Chapter 57

  Five kilometers west of the Batulan-bar city limits and a kilometer off the ground, Point Control Drone #14 hovered just below the lowest cloud layer, cloaked in invisibility. These days, PCD14 liked to think of itself as “Buddy.” Buddy watched everything in a five-kilometer radius. The animals roaming the countryside, the sustenance distribution centers descending into Batulan-bar from the stealth frigate, and the large mass of humanoid heat signatures gathered in the forest two kilometers to the west.

  Buddy knew the heat signatures were suspicious. In fact, there was a ninety-five percent probability that they were a threat to the city. But Buddy’s rules of engagement meant It was not allowed to act without positively identifying the subject known as Jean Castreier or any humanoid wearing the typical uniform of the Wolf Brigade.

  The mass of heat signatures bore a strong resemblance to an oppositional force that could be the Wolf Brigade. Buddy could determine the group was composed mostly of males with physiologies matching a warrior class. They carried edged weapons and moved in organized formations. Other similar masses had been spotted by the point control drones and drone gunships circling the city. All signs pointed to this being a besieging enemy force, approximately three thousand strong.

  But Buddy’s sensors could not adequately distinguish the detailed physical characteristics of the heat signatures hidden underneath the forest canopy. Until Buddy either was given orders to approach the mass, or one of the heat signatures walked into the open, the drone could not engage. Those were Operator Dalex’s orders, and Buddy wanted to follow Dalex’s orders.

  And so it waited, watching the heat signatures while the sustenance distribution centers descended from orbit in the distance. Eventually, the mass would move. When that time came, Buddy hoped it would make Dalex proud.

  ***

  From just inside the edge of a forest tree line, Castreier watched the far away city through his field glasses, studying the strange objects falling out of the sky and crashing into Batulan-bar. The city was hidden beneath the canyon across the plains, but its location was unmistakable. He couldn’t make out details on the falling objects. The field glasses were good, but the city was still too distant. It had taken several minutes of watching to be sure he wasn’t just seeing disturbed leaves falling from the trees.

  Castreier lowered his field glasses and looked left. Captain Gantulga stood next to him with a similar pair of field glasses. His wolf ears twitched as he scanned the horizon.

  “What are they, Captain?” Castreier asked.

  “I could not say, my lord. It’s too far.”

  Castreier smirked. “What good are those silly canid eyes if a few miles of clear afternoon skies are enough to defeat your sight? Perhaps I should replace you with a cat.”

  Gantulga’s tail stiffened. His lip twitched. The mangy beastkin clearly wanted to bare his teeth at Castreier, but Gantulga knew what punishment would befall such insubordination. He resummoned his composure and lowered his field glasses.

  “Perhaps it’s one of the other companies, my lord,” the beastkin suggested. “They might have launched an attack against orders.”

  “And why would they do that? It’s day two of the siege. Do you have so little faith in your comrades that they would throw away our plan so quickly?”

  “No, my lord,” Gantulga said, lowering his head. “Many apologies, my lord.”

  “Besides,” Castreier continued. “They would have sent a signal.” He put the glasses back to his eyes and watched as another of the small objects fell on the city. “No, this is something else. Dalex is up to something.”

  Eventually, the objects stopped falling. Castreier estimated there had been about twenty of them. After another hour of watching nothing at all, he grew bored. Feeling a smug sense of satisfaction at Batulan-bar’s total encirclement by his forces, he retreated to his command tent. It had been a few days since he had given himself a chance to rest. He kicked all of his staff out and settled into a recliner with a chilled glass of sparkling wine.

  As Drakko had said, this plan of Castreier’s would not be a quick one. It would be several more days before the city showed any signs of hunger after being cut off. Cities like Batulan-bar were designed not to be able to function without constant maintenance from the regional government. They were only allowed to grow their stores to a certain point before they were forced to trade away supplies.

  Still, the people of Batulan-bar knew they were cut off. They were likely already rationing, preparing for starvation. Castreier had planned for the siege to last a maximum of one month. He expected the city to crumble long before that, but it paid to be prepared, especially when it came to Dalex of the Expedition Seven.

