Hanne - Chapter 393 Blood at the Palisade

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Previously...

Wooden Fort

The sharp notes of trumpets sounded outside the fort. Under Izzet Bey's command, the Empire's strongest columns were brought to the front. Among them were the First and Second Columns of the Corps of the Valiant, hardened troops with experience in many wars. Held in reserve until now, they would spearhead the assault, carrying ladders and opening the way for the columns of the Sons of Navalnia behind them.

"They're coming!" a tribesman archer atop one of the towers shouted.

"Lots and lots of them," the Captain on the wall grumbled as his men readied their crossbows. Each man had two or three more crossbows already loaded by the men waiting behind him.

All along the defenses, men crowded the fighting platforms and towers. Boots hammered against the planked walkways until the timbers groaned beneath their weight. Crossbows rose over the palisade, shield straps were checked one last time, and hooked polearms were readied.

Meanwhile, at the center of the fort, Lansius was directing the distribution of another batch of his potion. The night before, he had prepared a strong concentrate of brewed herbs, sugar, salt, and vinegar. A cauldron of boiled water had also been left covered to cool overnight. Now, he mixed the concentrate into the cool water just before serving.

He had also tinkered with the mixture. This batch should be more potent than the last.

Hearing the commotion from the walls, Lansius glanced toward Ocelot and the guards. "Sounds like I poked too large a beehive."

"Or a wasp's nest," the leader of his guards remarked from beside him.

Leaving his aides to deliver the potion to the fighting men, Lansius made his way to the rear of the camp, facing the river. He had ordered the women, children, and most of the camp followers to evacuate. Fishing boats were already lining up to take them across.

On the far bank, a hundred men, along with several small groups of dragoons, waited to escort them. With the Margrave's forces retreating from the area, the lands south of Tergeste were now practically under their control.

Several children called out to Lansius as they were led toward the boats, some waving and trying to get his attention.

"Go on. Follow your fathers and mothers," Lansius told them.

"My Lord, will you remember your promise?" one of the older children asked, a girl whose clear voice carried above the others.

"Of course. I've written down your name and your parents' names," Lansius reassured her.

The children broke into excited chatter.

Lansius simply smiled. Little did they know, he had already decided that summer schooling would become a condition for retaining tax exemptions throughout his domain. He needed his people to learn to read, and he was done asking. He would decree it into law. Farmers whose children failed to attend would lose their tax exemptions and return to paying the normal rate.

Of course, children who could already read would be exempt. The test would be simple. They only had to read a random page from a book.

Three summers. All I ask is three summers.

Lansius was betting that among those millions of children, one might possess the talent needed to usher in a brighter future. This was a different world from his own. It was entirely possible that someone among them could learn to understand, repair, or even invent new magical artifacts like those of the dwarves.

As he watched the third boat pull away from the bank and join the steady stream crossing to the far side, a fresh commotion rose from the towers and walls.

Lansius turned as Ocelot pointed toward the sky. "My Lord, look!"

"Ah, I see it," he remarked.

In the sky, a small airship with yellowed ivory skin was approaching. Aboard were a pilot, his assistant, three passengers, and two orangutans.

“A small one. Hardly much of a reinforcement,” one of his guards commented.

“Perhaps it'll be enough,” Lansius replied.

His guards' eyes widened. "No way. Sir Morton? Francisca?"

"No. They're busy with Sir Omin," Lansius said as he headed toward the center of the camp.

As he made his way there, members of his command staff gathered around him.

"My Lord," they greeted.

"Find the airship a safe place to land and guide them in," Lansius instructed a lieutenant.

"At once." The lieutenant saluted and left with his team to prepare the landing site.

Lansius then turned to the others. "Ask the Captain to come here. I need a messenger sent to the Navalnians, quickly, before they attack."

Unlike the larger airships, this small one was nimble. It flew with a noticeable list to one side, almost as though it were limping through the air, yet it remained fast and surprisingly maneuverable. As it drew closer, Lansius could make out a faint shimmer of magic enveloping the vessel.

As it drew near, someone aboard shouted, "My Lord!"

Lansius recognized the speaker and murmured, "So my squire is safe."

"You've knighted him, My Lord," Ocelot reminded him softly.

"Oh, well. My memory is still jumbled." Lansius chuckled.

