Chapter 7
Jake was walking back and forth through the castle courtyard. He was getting restless. There had been no sign of an impending attack for two weeks, and their supply lines hadn’t been attacked in several days. Aside from it being disconcerting that there was no movement at the border of two powers at war with each other, he really wanted to fight something.
His problem was that there was no one equal to his strength garrisoning the castle, only people much weaker or much stronger than him. As he walked up to the castle parapet, silently praying that London would send him some enemies, he found the Baron sitting in a windowsill, staring off into the forest. He looked confused about something.
“Oi, Baron, youz look troubled. W’sup? Ya also itchin’ to foight?”
The Baron looked almost excited when Jake spoke to him, almost jumping down from the windowsill.
“Yes! Yes! Something is bothering me! I have been hoping to see some of the native fauna, but so far all I have seen is deer and squirrels! We have deer and squirrels in Bickenstadt! I want to see something different! Why haven’t we stumbled across anything interesting? A moose perhaps?”
Jake was almost disappointed. The Baron looked like he was pondering the mysteries of the universe.
“Well, da smart animals like Direwolves Moose an’ Deafclaws ain’t come anywhere near a bunch o’ gitz wif spears, or someone ‘ho seems strong, like you.”
The Baron looked almost alarmed.
“Did...did you just say ‘deathclaw’?”
Jake nodded his head sagely.
“Yeah, deafclaw. Youz know deafclaws, don’t you?”
The Baron stared at him blankly.
“Ah, ya really don’t know ‘bout deafclaws. Roight, well, you know bears? Big, furry, brown-o-or white dependin’ on ‘ow norf ya go, big paws. Ya know, bears?”
The Baron stared at Jake for a second before nodding.
“...Yes. I am familiar with…bears.”
“Roight, den imagine a bear, brown fur an shit, but ‘bout twice as big, claws ‘bout like a foot long, kinda longer snout, an’ it walks on two legs an’ leans on it’s knuckles.”
The Baron looked shocked and appalled.
“What the fuck is even that!? Some sort of Daemonic bear-gorilla hybrid?”
“It’s a deafclaw! Dey’re da reason wez made cities an’ armies! Dey real smart, maybe smart as me n’ youz, an’ so dey know dat ten angry gitz wif spears ain’t worf da trouble!”
The Baron’s face displayed an emotion Jake had never seen before. It was a mix of horror and bewilderment.
“Don’t youz got shit like dat in Manland? Dey’z called like Demi…somfin’?”
The Baron nodded his head and spoke absentmindedly as he stared off into the woods.
“Demigryph. A beast native to the Grossenberge mountain range. I have yet to see one in person. Only the Empress may tame and field demigryphs. They are about as intelligent as horses, and that is mostly what we use them as, and by we I mean the Empress. And, they are incredibly difficult to tame, the Empress only has around 40 demigryph knights, so that's also a reason I've never seen them.”
Jake smiled.
“Dey strong?”
“Yes, very. Take this with a grain of salt, all I have heard is hearsay, but they may be worth a whole battalion of Yorksburg cavalry. And not only are they strong, but flying cavalry tends to be much more terrifying than regular cavalry. And, as far as I know, they are the only flying cavalry in the world.”
The Baron stiffened up almost as soon as he finished speaking, looking like he just had a revelation.
“Wait, dey fly?”
“Uh, yeah. They fly-sorry Jake, but I’ve gotta go talk to my lieutenants about something! Tell me if you get any signs of an impending invasion!”
The Baron quickly ran off, leaving Jake alone. Jake scratched the top of his bald head.
“I still ‘ad questions…”
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The Baron was sitting in a windowsill, eating an apple, bored out of his mind. He couldn’t fathom why Yorksburg had yet to attack them again after three and a half weeks. He was getting sick and tired of small skirmishes. Yorksburg could afford to waste more scoutboyz than the garrison of Castle Cornwall and the few Jack had sent from London.
“Baron!”
The Baron almost dropped his apple as Jake appeared next to him and yelled at the top of his lungs.
