Born a Monster

Chapter 57

Encircled

I saw my first newly made Uruk arrow that next day. It always amazed me, how arrow shafts were so painstaking to make, yet cost so little. This particular one was well made; not a work of art, but it showed that whomever made this took care to do it right. I was glad this one hadn’t just shattered against the walls.

In fact, as I gathered them, I noticed there were quite a bit more than normal. What had HAPPENED last night?

I risked a look over the crenelations. Even that quick look confirmed that there were almost forty percent more flags.

I did the math while the arrows struck the crenelations around me. That was nearly two hundred fifty extra warriors! I wanted to see if the wood lot had also been expanded. If it were, then either today or tomorrow there would be three siege engines a day to deal with.

.....

It took two bundles to transport the arrows, but the bundles were small enough to fit into my inventory. If I ever saved up the development points, it was only thirty of those to expand to the next size, which was six slots.

I was coasting on a whopping ONE of those. I trickled mana into Black Snake, who had not regained consciousness.

Another peek verified that the most recent circle of trenches was coming along nicely but not completed yet. There were quite a few stone shields up where the trenches would go; they must have been active under cover of darkness.

Well, it wasn’t the trenches we needed to worry about. It was possible that the Uruk could take the city without Rakkal. They’d have to starve the city out, but it would be doable.

Unless... If some aristocratic family had a tunnel between their country mansion and the town... I’d have to ask Kismet next time I saw her.

My stomach grumbled. Yes, I know full well it is actually the intestines, but such is the saying. There was always the temptation to leave the wall for some reason or other. Other than restroom needs, I had been pretty good about not leaving my post.

I turned in four bundles of arrows at the tower, two of mine and two from others I passed along the way. In return, I picked up lengths of twine, which I likewise returned. I then went about the process of looking over the crenelations and seeing when I could collect more arrows.

It was difficult to do this for twelve hours. It wasn’t that the work was hard, or detailed; it was just boring. As annoying as he had been, Agnopos had been a distraction.

I admit I didn’t understand much about madness at the time. I knew it only as a condition that happened when you ran out of Sanity. The idea that severe injuries could happen, that would cripple your mind for the rest of your life was one that I had never encountered before Agnopos.

But that properly belongs in another story, if at all.

#

Sergeant Gilean liked us working in teams, so I got to show the ropes to a young man, Tropos.

“The basics are fairly easy. We hide behind the larger crenelations, and take peeks to make sure the enemy isn’t up to anything unusual. If they are, we report it to Sergeant Gilean.”

“Right. So how long will it be before those trenches are all linked up?”

“They’re working on it night and day. Given how rapidly they’ve been working, call it four or five days.”

“That seems like a lot of time. Are they lazy, or something?”

“Time to duck.” He did so while arrows clattered on the wall, went overhead into town, and two even landed atop the wall. “No, they’re actually making good progress. It’s hard to tell, but I think they shift out workers to recover their fatigue meters.”

“So what happens when they finish their trenches?”

“Then they sit there, and we sit here. They wait for us to get desperate. We wait for them to get careless. Disease hits both sides; famine is a concern for both sides. Oh, and we run out of supplies.”

“Seems like sieges favor the attacker.”

“Only when they can get a full encirclement, like this. If we could get supplies through the river or a tunnel or such, we could hold out indefinitely.”

“So why don’t we do that, just dig a tunnel?”

“Mining isn’t like just digging a trench. I don’t know all the details, but it’s much more difficult.”

“One of them’s in the open! If only I had a bow.”

“Hmm?” I took a peek myself. “Dunno, could be that they just want some of their arrows back. By the time the arrows get to them, they have time to move.”

He checked the sky. “Why aren’t they shooting at us?”

“Dunno.”

The Uruk recited a goblin male-on-male love poem at the top of his lungs, making hip thrusting gestures to emphasize his point. He then returned to the trenches.

“Well,” I said, “That was new.”

“What WAS that?”

I shrugged. “Some manner of bold display, meant to show us as cowards or ineffective archers. I say let them become bold. Just by sheer numbers of wounded, they’re suffering worse than we are.”

I didn’t bother to tell him that four times the wounds on an enemy with six times the numbers was actually losing. The Uruk weren’t the only ones who needed to keep morale up, after all.

“So we’re actually winning?”

“For now. They aren’t out there for no reason. Sooner or later, they’re going to start assaulting the gates in earnest.”

“Why the gates?”

“If they can get any of our gates open, then they win. We can’t fight them in the streets; not for long, anyway.”

“Oh.”

But I was already distracted by memories of the blood-slicked bricks of Montu’s Glory. I didn’t want that happening in Narrow Valley.

#

The sounds of fighting came from the trenches that day.

“How often does that happen?” Tropos asked.

