Chapter Nine
Locked up like a rat what fate does lie?
But to look in the mirror, my real Father came by
His ruthlessness is nothing when compared
To the murders and blood seen through mine own eye404Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4cumRkhSm0
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Captain Jen had called for the retreat four hours ago. They were overrun trying to evacuate the city into the Temple. The move to tease the flanks with alternating strikes had worked brilliantly. They got the six remaining soldiers from the condemned honored guard and Damon back to the Temple.
During that time, they managed to muster all four Garrisons, and for a time it looked like they might put down the riot, but somehow the people gained access to one of the cities armories. The tides turned, and for the past two hours, the West Tower Garrison, led by Corporal Wallace had held the gates in a pitched battle, to allow as many people who wanted safe harbor behind the high walls of the Temple in. After that, the swell of fray became too much for the Corporal's valiant efforts, and she called for the pullback.
Bethel was now on her way out to the gates to get a final situation report from the leaders of the small army now within her walls. They were safe for the time being in the Temple. It was constructed to be a bastion in the wilds before the city had gained its walls. The army and necromancers had gained a respite from the battle that they had seen in the streets. Officially, the necromancers were the military leaders in times of war such as this. Bethel herself held the rank of General. The iron haired Matron made all the main decisions on the preparations for this siege but she relied on her two captains, Jen and Isobelle, who were both well versed in battle strategy.
Isobelle, who was the youngest Necromancer and now acting second in the absence of Jen, was the daughter of the famous Sergeant Marcus Hammerhand of Doldrum, a hero of the Banderling Wars. The young honey-haired warrioress had been reared around the art of warfare and raised with a sword in her hand. When the Grim sent her here to be her third, Bethel had been leery, but since Bethel had come to love the girl of twenty-five winters like a sister.
Bethel walked through the crowd that was saturated with fear, inquiring to the needs of the people as she went. Most complained about the bitter cold outside in the windy courtyard but were thankful for just being alive. Bethel would promise the small, huddled groups fire and blankets and then continue on to the next group. Making their way through the crowded courtyard did not prove to be too much of a hassle. After each group, the crowd would part before the armed necromancers in their Roldem chain. Bethel felt pangs of pity for the blood and soot-covered paces before her. Children clung to their mothers, obviously, they fled quickly and without the proper attire for the approaching Grim-Tide. She shook her head to clear the thoughts and to focus on getting these people back to where they belonged. If Rascus had made good time, then her husband should be arriving soon to provide some help to his family.
Bethel looked down the path that was parting and found Corporal Wallace standing at the gates with the West Garrison, giving orders. His men performed the task with precision around their area and without question before the Corporal and she stopped for a moment to inspect the site. He was preparing for the siege that was likely to be a short one. The Corporal had pitch heating over a fire, men repairing arrows and weapons, and even had the remainder of the West Garrison building a rough ballista. Bethel came up behind the short and stocky soldier and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked over it and turned and saluted.
“General Mother,” he said gruffly with respect, “I expect you want a report.”
“I was expecting to see your superior down here Corporal, where is he?” The Matron asked looking around on her tippy toes for Thomas. She still wanted to get out of Thomas what went wrong this morning on the Walk of Judgment. Yet, her nephew was strangely absent from his post.
Wallace glanced away, looking as if wanted to say something, his face reddened slightly under his coarse, black beard. He looked back at the General Mother finally and said, “He had other things that a superior should be attending to, he left this defense to me.” He gestured to the busy soldiers around him with a look of pride. He stopped briefly to give a sharp order to one of the men that was working with the ballista and turned back respectfully to his superior. She knew her nephew had nothing to do with any of this. He probably had never even seen a ballista before, let alone gave instructions on how to make one. She had put Thomas in a position of authority, not for his leadership capabilities, but for his young and energetic flesh, but that was her mistake. Bethel knew somewhere deep inside her, today her sins had come to haunt her.
“Corporal Wallace, I am the superior who should be attending things. Now, you may speak freely. Where is he?” Bethel demanded. She tried to shake the foreboding feelings that surrounded her. Bethel had always been her own master and served herself first. She would retake control of this situation with Thomas and correct it before her husband arrived. Then, The Grim and Bethel could route theses lunatics and punish them for their insolence.
“He said he should be up on the battlements like a captain should be. He is no captain. To speak frankly, as permission is given, he is a pompous ass who should be busted back to private. This whole thing is his fault.” Corporal Wallace said heatedly.
“What do you mean his fault?” Bethel asked.