Sir Sterling waved from the gondola as the Flying Orangutan descended. Men along the wall immediately pointed him out, and a roar went up.

"Sterling! How are the men in Ostaria?" a man on the wall shouted over the noise. He had a wounded friend who had volunteered to help defend the city.

"They're doing well! The might of the Shogunate has arrived!" Sir Sterling had left Ostaria before the Navalnian siege towers were completed. As far as he knew, the city was as good as saved.

...

The Captain came out on foot beside a half-kin, carrying a flag of parley. They could not afford to open the gate merely to bring out a horse, not with the Navalnian columns already formed for the assault.

"What do you want?" a Navalnian officer shouted from in front of several thousand men already preparing to advance.

"A message," the Captain replied merrily.

"Then speak."

"You're not the usual face I know," the Captain of the Bone Breakers said.

"I am an officer of rank. Deliver your message," the officer insisted.

"And what rank would that be?"

The officer's face tightened. "Goblin's breath! Speak, or I'll force it out of your—"

"Enough." The familiar messenger came forward from behind him, forcing the seething officer to step aside.

Finding the usual messenger, the Captain spoke. "The Lord Shogun, honored be his name and his House, has received reinforcements. You saw the airship. In the spirit of fairness, he asks whether Izzet Bey wishes to reconsider."

"Reinforcements?" the messenger asked. Then he added, "How many?"

The Captain smirked. "Just four. Among them, a woman and a wounded man."

Laughter and loud murmurs broke out along the line of several thousand men.

The officer beside the messenger could no longer hold himself back. "Fucking Imperial subjects! Who the hell do you think you're facing? We have more than twenty thousand men here, the pride of the Empire! And you dare mock us?"

The Captain's answer came back loud enough for those nearby to hear. "I'm just saying, don't make excuses if you lose the battle!"

"Get out! Get out of my sight," the officer snapped, only for the messenger to hold him back.

"That's enough." Then, turning to the Captain, the messenger said, "Go back to your line. The attack is imminent."

"Then I consider the warning delivered and accepted." The Captain laughed as he turned back toward the fort.

He was enjoying this far too much.

"That'll provoke them," the half-kin warned once they were several dozen paces away.

"That's exactly the intention. The Lord wants them mad. Extra mad. So mad they'll rush us blindly."

As the two climbed the wall using a captured ladder, the trumpets for the assault sounded in the distance.

"Wow, they're really in a hurry," the Captain said as his men helped him over the palisade.

"How is it?" his lieutenant asked.

"They're all angry. The fools are coming." The Captain could no longer contain his excitement.

Neither could his men.

"Bone Breakers!" the Captain howled, addressing those on the walls and towers, as well as the reserves below. "They're not the Margrave's bastards who killed two thousand of our recruits, but they're in bed with the traitors."

His men listened intently. In the distance, the enemy columns were already marching toward them, men at the front throwing prepared sacks of earth into the ditch to form crude crossings.

"The Lord gave us just one day. One day! By tomorrow, we won't have another chance to hurt them. So give them pain. Make this a day you'll be proud of. One day your children's children will ask, 'Is it true you killed many Navalnian slavers?' And I'd rather die in shame than answer no!"

Now, the entire fort clamored for war.

Lansius could only watch from below, proud of his men.

As the airship was secured near the rear of the camp, Lansius went to meet those aboard.

"You're a Tedzeus, aren't you?" he asked the pilot.

"Yes, My Lord," came the reply from a slightly tanned man with strong features. He no longer looked like the sheltered son of a wealthy family in Canardia who had joined the Black Bandits simply to gain some battle experience. Behind him stood the two orangutans, one large and one small.

"This is the first time I've seen one," Lansius remarked. His guards had never seen them either.

"They're highly capable," Ted of Tedzeus reported.

"I have no doubt."

First the half-breeds, then ducks, and now orangutans. Are beasts in this world really this intelligent?

Lansius' gaze then turned to a young woman. "Claire, I'm glad you found your husband."

Claire gave a small nod, her lips still slightly pouted. "Yes, My Lord. I brought him as you requested."

From her tone, it was clear that she was still angry that Sterling had intended to die in Ostaria. Sterling, still using a crutch, could only stand straight beside her. He knew better than to argue.