  Castreier closed his eyes and napped for an hour. When he woke, he was fifteen minutes late for his afternoon report with his informant in the city. He looked around for his wine glass and discovered it had fallen from his fingers as he slept. What a waste of a good vintage. He grabbed a clean glass and poured another draught before speaking aloud to the otherwise empty tent, “Locprocu shares my mind with my lesser’s.”

  He experienced a brief moment of panic coming through the sharing as the sudden connection via word of power startled the informant on the other side. Castreier had not intended the spell to transmit emotion as well as thought, but a spell did not always become what one wanted.

  “High Lord Castreier,” Minor Lord Gontaut’s thoughts came. “Apologies, I thought you might not call upon me today, after all, but it is good you did. I—”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “I was attending to other matters,” Castreier interrupted him. “Do not think you can insist upon my schedule.”

  “Of course not, my lord. I would not dream of it.” Gontaut paused. “Shall I commence my report?”

  “What are the objects I saw fall upon Batulan-bar today? How much damage did they do to the city?”

  “Damage, my lord? Eh, I believe— Well, no damage has been done. As for what they were…”

  When Gontaut did not immediately continue his explanation, Castreier ordered him, “Out with it, man. What is Dalex of the Expedition Seven plotting?”

  “He is feeding the city. The devices you saw are magical food factories.”

  Castreier sat up. “What do you mean factories?”

  “Just that they produce food. They are boxes that create all kinds of meat, vegetables, fruit, and grains. I have even seen them make milk suitable for babies. I do not know what word of power is at work, but some of the elves and beastkin in the city have already used the boxes.”

  “So, they are eating through their stores quickly, then?”

  “What? No, my lord. You do not understand.”

  “Watch your tone with me, peasant lord.”

  There was a long pause from Gontaut’s end of their connection. Castreier could feel some of the man’s frustration, but if he would just explain clearly, Castreier wouldn’t have to yell at him.

  “My lord,” Gontaut said, clearly and firmly. “Batulan-bar has not touched its stores yet. These provisions are coming directly from Dalex. One of his servants called them from the sky. The food they can provide seems endless.” A new sensation came through the connection, indicating that Gontaut was pleased in some way. “I tried some of it myself. It was quite good, and very healthy.”

  “You were foolish enough to eat the gifts of the enemy?”

  “It was a test, my lord. I wanted to see if Dalex was feeding the people sawdust in the guise of real sustenance. But no, this is no trick.”

  “He is feeding the city,” Castreier said to himself, finally starting to understand what this all meant. He got to his feet and threw open the tent flaps, charging back into the open. It was a short march back to the edge of the forest. Captain Gantulga was still waiting near the tree line, discussing provisions for his beastkin soldiers. He looked a little surprised to see Castreier stroll up and bring his field glasses to his eyes once more to study the city.

  Earlier, Castreier had seen a city hiding in a hole, afraid to show itself to him. The canyon made it vulnerable; a ripe apple just waiting to be plucked. Now, he felt a change coming.

  At least twenty of these factories of food had descended into the city. If indeed they could endlessly dispense meals, how long could the city last under the blockade? Would Batulan-bar even feel the siege’s effects at all? A city needed other things to survive than food, but this city was sitting right on top of a freshwater source. Even if Castreier could dam the river, who was to say Dalex could not provide just as much water to the city?

  “Gontaut!” Castreier demanded. “Where is Dalex?”

  “My lord?” Gontaut’s thoughts came. “I thought you had left.”

  “Keep up, you imbecile. Where is Dalex of the Expedition Seven right now?”

  “I am afraid I don’t know, my lord. I have been trying to ascertain his location, but no one seems to be sure. He hasn’t been seen in the city for a few days.”

  “Then he is not in Batulan-bar?”