“He sent runners to every corner of the city and then sent runners as far as a horse could take them before dawn, to tell them that his cousin was up for trial — plain stupidity. Too many people want that boy dead; he should have been taken quietly and quickly. But that idiot said it was his key to being the first officer in the East. Stupidity, there is no such thing” He shook his head angrily, “Do you know when we went to close the gates, anyone who was caught trying to make it here was being killed. All this death is based on one idiots delusions.--” Wallace spat some tabard root’s dark juice off to the side. Soldiers used the root in the field for its narcotic effect to help with battlefield pain. The Corporal had a gash just above the eyebrow and the blood ran down his battered face into his meticulously kept beard. He looked back at the Matron with a disgusted look, “--The worst of it was, there was no unity among the Garrisons. I had to try to hold the gates with only my damn men, forty-nine of us against hundreds. We were all fighting for the same thing. Your nephew did have one thing right, out there we needed a commander to bring the units together. I mean no offense, but if we were together, four hundred trained soldiers, we could have stopped this.”
“Thomas has always been a lousy Sergeant. Why don't we promote you too? You seem to be an able commander. What you have done here and on your own is impressive Corporal.” She replied as she waved her hand towards his busy men, some of which stopped to listen intently. It was no secret that Thomas was ill liked among the ranks of the West Garrison. The young Sergeant had been despised when he was promoted ahead of more capable and eligible commanders.
“It won’t do any good to be of equal rank. He still has seniority for time served as a sergeant.” He pointed out, “And each Garrison still has its own commander. During the heat of the battle at the gates, I couldn’t get one of those Sergeants to help a lowly Corporal. Damnation! They were so busy posturing themselves like peacocks to get the most glory; they couldn’t help each other out. Just an extra Garrison at the gates working together could have held the gates another half-hour.”
“Ah but as of right now there is a new rank, you are now Master Sergeant Wallace. You are in command of all the garrisons. You did a superb job today, and you care for those whom you protect. You are not afraid to point out the faults of a leader if asked but will still follow regardless. We need a person like you Wallace right now, so I am not asking, I am telling you.” Bethel said putting her hand on the new Master Sergeant's shoulders. A ragged cheer broke out behind him and a few of his men even broke rank to come up and congratulate him.
He smiled ruefully, “I don’t think your nephew is going to like this, but I do accept. I will deal with Thomas later. I will probably have to box his ear a few times. First, we have to make it out of here alive. I expect you want a report.”
“If Thomas gives you any trouble, send him to me. I have the perfect punishment. Master Sergeant, what is going on so far and I want approximate headcount, though I expect the captain has a full one.”
“After we closed the gates, we sealed them with the mechanism that was built into this fortress two hundred years ago. After that, I have had the men reinforcing them with timbers that I scavenged from the stables. I do hope you did not mind. We are in a siege.-" He gave her a long sideways glance, not meeting her eyes "The enemy has been trying to use handheld battering rams. I have never been through a siege but judging from what has happened so far I would say they need a lot more than that to knock that over. Unless they have an ogre at their disposal or a sorcerer I don't think they will come through the gates.” He chuckled looking with pride at the steel-reinforced gates, “We have around five hundred civilians in here, I brought the Western Garrison. It is around fifty men. The other three Garrisons should be around the same. I know we lost two and three more injured. I will get exact numbers now that I have the authority.”
“Well Master Sergeant, It looks like you should be counted in the injured category.” She said pointing at the blood that ran into the newly made Master Sergeant's beard. He reached up and smeared the blood on his fingertips and glanced at it casually.
“That? Naw, head wounds tend to bleed a lot. It is actually not all that bad…” The Master Sergeant started to excuse himself, “Now if you’ll-“
“Most men lost in war, are lost from infection and disease. You forget I have fought one war Master Sergeant and last I counted that is one more than you. I just got a good commander, and I am not about to lose him to a scratch. Now go see the healer here.” She pointed towards the main building and swatted him on the rear as if he were five. He glared at his superior, but she held his glare with her steady steel eyes.
“Yes General Mother,” He said glumly, “Corporal Thad, I have to go see a healer about this scratch, take over. Start some fires for these people will you.”
Corporal Thad smiled and yelled back towards him, “I told you to go get that taken care of.”
Wallace waved him off as he walked away and his men set to their task. Bethel nodded in appreciation; they loved the man she had chosen to be their commander. They choose, she corrected, she just happened to concur.
Now it was time to ruin her nephew’s day. He had cost this city a terrible price for his quest in vainglory and she was willing to wager, he blamed others for his failure. She mounted the glistening stone steps to climb the wall to the wide parapet overlooking the city. The walls of gray granite matched the mood in the Temple. They were sorrowful at the battle that now waged within their city and home. Some of their own homes and businesses burned and their families lay dead in the street just outside the Temple.