Lansius studied the young woman before him. She had once been a bubbly girl who, even after losing her father and being left an orphan, had remained remarkably chatty. Now she looked sterner than even her sister, likely shaped by her training as a mage and by the wars she had seen.

Letting out a soft sigh, Claire added, "The Lady wished for me to stay by your side and support you, as Chamberlain Ingrid was not available."

Lansius nodded. He could certainly use a mage, and he could sense that Claire was no longer merely a trainee, but a full-fledged one. "Well then, what did you bring for us?"

Claire turned to the pilot, Ted, who gestured to the orangutans.

The two orangutans brought forward a rather large chest made from light wood, the kind the Bank used to store letters and documents. When they opened it, Lord Avery's precious bottles lay inside, nestled in dry straw like bird eggs.

"I can already smell it," one of the guards remarked.

"Pray that we don't need to use it," Lansius replied.

"My Lord," Sir Sterling called, worried that Lansius might not fully understand the Navalnians after his long sleep. "I've seen them from above. It doesn't look favorable. I hope you don't plan to go easy on them. They're not worth your mercy."

"You misunderstand me," Lansius replied. "I don't want to use them if I can avoid it, because I already have enough."

With that, Lansius ordered Sir Sterling to join the reserves to bolster their morale. Lansius himself made his way to a concealed observation post built just behind the palisade. As he walked, he glanced back at the two of them. Claire was helping Sterling along, his gait still unsteady.

Watching Claire now, all grown up, Lansius could not help but feel a hint of guilt. Many years ago, after her father's death, he had promised to treat her as family. But she had married soon after and never truly needed his help.

To Lansius, these two were almost like relatives. Unfortunately, being close to a noble House in this day and age meant becoming entangled in wars and campaigns such as this.

He reached the observation post beneath the fighting walkway, tucked between the thick palisade and the heavy timber supports holding up the platform above. Lansius ducked into the cramped space. From there, he could watch the enemy through concealed openings.

Outside, with thousands of men at their disposal, the Navalnians quickly reinforced the crude crossings they had made the day before, and their columns began to stream across. Trumpets blared as thousands of boots struck the bloodstained ground.

Once the first ranks crossed the second ditch of loose dirt and sand, the answer came from the walls.

"Loose!"

At once, bolts and arrows whistled through the air.

Screams followed as heavy arbalest and windlass bolts punched through shields and struck men dead in their tracks. Despite the barrage, a column of two thousand men rushed with shields raised overhead.

Another column of two thousand followed behind them.

"I have to say, they're more orderly than yesterday," Lansius observed from the hidden post.

"Indeed, My Lord. These are not the same men as yesterday's," Ocelot remarked after peering through one of the concealed viewing holes in the wall.

Lansius could see that Izzet Bey's confidence was not misplaced. He did have elite troops at his disposal.

Thousands of boots pounded across the bloodstained ground, mixed with ragged breathing, shouted orders, and the constant hiss of bolts cutting through the air. Men groaned where they fell. Others screamed as quarrels punched through shields, mail, and flesh. Still the Navalnian columns kept coming.

At last, the first waves reached the base of the fort. Ladders slammed against the palisade with heavy cracks, and men immediately began climbing.

The answer from the defenders was no less violent. Men used hooked poles to push the ladders away from the palisade, while others hacked at the rungs and side rails with axes and heavy blades. They strained to throw whole ladders backward, with the climbers still clinging to them.

But there was a difference this time. Navalnian bowmen had been deployed in force. They loosed rapidly at the defenders on the walls, sending repeated showers of arrows. Many struck men on the fighting platforms. Despite their armor, many defenders were forced to duck or take cover behind their shields. It became harder for them to fight back.

Following close behind, several thousand Navalnians pressed forward in ordered columns, their shields raised overhead. Some carried massive shields to protect their officers and standard-bearers, who shouted commands to keep the attack moving.

Soon, Lansius' concealed post trembled with the fighting. Dust and dirt sifted down from above as men's boots pounded across the platforms while they fought. The timbers groaned under the strain. The young wood they had used was nowhere near as strong as properly seasoned timber.

With only the thick palisade wall separating them from the battle outside, the noise was nearly deafening, filled with shouted orders, curses, and the terrible cries of men on both sides.