  “That is not what I said, my lord. He may just be in—”

  Castreier cut off their connection. Batulan-bar would not fall from a simple siege. Dalex’s control was too tight and too comprehensive. There was only one more chance. As long as Castreier seized the initiative, he could still impress Drakko.

  “Gantulga!” he shouted. “Prepare your troops to assault the city.”

  The beastkin captain looked toward Castreier from his circle of Wolf Brigade subordinates. “My lord?”

  “You heard me. Muster the Brigade. We attack in ten minutes.”

  “I thought we were trusting to the plan, my lord?”

  “The siege is over!” Castreier shouted. “Dalex opened supply lines to the city. We cannot starve them out. But he is not in the city at the moment, and we must strike when they are most vulnerable.”

  “My lord,” Gantulga said, his voice gaining an air of protest. “If the city has found a way to feed itself, there’s nothing to suggest this is their most vulnerable—”

  Castreier pointed at his head. “Jetflame means I pierce you with fire.”

  A tiny lance of fire struck the captain through his forehead. The beastkin slumped to the ground, dead. The other soldiers nearby stiffened and then backed away a few steps.

  “WHO IS SECOND IN COMMAND!?” Castreier screamed.

  They all jumped at his voice. Another wolf-eared beastkin rushed forward to present himself. “I am, my lord. Sub Captain Nashon, ready to serve.”

  “Muster and prepare to attack the city. If you are not ready in the next eight minutes, I will relieve you and find someone else. Launch a red flare to signal the other companies to join us.”

  “Yes, my lord. It will be done.”

  Sub Captain Nashon went to work right away, ordering the company into position to being the assault. They mounted horses and plodded to the tree line, forming two loose lines with which to advance toward the canyon and descend upon the city. Nashon launched a red flare into the sky, and then, a few minutes later, launched a second flare to confirm the order. The other companies would be surprised, but they would know what two flares meant.

  One last chance, Castrier told himself while he waited for the company to assemble. Who knew how long it would be before Dalex returned to the city. Castreier needed to crush and occupy Batulan-bar right away. Then, once Dalex returned, Castreier would have an ambush three thousand strong waiting for him.

  Seven minutes after receiving the order to attack, Sub Captain Nashon appeared at Castreier’s side, mounted and armed with publicized spear and sword. He led Castreier’s horse behind him.

  “The Brigade is ready to attack, my lord.”

  Nashon rode to the front of the company. Castreier pulled himself into the saddle and followed after him, reigning the horse in in front of the troops.

  “Voxmagna casts my voice over mountains,” he said, magnifying his voice so that the entire company could hear him. “Wolf Brigade! Dalex of the Expedition Seven is not in the city. We will use this chance to take it while he is away. Move fast and move decisively, or I will strip you of rank and see you executed in front of your families at the Waterfall Portal Plaza in Ulenbeter.”

  Castreier drew his sword and lifted it toward the sky. He trotted his horse out of the tree line into the afternoon sun.

  “Forward, and do your jobs!”

  “FOR GREAT LORD CASTREIER,” the company chanted behind him. “FOR OUR GOD, THE WINGED INFERNO.”

  They rode after him, weapons at the ready and picking up speed to a trot.

  Far down the left wing of the company, the ground erupted in a flash of dirt and fire. Horses screamed. Beastkin soldiers shouted as they were thrown from their saddles. A hole opened in the lines.

  A second explosion struck down the right of the company. Shouts of confusion and pain rang out. The line bent and broke, some of the soldiers stopping to help their comrades and others pushing forward even faster.

  A chunk, chunk, chunk sound came from above, each report preceded by a staccato detonation on the ground or against one of the soldiers.

  “Forward!” Sub Captain Nashon screamed. “Forward, the Wolf—!”

  Something hit the Sub Captain in the chest. His barrier cracked and his sternum blew out his back in a cloud of blood. The ground behind him burst up in a splash of dirt.

  Castreier rode on, staring back as Nashon’s dead body slumped forward in the saddle.

  But Dalex wasn’t in the city.

  And then everything around Castreier lit with fire and shrapnel, and he was lost in the maelstrom.

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