“Jesus man! What is it?”
“Baron! I need you to send one of your boyz to Londonsburg an' ask for more gitz! My scout boyz told me York is musterin’ thousands o’ Orcs just outside castle Blenham! Dey’re sendin’ deir own scout boyz as well, more dan mine can deal wif!”
The Baron furrowed his brow.
“Why do you need one of my men to do it?”
“None o’ mine’l make it trough da wild alive! Deafclaws n’ shit! I was finkin' dat short git from Orkney.”
The Baron hopped down from his window, taking another bite of his apple before handing it to Jake.
“Right! I’ll get on. Fergus! Someone find Fergus for me! And Jean and Helmut! We’ve got preparations to make!”
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“But Skipper! Wez is gettin’ killed out dere! Youz gotta give our boyz suma’ dat Empire shit! I watched what ‘appened wif da siege towers! Dey got wrecked! 3,000 boyz fought off by less dan a tousand!”
The Orc shook his head solemnly.
“Deyz is usin’ gunz, killz way fasta dan our shit. Outta 3,000, wez got 900 krumped outroight. An’ more ‘a demz is ‘urt real bad. Ain’t it look to youz like wez is gonna lose at dis rate?”
The Skipper of Yorksburg sat up in his giant, beautifully lacquered, reddish brown throne. His cape caught on the thick black steel wires which made up the decorations on the sides, ripping with absolutely no resistance as he leaned forward. His voice was far deeper than a normal Orc, and almost seemed to shake the ground as he spoke.
“Youz fink wez gotta git wif dem Empire gitz? ‘Ho are we to change da way York fought ‘undreds o’ years ago? ‘E know what ‘e was doin’, you fink youz is smarter dan a god?”
The lieutenant-turned-commander lowered his head further.
“No, Skipper, Iz ain’t sayin’ I’m betta’. I’m sayin’ dat Londonsburg is winnin’, an’ wez is losin’. Dere’s gotta be a reason for dat, an’ da reason is our weapons n' tactics”
The Skipper downed the contents of his mug and chucked it into the dirt next to his commander, imbedding itself nearly up to the brim. To his credit, the commander refused to flinch in front of his Skipper. The Skipper was vibrating with quiet fury.
“Youz really do fink youz is better dan York if you fink ‘is strategies are da fings failin’ us.”
The commander raised his head to speak.
“But Skipper! Da boyz from Londonsburg changed deir strategies, and London’s strategies were the same as Yorks! Do dey fink dey’re better dan London?!”
The Skipper stomped his foot hard enough to crack the wooden platform his throne sat upon. He was grinding his teeth hard enough to be audible.
“If dey’re changin’ da time ‘onored strategies o’ London den dey betray ‘is vision. Dey’re ‘eritics! All wez gotta do now is wait ‘em out! Dey gonna lose da favor o’ London any day now! An’ den wez is gonna crush ‘em, startin’ wif castle Cornwall! Now get outta my sight!”
The commander stood up and saluted the Skipper.
“Rogiht. I’ll get roight on dat.”
He turned on his heel and left the courtyard, making sure to kick some snow onto a nearby flower. He walked out of the Skipper’s Palace, and then walked out of Yorksburg city, and then continued walking into the woods, stopping when he found a secluded place.
“FUCKIN’ ‘ELL!”
He reeled back and punched a dead tree, knocking it down completely.
“FUCK DIS SHIT! FUCK YORK!”
He stomped the fallen tree until it lay in rotten splinters on the forest floor. As soon as he finished off that tree he turned to another, kicking it until it fell. He reeled back to kick it again, but stopped himself before he destroyed it, sitting down on the stump he left behind, burying his head in his hands. A single tear managed to find its way out of his eye and onto his palm.
“I just wan’ed Yorksburg to prosper. I just wanna make ‘em win, make ‘im proud. But does gitz woN’T LISTEN!”