"My Lord, how should we proceed?" one of his staff officers asked over the roar.

"Patience," Lansius said. "This is only the first wave."

***

The Battle of the Wooden Fort

The collective grunts, shouts, and cries of thousands of men fighting for their lives filled the air around the wooden fort. Thousands of bolts and arrows had already been loosed, so many that the ground was littered with them. A man could scarcely take a few steps without seeing shafts jutting from the earth or lying broken beneath boots and shields.

Here and there, streams of wounded men staggered back toward the camp. Many had survived falls from the ladders, though with broken bones. A fall from that height was dangerous enough. In armor, it could easily kill.

By now, three hours of brutal fighting had passed. The Navalnians had suffered nearly a thousand dead and at least three times that number wounded.

Believing he had finally worn the defenders down, Izzet Bey sent in his hard-hitting assault troops.

Amid the deafening roar of thousands of men trying to climb and seize the wooden fort, Niketas, a Navalnian nearing thirty and a veteran of battles in Navalnia and Edessa, had just crossed the two ditches with his group. Old scars marked his face.

Niketas waited beneath his shield.

His group had gathered tightly at the foot of the wall, waiting for the one command that mattered.

Their group leader stood among them, his girth making his armor stand out from the others. Though he no longer had an athletic build, Niketas trusted him like an older brother.

"Wait..." their boss told them in a steady voice, almost chanting the words. "Breathe... Stay calm... Wait..."

Around them, men screamed and died. The very group fighting on the wall above was being cut apart. Even so, beneath the shields of Niketas and his brothers, there remained an odd pocket of calm.

They were all brothers to him. Many came from the same town. Some had known one another since childhood.

Only the occasional violent jostling disturbed their calm, or the sudden crash of a man falling from the ladder above. One fell especially close. The poor man came tumbling down with a scream and struck the crowd beside Niketas hard enough to knock several men off their feet.

"Fuck," more than one of them cursed.

The dead were already beginning to pile at the foot of the earthwork.

Seeing the fallen man with his head crushed through the gaps between his brothers bothered Niketas. But not enough to shake him. He did not know the man. Probably one of the fresh levies, he thought.

Battle-hardened men like them did not die so easily. His group was made up of seasoned fighters. Many, like Niketas, had enough money to afford good ringmail instead of mere gambesons. His sword was of excellent quality, his shield was sound, and charms and amulets hung beneath his clothes, where only he could feel them against his skin.

Then their boss suddenly shouted. "Now! Now! Climb!"

As though his voice alone were not enough, he grabbed the man in front by the arm and shoved him toward the ladder.

Nearly ten men had gathered around it. Five held the ladder steady and fought to keep it pressed against the palisade whenever the defenders tried to shove it away. The others crowded close with shields raised, covering the climbers and the men below. Two bowmen loosed arrows toward the fighting platform, giving them what protection they could.

The first man climbed without hesitation. He kept his shield raised over his head with his left arm while his right hand gripped the rungs, forcing himself upward with his legs. Two more followed immediately behind him.

"Go, Brothelman! Pay your lover's debts and bring her home!" someone shouted after the first man.

"Move that fat arse, mussel seller!"

"Go hunt some, Rat-catcher!" another called after the next two.

Even amid the arrows, bolts, and screams of dying men, many in their group laughed. This was routine for them. They had seen plenty of death, but everyone needed the money.

"Scarface, go!" the leader commanded Niketas.

Niketas reached the ladder, gripped an already sticky rung, and hauled himself onto it. His left arm stayed bent high, keeping the shield close over his head and shoulder, while his right hand worked the rungs.

Sweat trickled down from his hair and across his face. He climbed carefully. The men above him were packed close, and one bad step could bring several of them down together.

A heavy blow crashed against his shield. The force drove it into the side of his helmet and twisted his shoulder, while his sweaty right hand nearly slipped from the rung.

"Emperor's nostrils!" Niketas hissed, tightening his grip.

"Breathe!" his group leader shouted from below, already preparing the next group to follow them.

Glancing up, Niketas saw Rat-catcher climbing ahead of him.

Niketas hauled himself up another rung, then two more. Now he could see almost the entire battlefield. His side was being massacred by arrows and bolts that seemed to come without end.

