to crush him under a boulder, well, that was just plain ingenuity.

"Load!" Regis roared over the chaotic din.

Guardsmen moved quickly to pull the crankshafts back, several firing arms reeling back in slow, methodical deliverance. Those not pulling were hauling the next batch of stones to be tossed, grunting and shoving and cursing all the while.

"Release!" Off in the distance, Regis could see Civis standing on a nearby hill.

The man had his sword out, the enchanted piece of metal shining bright despite the gloomy forecast. A troop of Guardsmen raised their flatbows in response and released. The air thrummed as a heavy rain of arrows rose into the sky before descending on the fort like a horde of locusts. Some sank into wet earth, but most were able to soar up and over the shabby palisade, hopefully sinking into a rebel bodies if the Gods were kind.

"Give them no quarter men! Arrow or stone, let these Sons of the Dragon Emperor choose their death today!"

The Guardsmen whooped up a cheer that left Regis swelling with pride. Firing arms were winched back and locked into place. Stones were loaded into their slings. One by one, the flags were raised. 

"Loose!"

And the process began anew. On and on it went, well into the afternoon. By then, the hill had been reduced into nothing more than churned mud, pockmarked with deep round gouges. The rebel fort was in an even worse state. It's outermost palisade was nothing more than fragments  now, barely kept together by its lashings. The walls beyond weren't fairing much better. Here and there, Regis could make out broken timber where his stones had struck the fort. One wall, in particular, had a hole punched clean through it, a nearby tower completely blown off its rafters.

And yet no white flag was raised. No courier was sent bearing a message for parley. The rebels held on, unmoved, sitting firmly upon their muddy hill in their splintered fort, content on being pummeled into a slow, painful death.

"Any luck?" Civis asked, appearing beside Regis. He kept his gaze focused on the fort, eyes glinting with rumination. 

"Not a lick," Regis said, stroking a few fingers through his beard. "I'd wager I'll run out of stones first before they surrender."

"And I arrows. Heard Culter and Nox aren't faring much better."

"Umm?"

"Tried to sneak into the caves to see if it would lead into the fort. The rebels had to collapse the  damn thing just to stop them."

"Any casualties?"

Civis puffed his cheeks. "On both sides, unfortunately. Mostly recruits on our end." He ran a hand over his mouth, fingers digging into flaxen stubble. "Still, they were good men."

Regis kicked at nearby pebble, not knowing what to say. Men die. They all do. Better to die honorably than not at all, and the recruits had done precisely that, but most people didn't seem to share that sympathy. So he continued kicking his rocks and trying to think of something reverent. Luckily he didn't have too. Someone rounded one of the tents, feet slapping in the churned mud  with an odd excitement in their step.