He jumped off the log and stomped the down tree in half. He raise his foot, then set it back down again. He couldn’t bring himself to kick it again. All the rage had left his body, replaced by pure dismay. He flopped back down onto the stump and buried his head back in his hands.
“Yorksburg’l wiped out at dis rate. All because ‘o does idiot priests o’ York. Dis is why Londonsburg ain’t let priests be generals. What can I even do?”
He sat alone in the woods for a while, silently contemplating his choices. Suddenly, he had an idea.
“Well, if York is gonna fail me, den, why don’t I just convert? Yeah! Dat’s a great idea! Fuck off York! London’s my new god now!”
He rubbed his hands together as he contemplated the ways he could destroy Yorksburg. As far as he knew, he was the only Orc in history to change sides. While that is not true, there were about twelve others who had in the past millennia of Orc civilization, he was still motivated by the idea that he is unique.
“‘Ehehehe, I can tell da Skipper o’ Londonsburg anyfink! I can tell ‘em all ‘bout da next offensive! ‘Ell wanna ‘ear our numbers n shit! I can see ‘im droolin’ as I tell ‘em ‘bout all da shiny shit Yorksburg’s leavin’ undefended! Oh, dis gonna be good! Dis gonna be good as ‘ell!”
The lieutenant quickly ran back to Yorksburg to grab his horse and rode off in the direction of Londonsburg.
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Nearly a week after the Baron sent Fergus to request reinforcements, a large cloud of dust could be seen miles away. They still had a couple of slow, agonizing hours before the assault would begin. However, this time, they were much better prepared.
While they still didn’t have any cannons, the thing which made siege towers obsolete wherever it was adopted, they did have makeshift wall mounted ballistae they had made in the interim after realizing that the large Orcish boys were simply not powerful enough to launch such an unwieldy projectile.
They were loaded with large explosive bolts, made of clay pots filled with black powder, various types of shrapnel, and tipped with a mixture which Jean said ignited when impacting something with sufficient force. In addition to this they had satchel bombs to destroy any towers that were able to reach the walls, and plenty of pitfall and other types of traps spread around clearing and forest. It was still very possible that the castle would be overrun, but they would come out of it more than a little bloodied.
The Baron stood on the parapet, staring off in the direction of Londonsburg, hoping to see an equally large cloud of dust, but finding nothing of the sort. Jake came over and slapped the Baron’s shoulder.
“So, what do you fink our chances are? "Fink youz been doin' it longer dan me.”
After gazing into the distance for a moment longer, the Baron sighed and turned to Jake, flashing his best ‘in public’ smile.
“Well, I’m not going to lie to you. Our chances are quite slim.”
Jake looked contemplative for a moment before erupting in laughter.
“Well! Da slimmer da chance da betta it feels ta overcome da odds! Dat’s what London’s all about! Wez is gonna blow ‘em to smifereens!”
The Baron smiled and fiddled with his wedding ring.
“Too true. Too...True.”
The Baron gazed down at his ring and took in a deep breath, looking at Jake with resolve clear in his eyes.
"Right then, I’m sure there’s last minute preparations we could be doing. Any ideas?”
“Well, we could shake our fists at ‘em til dey come?”
The Baron smiled genuinely.
“Excellent. You get on that. I’ll consult Jean. He’s usually full of novel ideas.”
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A few hours later, the Yorksburg army had arrived, and there was still no sign of Londonsburg reinforcements. The Baron could see ten siege towers, and they only had four extremely roughly made ballistae.
Is this really how I’m going to die? In fucking Orcland?
The Baron thought to himself as he took in the massive size of the Yorksburg column.
As the army came to a stop just outside of rifle range, the Baron kept fiddling with his saber, bloodlust written all over his face.
Maybe I’ll just use magic this time? No one has told me not to. I could do something subtle, since Orcs seem to be unfamiliar with gravity magic.
The Baron mounted his horse and left through the gate with Jake. As soon as the enemy duelists came over he nearly leaped off his horse to take his place across from one of the Yorksburg duelists. His signature smile was gone, replaced with a very displeased scowl.