Now fully above the ground, he could hear the screaming more clearly, but his heart had long been blunted by war.

"Aaaah!" a man screamed as he fell from above.

Almost at once, a violent jolt struck Niketas' shield. His sweaty hand nearly slipped from the rung.

"By the Progenitors," he grunted. Someone had fallen from above. A leg slammed against his shield as the man's arms flailed helplessly past him.

Niketas wanted to look down. He knew it had to be Brothelman, who desperately needed money to buy his lover's freedom from the brothel. But another scream came from above.

He looked up just in time to see the burly Mussel-man fall backward from the ladder with an axe buried in his face. Niketas had counted on him and Brothelman to gain a foothold, just as they had the year before.

He caught a glimpse of the defender who had struck him.

"Fuck, I lost my axe!" the man grunted before ducking as arrows streaked toward the wall.

"Keep moving!" the group leader shouted from below, snapping Niketas out of his shock. At the same time, he ordered their bowmen to keep the defenders covered.

Without warning, warm liquid splashed across Niketas' face. Rat-catcher, on the ladder above him, had pissed himself in panic after seeing his friend die.

"Go! Don't you dare giving up. Fight!" Niketas shouted.

This was not going well. Two had already died.

Seeing Rat-catcher still hesitate, Niketas added, "Do you want your family killing rats forever?"

Rat-catcher was only eighteen. He was good with a spear and had already seen three wars. But this day would be his last. Encouraged, he climbed with his shield held tight above his head, his other hand gripping the ladder. Then, in a stroke of bad luck, a polearm crashed down against the shield mid-climb. The heavy blow tore his grip loose from the thick, slippery rung.

The young man fell backward, clawing at the ladder as he went. He saw Niketas. Their eyes met.

Rat-catcher's face seemed to beg him for help, but before any words could come out, before Niketas could even reach for him, he was already falling. He crashed to the ground below.

Niketas heard the boss curse from beneath the ladder.

Now it was Niketas' turn.

He climbed three rungs, but knowing the reach of a poleaxe, he kept himself pressed close to the ladder. His left arm held his shield high, while his left hand gripped a rung for balance. With his right hand, he drew his blade.

"Wait for an opening," his friend below shouted. "Don't die for nothing."

But despite the arrows raining around them, the defenders were still hacking at the ladder and trying to shove it away from the wall, rocking it violently.

Niketas glanced down. "Get me a spear."

"Oi, Scarface wants a spear!" the man shouted to those below.

Before long, one was passed up to him. Niketas sheathed his blade and took the spear instead. This should have been Rat-catcher's role, but he was dead.

With the longer weapon, Niketas thrust above the palisade several times, trying to drive the defenders back. Poleaxes hammered against his shield in answer. Someone even managed to seize the spearhead, but Niketas wrenched it free before they could tear it from his hands.

When the defenders were distracted by a sudden hail of arrows and fierce fighting around another ladder to his right, Niketas climbed.

One rung. Then another.

The top was close now.

A poleaxe slammed into his shield with a heavy crack. Niketas gritted his teeth.

Another blow slammed down, forcing him back a rung.

He knew, this wasn't going to work. A glance along the wall showed that the other ladders were faring little better. Men who tried to rush the climb were struck down or thrown backward, falling to their deaths below.

"Sons of goblins, climb!" the officer commanding the assault shouted from behind the safety of a heavy wooden mantlet.

Nobody liked that man. Even their boss wanted to rub shit on him. They spilled the blood, while he collected the rank.

"I can't get through," Niketas called to his friend below, still thrusting his spear above the palisade whenever he found an opening.

"Give it time. Don't listen to that fuck," came the tense reply. His group was relying on him.

Then, as though their prayer had been heard by the Progenitors, Niketas saw his chance. One of the defenders raised his polearm for another strike, only to jerk backward as an arrow struck him.

Niketas climbed the last few rungs in quick succession. He knew the opening would not last. His brothers climbed close behind him.

As his head and shoulders rose above the palisade, he caught the shock on the defenders' faces. Niketas thrust his spear hard across the top of the wall, trying to create as much chaos as possible on the narrow fighting platform.

"Progenitors protect us!" he yelled.