As Bethel topped the walk, between the merlons, she could see children, women holding babies, elderly, and the men who tried to shield them, all dead. There would be a high debt to pay when she caught up with the bastard who had led this battle against this Temple. There were twenty-five or so archers from the North Garrison dressed in leather that now lined the walls with their arrows knocked, standing in the cold sunshine. They were not shooting at the people in the street below; watching with pained expressions on their soot-covered faces, as people slaughtered one another. Their supplies of arrows were scarce. Unless they were directly assaulted on the walls they had orders to stay their weapons. The wind moaned mournfully in cold gust and the men standing there did not flinch at their post as they stood vigilant, watching the chaos in the streets below.
Another twenty-five stern-faced men were up there holding fast to long poles that had a Y at the end. They stood between the archers, with long swords buckled to their sides. There had obviously been some attempts to use ladders to get in. Out of morbid curiosity, the Matron looked down and saw five ladders laying in splinters just below her. In the ruins of the ladders lay the broken bodies of seven men from the fall. She nodded in grim satisfaction, that was seven less they had to worry about. Now if just a few more idiots would get the same damn idea, she shook her head thoughtfully as she continued her search for her Captain and missing Sergeant.
She spotted Jen in her bloodied chain armor, adorned with the crest of the infinite snake of Grim. Her face was spattered with blood that stood out against the pale skin that came naturally to her second. Her tangled red hair framed her heart-shaped face, almost making it look like fire. It would match her temperament right now, fiery. Next to her, stood her young nephew, in shining chain that he had stopped, in pure vanity, and taken the time to polish after his battle on the streets. Thomas was lording around the battlements, shouting orders from the wall, while his Captain's face was slowly boiling over.
Jen had fought, when she was but eighteen winters, in the Banderling Wars alongside Bethel while Thomas was still a little boy. She was fifteen years his senior and not impressed with his peacock posturing. Her face was a picture of exasperation as Jen caught Bethel’s eye coming up the final flight of stairs to the top of the gatehouse. She was pleading for help. Thomas looked his Aunt up and down, appraising her lithe body as she walked up the stairs.
The Matron shook her head in dismay. At a time like this, why couldn’t the boy think with the correct head? She had made a grave mistake when she had allowed him into her bed, but sometimes her cravings got ahead of her. Bethel had allowed the need for carnal pleasure to let her put an incompetent, charming, handsome fool in charge of an army. Just so she could have young, energetic flesh at hand. Bethel felt the storm clouds gathering once more and tried to dismiss the feeling, to gain the feeling of control back. Well, it was time for reckoning, and maybe her status could be reconciled here in Tharpe. Thomas needed to be put into place where he belonged, back at the bottom of the food chain. He was supposed to be her toy after all.
Bethel strode up to them giving her Second a raised eyebrow in question. Jen saluted with a fist over here heart, and then Bethel turned to the Sergeant who bowed to her. Bethel frowned at him, at the arrogant smile that dared to play across his beardless face. She wanted to slap him for the bloodshed today but control was, after all, what she was after.
“Sergeant, we salute our superiors.” Bethel corrected him, her voice sharp, cutting like a razor.
“Oh come, Aunt Bethel, we know each other to good for that. We are too familiar with each other for such formalities.” Thomas said dismissively with a sly wink as he grinned expectantly, showing his white teeth off. He reached out caressing her cheek with the backside of his hand intimately. Bethel went rigid and slapped his hand down with stinging force. Her eyes bore into him like to arrow points into his very soul.
“I am not joking, you will salute or by the Grim, I will have the good Captain here take you out and have you flogged for insubordination.” She said with a slightly raised voice as the wind pulled at strands of her loose steel-colored hair. The cold bit at her through the padding under the chain and whipped her cloak around but she did not flinch from her stare. Isobelle broke into a grin next to her and looked expectantly at the Sergeant.
Thomas’s smile fell as he gave her a cold stare to match the weather and straightened up tall. His fist gave a smart thump to his chest and then he came to a parade rest with his hands behind his back staring straight ahead. Isobelle's smile faded and was replaced with a slightly pooched lip as she sulked beside her Matron. She folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the nearest merlon.
Bethel nodded at him, “Good boy, maybe we will make a good soldier out of you yet. I need a report but first I also need to announce a new commander over all the Garrisons in the city.” Bethel said flatly and waited for the certain tantrum that would follow. Thomas's face drained of all color before flushing bright red as he lost his composure. Isobelle's lips started to twitch at the ends as she tried to hold in her amusement.
“There is no such position, each Garrison has its own commander.” Thomas protested, his voice sounding not that so unlike a child whose favorite toy was just took away.
“There is now, Master Sergeant Wallace was just promoted and you will show him the same respect you give me or the good Captain here, Isobelle, gets to play with you and a whip. As I recall from all my times with you, you are rather fond of whips, aren’t you Thomas.” Bethel said pleasantly staring at Thomas, who was now red-faced, straight into his brown eyes. The Sergeant gave a quick nod and backed up a few quick steps. Isobelle’s eyes lit up at the mention of whips.