“I’m usually one for pleasantries, but not today. Let’s get this over with.”
The Baron drew his saber, bowed at the hip, and threw his arms out dramatically, glowering the entire time.
“I’m the Baron von fucking Bickenstadt…”
The Baron stood up tall and faced his shoulder forward as he pointed his saber at his opponent’s throat.
“...and I’m going to mount your head on a fucking pike!”
One of the Orcs jumped off his horse and approached the Baron, duel arming swords in hand. He also looked displeased, though the Baron figured that was most likely due to the Baron’s rather rude introduction.
“I’m Jacob. Youz ready?”
The Baron sighed and fell into his fighting stance, saber arm in front with saber held horizontally above his head, off hand at his hip. A very aggressive stance in Bszerci saber fencing.
“Of course.”
As soon as Jacob took up his fighting stance the Baron rushed forward, bringing his saber down directly on Jacob’s head. Jacob lifted one sword to block and chambered the other for a thrust.
The Baron could see what would happen, Jacob would thrust and his sword would slide right off his cuirass. As the Baron brought his sword down on Jacob, his eyes began to glow a dull yellow, which was nearly impossible to see past a few paces. His saber connected with Jacob’s sword, then went right through and into Jacob’s skull, which it went right through as well.
Jacob’s other arm thrust at the Baron on reflex alone, finding an angle and bouncing right off his enchanted cuirass. The Baron performed a draw cut, a heavily emphasized technique in Holenstadter saber fencing, and made a show of flicking the blood off, raising it far above his head and swinging down before returning it to his sheath.
As he mounted his horse the castle walls erupted in cheers. The noise of 800 men yelling at once was loud enough to be heard from miles away.
The Baron looked over at Jake to see how he was doing, and found that they were both staring at him instead of fighting.
“Hey! Get to it! Let’s get this bloody siege started.”
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As the towers crept ever closer, the ballistae picked their targets. The rifles aimed and fired, switching places with another line of riflemen, who fired shortly after. Both volleys felled very few Orcs, which was to be expected as they had a lot of cover.
Soon, the towers came into range of the Baron's makeshift ballistae, and they fired. The noise was very different than the Baron was used to with the cannons. Most of the sound came from the wooden frame creaking as the force being released from the rope was pushed into it. As one of the ballistae fired, the wooden base broke, and the force of the bolt being thrown pulled the entire ballistae forward and off the wall, crashing into a pile of splinters on the ground below.
However, all of the bolts hit their target, exploding as they impacted the towers. The front of each tower struck was blown open, killing any Orcs standing around where the explosion happened. The Baron saw Jean thrust his fist in the air in victory. His mixture had worked as intended.
“Reload! Aim for the base of the towers! For the wheels!”
As the ballistae reloaded, the musketmen, significantly quicker to reload than the rifles, fired off volleys, each one killing more and more Orcs the closer they marched, but less than they would have liked.
The Orc shields were doing good work deflecting the musket balls, and they would continue to do so until they reached a pivotal range: 100 yards. Because there were so many of them, as well as the strong Orcish armor, their commanders didn’t even bother trying to hide the approaching infantry behind the tower.
The infantry soon spread out to surround the castle, carrying ladders and ropes. A few of the ten towers broke away from the others, heading to a different side of the castle. The Baron saw the weakness immediately and worked to capitalize on it.
“Aim for the towers who turned! The wheels! They can't move with no wheels!”
The Ballistae fired, but only two bolts hit their target, one flying off and landing in the middle of a mass of infantry, killing a few and grievously wounding a dozen more. One bolt hit the base of a tower, but missed the wheels, just blowing a hole in the wall.
The other, however, managed to hit the leftmost tower’s wheel, turning it into splinters and completely disabling the tower. The massive war machine leaned to the side and slowly toppled over, crashing in a cacophony of noise, crushing any Orcs unlucky enough to get in its path.
“Reload! Quickly! Reload!”