The spear struck one defender square in the leg, but the man's armor held. Niketas pulled the spear back, then hurled it into the packed defenders, forcing several of them to recoil. He drew his Navalnian blade, sharpened keen enough to satisfy a barber, and hauled himself over the palisade.

It was so narrow, nothing like the broad battlements of a stone city wall. He had barely made it across when a bolt struck his helmet but glanced away. The impact snapped his head back. Niketas recoiled, his vision darkening as pain flared through his neck. Dazed, he could only raise his shield close to his head just as an arrow struck it.

"Push!" his brother shouted from behind, desperate to cross over after him.

Niketas forced himself forward and swung at the nearest defender. The man blocked the blow, then answered with one of his own. Steel crashed against Niketas' shield, sending chips of wood flying from its face.

Axes and blades came at him. Niketas held his ground. His palm was slick with sweat, his fingers numb around the hilt, but he kept fighting, striking left and right to make room.

At last, his brother hauled himself over the palisade behind him.

Only then did they see how exhausted the defenders were.

"Go!" his brother shouted, rushing left to engage a man-at-arms.

Even through the pain, Niketas went right. He had to keep pressing, had to clear enough of the platform for the men on the next ladder to break through. If he could do that, a great deal of money would be his.

But the defenders were brutal. Another arrow came from the opposite tower, hammering into his back. Glancing over his shoulder, he could see the shaft still jutting out, though he could not tell whether it had pierced his flesh. He grunted as a blow knocked his blade aside.

Niketas tried to counterattack but gasped as pain shot through his ringmailed arm. Despite the pain, he tried again, but the limb no longer moved properly.

"No," Niketas gasped as he saw his arm bent at an unnatural angle.

A defender seized Niketas by his ruined arm. Pain shot through Niketas' shoulder as the man yanked him closer. The defender's eyes were cold and murderous. With a brutal twist, he threw Niketas over the palisade.

Suddenly there was nothing beneath him. Niketas saw only sky. The hot sun struck his face as he fell backward, wind rushing past his ears.

He had never wanted much. He had not joined the war out of greed. The harvests at home had been cruel for years, while the taxes remained the same. He had only wanted enough coin to keep his family fed and his sister from being sold.

Niketas crashed across raised shields and armored shoulders with a sickening violence. A shield rim struck the back of his head.

For Niketas, the sky vanished.

But for the battle, it was not even midday.

...

Another hour of brutal fighting passed. Despite Izzet Bey committing his heaviest columns, they had yet to break through the defenses. His men's blood pooled at the foot of the earthworks and streaked the palisade above. Many had died to bolts and arrows rather than sharpened steel, and still more had fallen from the ladders and walls. Yet little had been gained.

All the while, the sun beat down mercilessly on both sides. Their armor grew scorching beneath it, hot enough to burn exposed skin and miserable to wear for any length of time. Sweat soaked gambesons and padded coats beneath mail and plate until every movement felt heavier than the last.

But slowly, breaches began to occur more often as the defenders finally tired. They were slower to react, allowing more and more Navalnians to reach the top and fight their way onto the walkway.

The change did not escape the Navalnian officers. Seeing the defenders begin to falter, they finally ordered a general assault.

"All forward!" the assault captain shouted.

"Keep them climbing! Don't let the ladders go empty!" his lieutenants shouted.

A fresh surge of activity erupted all along the wall and throughout the Navalnian lines. More men would be needed soon, and one column after another was committed to the advance.

"What's going on?" a soldier asked, sweat running down his face beneath the merciless sun.

"They're going to take the walls at any cost," another remarked grimly as they were driven forward.

A thousand more men crossed the two ditches. From the walls, it seemed as though the Navalnians were everywhere, packed together in moving ranks and streaming toward the wooden fort like ants.

In response, the defenders began throwing tightly bound bundles of straw from the towers, casting them several paces out from the palisade and into the mass of attackers below. They were light, and against the Navalnian formations advancing beneath overlapping shields, the bundles seemed almost pointless. A desperate measure from exhausted defenders.

But the straw had been prepared beforehand.

The bundles had been smeared with a thick incendiary mixture of pitch, animal fat, fish oil, sulfur, and camphor.

It did not take long before great flames burst from the straw, shocking the attackers. Smoke billowed upward as men shouted warnings and formations began to break around the spreading fires.