“Never.” I said.

“It’s like some kind of in-trench warfare.”

And it was; whenever one of the Uruk would leave the trenches, our archers would specifically target that person.

What had begun to our left was soon happening in front of us, and then to our right as well. I heard the sounds of battle from far left, as well.

“It’s insanity; they’re fighting each other.”

“I can’t see from here, but I’d guess that the Black Fist and God Hand tribes are having a feud.”

“But I thought God Hand was the tribe far south of here.”

“They are.” I said. “I’m surprised they’re here, and that all of the Black Fist warriors aren’t.”

“Could it be Black Fist fighting Black Fist?”

“I suppose. I can’t think of a divide inside the Black Fist tribe that would cause this level of carnage.”

It was horrible to behold, but not everyone was just watching. I am told that a company of infantry sallied forth from the north gate, did some damage by the river, and made it back with light casualties.

However, I also heard that one man in ten was left outside the walls, and twice that many needed to be hospitalized. So, believe what you want; I think both may be true.

That night, the new banners of Uruk departed. The old banners remained, but there seemed to be far fewer workers digging trenches.

The other event of the night was that Tropos declared that we all stank.

“You heard me, you all smell bad. When was the last time any of you bathed?”

“Takes too long to haul water from the wells for a bath.” This was from Hyakrathus, a bulky man who never seemed to have energy.

“What if we all got a bucket of water each day, and then rotated who actually bathes? Would that work?”

That worked; I found buckets to be expensive yet affordable, and others had buckets that just happened to resemble those that went missing from the neighborhood closest to the tower. And we had to take votes for what punishment to inflict on those who didn’t bring their bucket of water.

But it worked, and some of the soldiers didn’t mind if their bath had been used by another.

That night, the first of the wounded sortie soldiers died from her wounds. It was sad, and it was unusual, but except that it was the first death inside the wall it wasn’t otherwise remarkable in any way.

My nightly trek to the inn and back happened without incident.

Black Snake stirred even as I fed her, but did not awaken.

It was like the whole city was holding its breath.

And then the sound of arrows striking the walls could be heard, and I was able to get back to sleep. All was normal, all was well.

#

All was not well, in our camp, nor theirs.

“Tropos, what am I missing?”

“Beg pardon?”

“Something is wrong about yesterday. I just don’t know what.”

“A full half of the enemy force is gone. I don’t know how things can get more right than that.”

I glanced over the wall. He was right, roughly half were gone. So were the stone barricades.

.....

No, not gone. They were being moved to the outer trench. The OUTSIDE of the outer trench.

“Tropos, does that look like they’re preparing to be attacked to you?”

“I don’t know what that looks like, but there are an awful lot of them in the outermost trench.”

“Watch the wall for a bit, I’m going to check on their siege engines.”

“Now that you mention that, I don’t think they used any of them yesterday.”

They hadn’t. They sat abandoned in the wood lot, which seemed to be on minimal staffing.

I reported this to Tropos.

“But it wouldn’t be that other tribe of orcs, would it? I mean, why would they in any way support us?”

“I think it has nothing to do with us.” I said.

“Well, what does it have to do with, then?”

“I honestly have no clue.” Hope, vaguely remembered, stretched out and rolled over in its sleep. It wasn’t blazing, wasn’t coming to life. But it was there.

We spun a few yarns about it, the way children will do.

The fight had been over candies, and the new troops had brought the wrong ones.

An orcish princess had promised her warted hand to the first Uruk to open the gates.

Tropos proposed they had fought over whether the day ended in the letter y or not.

“That’s not funny.” I said. “They may not be acting wisely, but the Uruk are smart.”

“Right, right. I forgot. Kobolds are orcish allies, aren’t they?”

“Are they? I thought they were different races, and that it took a strong leader to get them to work together?”

Wait, what had Eihtfuhr and Hermetocrita said about that? It seemed so long ago...

“Well, isn’t as if there’s one of those out there.”

“You haven’t heard of Rakkal? Of the Red Tide?”

“Not a word of either. I mean, what mother names her kid Rakkal?”

“A minotaur mother.”

Tropos snorted, and began laughing. “A minotaur. In charge. Ah. Ah. Ahahahaha!”

Just before dusk, the God Hand arrived, nearly four hundred of them. There was no parley, they just sauntered up to within arrow range and began attacking.

“By the twelve gods.” I said.

“Well, it’s not Whitehill cavalry, but I’ll take any help we can get.”

“I’m not sure they’re help. I mean, what if all that fighting out there is over who gets to sack the town?”

“Then I say let them do it. Every Uruk killed is one we don’t have to kill, right?”

“I guess so.” I said, and watched the seemingly endless horde of God Hand force their way into the trenches, already turning red with blood.

#