The Baron estimated they could fire off two more bolts per ballistae before the ladders made it to the wall. They needed to make them count, as there were only enough satchel charges to blow six towers. Worst case scenario, someone could either throw or charge with the explosive bolts, though that would be a last resort.
The musketmen kept up their fire, felling dozens of Orcs with each volley. With the entire roughly 6,000 strong Orc army charging at once, they barely needed to aim. The same could not be said for their artillery.
The ballistae aimed and fired, each bolt striking a tower. One bolt struck the wheel of one of the frontal assaulting towers, disabling it, but not knocking it over as the other wheel’s axle seemingly snapped in half, causing the tower to settle on its flat base.
The other two bolts both hit the rightmost tower which was attempting to move to a different side, one bolt hitting too high, blowing a massive hole just above the wheel, the other hitting the very bottom on the wheel, taking out a huge chunk, but leaving just enough to allow the tower to keep moving, albeit a bit unsteadily. There were eight towers left, with six of the towers being mangled in some way. A cannon would have done a much better job, but beggars can’t be choosers.
“Reload! Quickly! Make this shot count, they’re almost to the walls! Fire as soon as you have your target in sight!”
Dozens of Orcs fell in volley after valley, but their charge never faltered.
One of the ballistae fired, the bolt going through an opening and blowing a large hole in one of the lower floors. The walls flexed outward and slowly, the tower buckled in on itself. Seven towers left. Another ballistae fired, striking the very top of the tower, the door swinging down and breaking off, taking much of the front wall with it. Not necessarily disabled, but it would be more awkward to get out of it, the Orcs having to literally jump onto the pikes of the Baron’s men if they wanted to get to the walls.
The last ballistae fired, striking the wheel of another front facing tower. The whole castle cheered as a fourth tower stopped dead in its tracks, leaving five relatively unharmed towers and one tower with no door. The Baron grabbed a bolt, holding it in his hand like a javelin.
As the ladders docked the walls, the Baron took aim with his own bolt, chucking it with all his might into the Orc crowding around the bottom of the ladder. It exploded in the middle of them, killing a dozen Orcs in less than a second and shattering the bottom of the ladder. The Baron cheered and drew his saber, thrusting it up into the air.
“Let’s get to it men!”
Cheers shook the walls themselves as hundreds of soldiers roared in unison.The musketmen leaned over the wall and fired, sending dead Orcs hurtling downwards, taking some of their comrades with them. The musketmen on the walls affixed bayonets and waited for Orc heads to peek over the wall, though some left to continue their fire from the tops of the towers scattered along the walls.
The bayonets were attached, and as Orcs began to reach the top they began to thrust down at heads. Even if their bayonets didn’t pierce the Orc’s kettle helms, being stabbed in the head would make anyone unsteady.
The Baron leaned over the wall and swung, slicing the hands off of an Orc with ease using his supernaturally sharp saber, sending him screaming down to his death. One of the nearby musketmen grabbed a boulder and sent it crashing down onto an Orc, killing him and almost knocking every other Orc off the ladder as the boulder and the unfortunate victim fell.
This pattern continued all around as Orc infantry attempted to scale the walls. A few Orcs even threw up grappling hooks and attempted to climb the towers, though their ropes were swiftly severed by the musketmen stationed there.
Gaius leaned over the wall and swung his Brayherd greatsword one handed, hacking off the hands off multiple Orcs on two ladders at once, using the momentum to lift his sword and chop down onto the rungs of the ladder, chopping clean through and into the stone wall, sending small amounts of stone shrapnel flying at nearby Orcs. Udo slammed his sword’s guard into the helmet of an Orc, ripping it out and swinging it into the neck of an enemy nearby.
As the towers were just about to dock, the Baron strapped satchel charges to his chest and back, grumbling the whole time.
“I can’t believe they’re using the same tactics. They must be fucking idiots to attempt that again.”
He sighed and stood up, waiting for the doors to drop and the entrance to be relatively clear, fiddling with the butt of one of his pistols.
