A Spark in the Wind

Chapter 24: Song of the Moon and Stars

Mey grasped his bow and perched atop the southern walls, staring out towards the fields that surrounded the city. He was horrified: enemy hordes as far as the naked eye can see, gathered in a crescent around the Silver City, threatening the lives of those who lived within. "What do we do now?" he asked Vil, heavy in despair and awe.

"Can you aid us here?" Vil turned to Muldred, eyes full of plea.

"I can help, but I cannot rid your foes and end the siege, the enemy has powerful doom-cannons for that very reason, they came prepared. What we need now is to attack their back lines, although that won't be easy."

Yes, what he said was true, but the elves would not give up without a fight, even though the enemies, sixty thousand strong, outnumbered the total mass within three-to-one.

"Give up now," a chaos-elf said from outside, "lest we sweep through your city and kill all."

"You're welcome to try!" yelled Elrid, captain of the guard. "Let us see who outlasts whom."

"This is folly," Mey lamented, "Without the rest of our units, we are all but outnumbered."

"Do not fear," Vil put his hand on Mey's shoulder, "we can win the battle if we hold them off until relief arrives, that's less than two weeks if time is on our side. We'll fight them on the streets if we have to, we'll fight them with fire and frost, we'll fight them with stone, we shall show them the strength of the folk of Alledoria!"

Soldiers left and right cheered up at his speech, his message echoing in their hearts, and their feet echoed too, not by rousing speech but by bombardment: boulders big and small were lobbed at the walls.

HOLD TIGHT!

Vil shouted, reinforcing their troops' courage, their hearts stalwart in the face of impending doom. The Silver City had never fallen before, it won't fall this time.

Fortunately for them, Silverhearth's natural defences made it difficult to besiege: the inner sanctums of the city were built upon an island on the river, and the outer districts upon a plateau with only three great gates connecting it to the world below.

Each of these gates went down a long and windy path surrounded by lofty walls and three gatehouses, making it a challenge for enemies to breach through. The daemons, however, with their superior artillery, had little to fret about.

...

The first day was uneventful, mostly mere assaults and ineffective bombardment. Below the walls daemons clustering like a swarm of ants, tender for the archers to shoot down. At times wood-elf knights and dragons rallied out, attacking the sides of the army and retreating away like faint memories.

The second day Vil charged out, leading a host of wood-elf knights, astride a white stag. His sword gleamed pale in the light of the afternoon sun, his glinted helm was that of the headdress of the war-god himself. But he dealt little damage ere he had to flee back.

And lo, on the third day the first gatehouse fell, daemons thronged inside, climbing the long walkway up, only to be thrown back by the second gatehouse, hot sand and acid poured atop them. A cohort of warriors entered, a river of chaotic bile mingled with acid and sand exited.

That night the daemons mounted a night attack, but Muldred and his companions struck back and killed the summoners ere they could call for their greater daemons.

"Well, that went well," Mey commented, "three days down, eleven more to go."

"Don't be too happy about it," Vil replied, "our situation here is pretty desperate."