Watching the plumes of smoke rise and hearing the panicked shouts from his assault force, Izzet Bey rose from his seat. He had expected the defenders to be preparing something, but he had not expected them to wait this late into the battle before revealing it.

"Five hours," Izzet Bey muttered. Around him, his officers wore tight expressions, while his own hand slowly clenched into a fist. "Black Pasha, you dared wait that long before playing your tricks."

It was a battle of wits between the two leaders.

Despite his suspicions, Izzet Bey had waited and watched for hours, yet nothing had come from the defenders. Not even a hint that something had been prepared. He had seen the airship arrive, but even that had taken no visible part in the fighting.

Hour after hour, he had watched streams of wounded men return from the assault, yet still the defenders revealed nothing. Believing that his archers had made the difference, and with half a day already gone, he committed his very best troops to the fight. Now those same men were facing the flames.

As thick smoke spread, his senior knight stepped forward, his expression as calm as ever. "My Bey," he began in his usual dour voice. "Fire kills. So do arrows and blades. The men can endure it."

"I fear this is no ordinary fire."

The knight did not flinch. He simply met Izzet Bey's gaze with the same steady calm.

Izzet Bey grunted and turned toward his officers, who were already waiting for his command.

"Do what you can to put out the fires, but continue the attack," he ordered, his voice carrying a trace of bitterness. "Have the fresh troops concentrate on the stretches untouched by the flames."

As his officers hurried away to carry out his orders, Izzet Bey sank back into his seat and covered his face with both hands. He knew thousands more would die or suffer terrible burns.

Despite the raging fires and thick, billowing smoke, the Empire kept up the ferocity of its assault.

***

Lansius

Amid the heat and the coughing brought on by smoke drifting back into the fort, Lansius climbed one of the towers along a section of wall that had already seen heavy fighting. From there, he could hear the palisade creak and groan under the strain.

"My Lord," tired archers and crossbowmen greeted him as he stepped onto the cramped platform.

"Carry on," Lansius ordered over the deafening roar of fighting below and the constant hiss of arrows and bolts.

His eyes stung from the smoke as he looked out across the battlefield beneath the harsh midday sun. Through gaps in the drifting smoke, he could see masses of Navalnian soldiers crowding toward the fort like ants.

Despite the fires that had raged for almost an hour, the enemy showed no sign of backing down.

A wounded crossbowman who was now helping pass bundles of bolts and arrows up to the platform said, "The enemy still won't back down, even with the fire."

Lansius clicked his tongue in displeasure. "Tough opponent."

The crossbowman gave a grave nod.

The fire had given some respite to the section of wall that had seen the heaviest fighting, but it had failed to force the Navalnians to abandon their assault. Now the stretches untouched by the flames were coming under greater threat.

Should I use more fire?

Yet doing so carried its own danger. The wind was unpredictable and at times blew toward them. He had Claire use her magic to keep it from doing so, but more fire meant a greater chance of the flames reaching their palisade walls. If the palisade caught fire, their defense would be finished.

While his men could deal with small fires, with the fighting this heavy, controlling a larger blaze would be a nightmare.

After observing the battlefield for a while longer, Lansius turned toward Ocelot, who waited below because there was hardly room for another man on the tower platform.

"Tell the men at the rear to—"

A burst of frantic shouting cut him off. The fighting walkway near the tower was being overrun. Navalnian soldiers had forced their way across the palisade and were driving the defenders back. For a moment, the line buckled.

Then arrows and bolts came hard from the two nearby towers, striking into the attackers from both sides. Navalnians dropped or threw themselves behind their shields, and the sudden pressure gave the defenders enough room to surge forward and regain their footing.

Ocelot had nearly joined the fight herself. When it became clear she was not needed, she turned back toward Lansius.

Their eyes met.

Amid the smoke billowing across the fort from the fires outside, Lansius said, "Break the dikes. Both of them."

It would be his last gamble in this war. It would not win the battle by itself, but it could still turn the field in his favor.

***

PS: This chapter is 6K words long. Big, big chapter, and editing it has been a pain. I hope you enjoyed the battle!

With a chapter this long, I apologize for any mistakes I might have missed. If you spot any serious ones, please let me know in the comments.

Do you like the enemy POV?

As always, gratitude for supporting Horizon of War!