The Baron’s men near the walls lit their bombs as the towers finally docked. As the doors dropped the men threw in the grenades, shredding through dozens of Orcs at once with lethal shrapnel and rupturing internal organs with the shockwave. The Baron saw his chance and vaulted up onto the open door of the nearest tower, tearing his way down with lethal efficiency.
The Yorksburg Orcs, not expecting the enemy to literally storm their tower, were surprised and swiftly cut down. An Orc thrust his arming sword at the Baron, who simply ducked under, placed his saber at the Orc’s neck, and drew it across as the Baron stepped behind him. The Baron kicked a rising Orc, who fell down and took several comrades with him, cracking his neck as he landed on the lower platform. The Baron slashed the throats of the remaining Orcs before they could stand, his enchanted blade gliding right through the mundane chainmail protecting their necks.
As he reached the bottom of the tower, he created a gravity field which prevented Orcs from entering and lit the fuse. The Baron looked up through the tower to see if his men were holding when realized he could have just thrown the satchels in through the hole the ballistae made, and mentally kicked himself for not realizing it earlier. The placement might not be perfect, but at least he wouldn’t have had to physically enter the siege tower.
He sprinted up the stairs, bounding off of dead and dying Orcs and dodging past and slashing the still living Orcs who were trying to clear their tower of this machine of death. A slash glanced off his helmet and the Baron responded with a thrust through the Orc soldier’s heart, piercing his brigandine with ease. He kicked the Orc off his saber and into another soldier and bound up the rest of the way up in just a few massive strides.
As he exited the tower, a soldier tackled him from behind, sending him face first into the ground, smashing his nose into the kettle helm of a downed Orc. He felt the Orc get impaled by several pikes, but as he tried to get up he found his arms wouldn’t cooperate. One of his men bravely jumped up onto the door and dragged the Baron to safety. Every inch he covered was filled with searing pain.
Though he could easily handle this level of pain, it still wasn’t pleasant, and pain tolerance doesn't make a difference when you're knocked good and proper. He needed Geidpfeld to come deal with him immediately, because when he looked at the face of his savior, he saw three of him.
The Baron dragged himself over to the stairs with the help of his pikeman, a very young man. This was most likely his second battle ever, and so he looked, to put it lightly, extremely freaked out..
“Say, what’s your name son.”
The young man stumbled, like the Baron asking him his name affected him physically. His face was covered in blood, most likely someone else’s as he had no visible injuries.
“Uh U-udo, sir. Udo Jaeger.”
The Baron stopped him and untangled himself from the man’s arms and leaned against the wall near the stairs.
“You’ll get extra pay when this is all over. And vacation time. Please go fetch Geidpfeld, he should be in the cellars.”
Udo Jaeger stared at him for a moment before he saluted and ran off. The Baron was seeing stars, his arms weren’t working very well, and he was bleeding profusely from his nose. But still, he drew a pistol, shakily aimed, and fired, missing his first shot in years.
I'm getting old. No more siege tower spelunking for me today.
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As a siege tower was docking on a separate wall, the Baron’s men, again, lit the fuses on their grenades, blowing away Orcs as soon as the doors dropped. Udo solemnly strapped on his satchel charges and borrowed an arming sword from a nearby dead Orc. He felt that his longsword would only hinder him in such an enclosed space.
He vaulted onto the door and found his path was clear, or, about as clear as an active battlefield could get. From what he could tell by the holes blown in the other tower, there were four floors. As soon as he entered the tower he jumped the railing, landing on an Orc climbing the stairs and locking eyes with another.
Before the Orc could even raise his weapon Udo lashed out, slicing his throat, swiftly finishing the Orc he landed on top of with a stab to the heart before moving on. Another group of Orcs were climbing the stairs, and Udo had an Idea. He used a loose piece of wood sticking out of the tower to swing into the group, sending them tumbling down the stairs, finishing off the one he landed on with a sword to the throat as he began to move.