“Oh please protest. I haven’t got a chance to break out leathers and whips in months. Please, please, please.” Isobelle begged with her hands in front of her. Her blue eyes sparkled with ill-kept anticipation of the possibilities presented in the situation.
Thomas turned his head away from her, not meeting the eye of either of his superiors. “I will give him my loyalty and respect General.”
“Spoilsport!” Isobelle pouted, folding her arms over her chest glaring at the Sergeant.
Jen cleared her throat with her hand over her mouth uncomfortably. She raised that hand slightly, “Care for that report if you are done embarrassing me now?”
“Yes I would love it,” Bethel replied in a happy voice never taking her steely gray gaze of her insubordinate nephew. The wind tore at her cloak fiercely, almost tugging her off balance as she continued to stare her nephew down in the cold sunlight.
“Well, our situation is not terribly great. In fact, to put it bluntly, it is downright dire. Our headcount stands at five hundred and twenty-two citizens, none of which do we have enough warm clothes for. Of our garrisons, we got full complements from the four in the city and our complement here bringing our count to two hundred and twenty-five. Total, we have a count of seven hundred and forty-seven people in here. Even if there were no wounded, old, sick, dead, or young, we can’t match the numbers outside the walls,--”
“But what of the twenty soldiers we lost on the field, we have their bodies but dead all the same,” Thomas interrupted, he was trying to get back some wounded pride by pointing out a major flaw in his superiors count and maybe win some favor back in his lover's eyes. The Sergeant was positively desperate at this point for something, anything to go right for him today. First, his glory was stole from him by the people, then his position usurped by his second-in-command, and then his bed-mate cast him aside like a soiled rag. Bethel's eyes hardened once more no sooner than the words had left Thomas's lips.
“Their souls have not been convened to the Grim by a reaper, therefore they are still with us and are still accounted for. We continue to always care for our people, dead or living until they are with the Grim. You would do well to remember that one since it is the reason this whole damn town is at our throat right now.” Bethel explained with a voice as hard as the Roldem steel she wore, “If you interrupt one more time you will be flogged and busted to private, shoveling jakes for the remainder of your career.”
“The outside forces stand at eight hundred and growing at my last count but I cannot be accurate. Things are too chaotic outside these walls for accurate counts. At best, those numbers are educated guesses. I saw Wallace reinforcing the gates. I doubt they will ram through them, not with the handheld ones they have been using.”
“He said much the same,” Bethel agreed with a wisened nod of her head.
“Wallace was a good pick to lead the men. He has been waiting since before Thomas for a promotion.” Jen said meaningfully. Bethel winced as the words made an impact with her heart. She had passed up Corporals Wallace and Thad for promotions for Thomas, who was yet a private, just to have Thomas readily available. Wallace never did anything spiteful in retribution but instead continued to serve faithfully.
“It was a long time coming and well deserved,” Bethel said sadly and motioned for Jen to continue.
“When the Temple was built, before the Grim blessed this house with the Grim-Ward two hundred years ago, the gates were built to withstand ogres. They will have to be more creative than handheld rams to get through them. We have been pushing off siege ladders all morning, hence these fine people with long poles but to tell the truth, they have everything they need to take down the walls and when they do, we don’t have the numbers to defend.” Jen finished her report.
“What is our food supplies like? If our walls and gate hold, they need a ten to one just to make it fair. How long can we hold?” Bethel scratched her head thoughtfully. There had to be a way out of this.
“That is the worst part, they only have to wait the better part of a month and we will be starved out. We just don’t have the provisions for a protracted siege. They do, they have a whole damn city! Normally it is the ones on the outside that are in hardship. They would have had to establish supply lines and scavenge raw materials. But here we are bottled up in the most defensible location in Tharpe and now it is our tomb because all our supplies are in the enemy's hands.” Jen clenched her hand in frustration. The necromancer felt like crying but knew it would accomplish nothing. Her Matron expected better of her and she would be damned to the Planes of Chaos eternally before she would give Thomas the pleasure of it.
“Well then we will just have to do something about that,” came a deep, familiar baritone behind them. Thomas turned and his eyes rolled up in his head as he fell to the cobblestone battlement below, while the three women ran and hugged the big dark-haired stranger around his neck. He wrapped his arms around his three wives and kissed each on their foreheads.
“Oh my dears, what a mess we have here but we can sort it.” the Grim said soothingly, kissing each in turn fondly on top of their heads, “Now, I have a family member I have not seen. Where is this son of mine.”
Bethel looked up at her immortal husband in horror, her steely eyes wide in fear.
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