He vaulted the railing and was immediately greeted by two Orcs swiping at him, which he ducked and rolled under, coming up and slicing through the armpit one of them, the Orc's arm dangling uselessly at his side. The other swung at him again and he quickly parried, redirecting the strike to his armored shoulder and coming back down to sever the Orc’s hand at the wrist.
He ran past the screaming Orcs and jumped over another group of Orcs, scrambling to the first floor and cutting off his satchels, managing to light it with the somehow still lit matchcord wrapped around his neck and draped over his ear. He looked up and found his path blocked. He knew what he needed to do, and it seemed like it would be a great time. He also knew, however, that the Baron would have tried to stop it.
Udo burst out of the siege tower, completely surrounded by enemy Orcs.
Well, I’m outside. Now what? This seemed like such a good idea before!
With most of the Orcs distracted with climbing the walls, Udo hoped he could somehow slip away and climb a ladder, and after he got to one, all he could do was trust that his fellow soldiers would realize it was him. An Orc noticed and swiped at Udo, who dodged and kicked the back of the Orc’s knee, stabbing through his neck soon after.
Udo weaved through the crowd of Orcs, either being ignored by Orcs fully focused on climbing the walls or quickly killing any who noticed him. And after a couple of seconds making distance, the tower exploded. Splinters were shot out in every direction, killing Orcs who weren’t even standing near the tower.
A single splinter a couple inches long impaled itself in Udo’s side, knocking him on his stomach. One of the Orcs, obviously not paying any attention to who he was, or simply not believing an enemy would be stupid enough to leave the castle, helped Udo to his feet without even looking.
“Wez got a castle to climb bruv! No nappin’!”
The Orc ran off towards a ladder and Udo, utterly confused, ran to the ladder next to him. As he climbed up the ladder, he thrusted upwards, causing Orcs ahead of him to fall off. Halfway up the ladder, he saw Orcs beginning to fall above him, and a massive boulder flying down at him. He threw himself to the side, holding on to the ladder with one hand as the rest of his body dangled off the side.
The boulder cracked through a few rungs of the ladder, including the one Udo was holding onto, and he just barely managed to catch onto something, gripping the ankle of an Orc above him. The Orc, not even looking at who grabbed his ankle, helpfully swung Udo back over to the ladder, allowing him to grab onto it.
Udo was beginning to feel bad for killing so many Orcs, they just seemed to be so helpful when he needed it, however, he unfortunately had no choice. The Orc above him fell, and soon after, Udo was stabbed in the top of the head by a pike. His helmet held firm, but he barely kept his grip.
“It’s me! It’s Udo! Please don't hit me!”
After dodging another pike thrust at him, the men realized it was him, and Gaius extended an arm down. Udo gratefully grabbed onto his forearm, and Gaius lifted him up like he weighed nothing. Udo flopped down on the wall, breathing hard. This was the most out of breath he had ever been, as well as the closest he ever came to losing his life. He really should be dead, the only thing keeping him from dying was the Orc’s nearly supernatural ability to work well with others.
Udo looked up at Gaius and chuckled as he spoke.
“G-gaius.”
Gaius reeled back and split an Orc’s head in half.
“Amicus?”
Udo heaved a massive sigh of relief.
“Don’t go into a siege tower. It’s a bad fucking idea.”
Gaius hoisted Udo up and pointed him in the direction of Geidpfeld, who was running to the Baron.
“Go. you are bleeding. Out of your back.”
Udo looked confusedly at Gaius. Gaius pointed to his back using the Brayherd greatsword.
“Looks like a splinter.”
Udo looked and realized it was far larger, and far deeper, than he initially thought. He was bleeding profusely, at this rate, he would most likely bleed out in a minute or two. The adrenaline was pumping hard into his system. He barely even felt it.
The Baron was on his stomach, Geidpfeld crouched over him, hands next to both of his temples, eyes glowing a pale pink.
“Come on, Baron. You have had worse than this. Walk it off. Stop being a woman.”
Geidpfeld may have been healing the Baron, who had just risked his life to make his men's job easier, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to give him shit for getting a concussion. That was just what Imperial soldier culture was like. The Baron smiled.
“Come on, that’s not fair to women. I've met some hardy women in my time.”
Geisfeld blinked as he stared at the Baron, then chuffed and shook his head.
“Yeah yeah, come on Herr Champion des schönen Geschlechts, get up, you’re all healed. And I can see that blonde idiot hobbling his way over to me, so save your breath for him.”
“Is he wearing a helmet?”
“Yes.”
The Baron immediately shot up, fearfully looking around him..
“Oh Great Heavens Ludwin’s been hurt!”
Udo stumbled over to Geisfeld, barely keeping himself up by bracing himself against the wall. He was visibly losing strength, and his face was extremely pale. He weakly moaned out a reply.
“...It’ss. U-udo, ssir..”
Geidpfeld got off the Baron and immediately jumped to treat Udo. The Baron rubbed his eyes and found Udo, still somehow wearing his helmet, bleeding out against the wall.
“Lord in heaven! You’re still wearing your helmet! Did it save you?”
Udo screamed at the top of his lungs as Geidpfeld roughly tore the splinter out of his side. Geidfeld’s eyes erupted in an intense, vibrant pink glow, and he drew sigils in the air, lines of intense light forming the Frauensiegel, the sigil of healing most prominent in the Empire whose geometric symbols resembled a bundle of herbs, before slamming his hand into the wound. After a few seconds, the blood around the wound was being drawn back inside, and the hole was visibly closing. Udo shot Geidpfeld a miffed look at the way he ripped the splinter out, then turned back to the Baron, chuckling as he tried to catch his breath.
“Fuck…yeah. Yeah-h it did.”
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The siege had lasted for nearly a dozen hours, with many different periods of the Yorksburg forces slowing down to convalesce then assaulting again in one great green tide of disciplined, experienced warriors. Though they took a few breaks, there was never a moment where the garrison was not fighting. Two siege towers were still fully intact, but many Orcs, having watched how easily the Baron's men killed Orcs in the towers, had decided they would rather not die in a fancy wooden box.
The Orc onslaught had slowed down again, but looking out in the distance showed that they still had plenty of men. The Baron was sitting on the ground, back against the wall, breathing hard. He reached for an explosive satchel, utterly exhausted. As his hand shakily wrapped around a strap, someone slapped his hand and snatched it away from him.
He was annoyed they slapped his hand, but thankful they were providing shade from the surprisingly brutal Orcland sun. A voice came from above, a mirthful, almost musical tone easy to pick out from the thick accent.
“Baron~! Ya look liek shite! Sit down, auldjin, an’ catch your fookin’ breath!”
The Baron could hardly believe his ears, or his eyes. He wearily looked up and found a beautifully braided auburn beard hanging in front of his face. He rubbed his eyes and blinked up at Fergus.
“Fergus? You’re back? Are the reinforcements here?”
Fergus slapped the Baron’s shoulder and laughed.
“They’ll be ‘ere in around an hour! All we gotta do is hold ‘em off!”
The Baron sighed and slowly pulled himself up to his feet. He drew his pistol, finding it empty, and investigating his powder horn showed it was as well. He angrily holstered it and drew his saber.
“They better make it the shortest fucking hour in history, I don’t know how much longer we can keep them away.”
Fergus was strapping on the satchels and glazing around the castle.
“How’re the men?”
The Baron leaned forward and put his hands on his knees to steady himself.
“Oh, they’re exhausted. Exhausted, but largely still alive.”
He took in a deep breath before blowing it out shakily as he chuckled.
“Turns out that using antiquated technology and tactics makes you quite easy to hold off!”
Fergus tightened the final strap and smiled dangerously at the Baron.
“Hljómar eins og góður tími fyrir mig.”
The Baron spit some phlem on the ground before steadying himself, standing up strong, shoulders cocked back, a confident smile plasted across his face.
“Þetta Reddast.”
Fergus laughed raucously.
“You sure know yer Orkniers! Þetta Reddast, félagi!”
