B3 Chapter 16: A Rock and a Hard Place

Marcus blinked in surprise at Tiberius’s words. “Come again?”

Tiberius gestured to the scene before them, the orcish tide continuing to rise against the humans’ wall. “My two enemies are fighting. They weaken each other as we speak. Why would I interrupt that?”

Marcus was silent for a moment—a reaction more telling to Tiberius than if he had sputtered with indignation. “Well… what if they get into the city? Would such an outcome not damage the settlement you hope to claim?”

Tiberius lifted one shoulder. “The settlements we have already conquered required significant overhaul in their construction. I expect this one to be no different.”

“A settlement is not composed of buildings alone,” Duke Redcliffe pointed out. “What of the people? Do you intend to let them die? You see the level of ‘organization’ these orcs have. They won’t simply ignore the rest of the city as they march to the castle. If they get inside, they’ll fill the streets like an overflowing river and kill whoever they wish.”

“These are Rome’s future citizens—soon to be your people.” Marcus added. “Doesn’t your empire need more workers? More merchants, farmers, tradesmen? Would it not be best to—”

Tiberius held up a hand. Instantly, the other men fell silent.

“First,” he began. “These people will not be citizens. Not unless they prove themselves. I will not devalue that title so easily.”

He saw Sylendor nod in agreement at the sentiment. Just because the elves had been granted that title did not mean it was freely given. Nor did it mean Tiberius had forgotten what it entailed.

“Second. Regardless of what these people may become, the fact remains that they are, as of now, Novarans. They stand with their king. Until they prove otherwise, I claim no responsibility for them. And I will not spend the lives of my men so carelessly to purchase theirs.”

The faces of the Novarans around him darkened—save for Marcus’s, who became unreadable. His words were harsh. He knew as much. But a leader could not afford to be taken in by soft sentiments like senseless compassion and misplaced mercy. He would put his own first.

“Then you see the inhabitants of the city as your enemies?” The duke asked quietly.

“I would be a fool to see them as anything else.” He gestured toward the orcish assault. “Were our places switched, they would rain down death upon our heads as easily as they do the orcs. I see no reason to pretend otherwise.”

Quiet settled over the group once more. Interestingly enough, Tiberius noted that the duke’s son appeared considerably less bothered by Tiberius’s words than his father. Perhaps he harbored some resentment towards them, given his treatment during his long stint defending the pass.

“That being said, I do not intend to let the city burn, its inhabitants be slaughtered to a man,” the emperor clarified. “Nor do I intend to wrest control of the city from a separate occupying force. But their defenders will earn their keep before the battle is done.”

Tiberius gauged the progress of the orcs against the state of the defenders. “We have plenty of time to garrison before they break through. We will take advantage of Novara’s distraction and exhaustion to break through from behind.”

The fact that the orcs had focused their attacks at one point was honestly a boon for Tiberius. Not only did it slow their potential ability to break through, but it meant that all of the city’s defenses were also in once place. Novara effectively had their backs turned. And Tiberius intended to reward that oversight with a dagger.

“Once we have taken the city, we will push through and repel the orcs ourselves from a fortified position—assuming the Novarans have not succeeded in doing so themselves,” Tiberius continued. “Understood?”

His commanders nodded, some more readily than others. Quintus, Gaius, and Sylendor seemed to take absolutely no issue with the tactics, as expected. It was a reasonable approach, after all, one that would ensure the greatest chance of success and the fewest losses for Rome.

The duke, his son, and Marcus still seemed dissatisfied with the answer. However, the fact that he did intend to repel the orcs seemed to mollify them somewhat. Something that amused Tiberius.

Despite his earlier words, letting the city be overrun was a bad idea for a number of reasons. Close quarters fighting in the streets was a generally bad idea, even more so now that [Coordinated Bulwark] strengthened their defenses based on the length of a shield wall. Getting one of any size set up would be a nightmare in the narrow paths. Not to mention he had no desire to put his men into melee with battle maniacs of this strength without any sense of self preservation. It would be like fighting the ghouls at Stonester all over again.

Tiberius spent a bit more time speaking with his commanders and his scouts, ensuring that their timetables were correct. They wanted to attack before the orcs broke through, but not so early that the green-skinned barbarians were unable to properly weaken the city. Given the relatively slow rate of their progress, they decided it may take as much as a day or two.

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In the meantime, the men would never object to some rest. And now that they were out of the eastern marches, it seemed that trees were once again able to grow. Perhaps they could avail themselves of the resources. After all, they could always use more siege weaponry.

He began issuing orders. This time, they would have time to properly prepare. And Tiberius intended to take full advantage.

***

The throne room was silent. Eerily so. No because it was empty, though. Quite a number of nobles, advisers, and other authority figures gathered amongst the resplendent pillars and beneath its crystalline chandeliers. Yet not a single one of them dared to so much as whisper.

Gerald brooded on his throne as he chewed nervously on a rind of brie. The cheese was all right. Brie wasn’t his favorite kind of cheese, but with the right kind of cracker and wine, it was tolerable. The rind was honestly his favorite part of this batch. But he hardly even tasted it with the weight of the stress he currently found himself under.

One of the nobles shifted a little too loudly, drawing a venomous glare from the king. The man shrank back with a grimace.

Gerald harrumphed and returned to his musings. The orcs were attacking the city. Damn Redcliffe allowing his men to abandon their post had let them through. If Gerald hadn’t already suspected the man of treason, then the speed at which the orcs waltzed through Corwyn pass certainly convinced him. It was as though the man had laid out a red carpet for the barbarians. Worse, Marquis Morozov had yet to provide an update on his arrest of the rebellious Duke.

He’d thought that the marquis, at least, was slightly competent. Apparently he’d been mistaken. He was surrounded by idiots.

Now, the king found himself in a rather unenviable position. He’d already had the advisers that had allowed this to happen thrown in the dungeons. But that didn’t change the reality of things. The orcs were still attacking their walls. Worse, they’d even brought ladders. Fucking ladders!

An orc building a ladder was like a dog baking a pie. It was guaranteed to taste like shit. Yet somehow, by some miracle, these ladders were not only functional but holding out. Apparently, his men were too incompetent to just set the things on fire or blow them up or something.

The news had understandably angered Gerald. But even after lashings and throwing those messengers in the dungeon as well, they hadn’t changed their story. More kept coming with the same bad news, all through that day and into the next. It was to the point that Gerald could no longer ignore it, try as he might.

The doors to the throne room slammed open. The king glared at the grim-faced man who marched purposefully toward him. Despite the obvious breach of decorum, his approach went uncontested by his royal guards.

By the time the man came before him, Gerald was seething and ready to order this upstart arrested himself. But before he could swallow his bite of cheese, the man dropped to one knee, finally showing a bit of respect.

“Your Majesty. The watch commander beseeches you for reinforcements. We need more elites on the wall, or we will be pushed back and lose it.”

The king felt his nostrils flare and his eyes bulge. He nearly spat out the last bit of his cheese before he was able to wash it down with a swig of his wine. Even then, he barely managed to avoid sputtering.

“What?!”

The shout cracked through the throne room, its volume causing many of the assembled figures to jump in fright. A few courtiers rushed from the room at the news, but Gerald ignored them. His attention was fully trained on this man.

“We request more elite troops to help us push back the orcs from the top of the wall,” he reiterated. “We are able to hold them back for now, but no man’s stamina lasts forever. If they advance much farther, the wall will fall.”

“Th-they’ve reached the top of the wall?” The king stammered.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” the messenger said in an exasperated tone that the king did not appreciate. “We request reinforcements.”

Gerald fell silent, his glass trembling in his hand. This was worse than he’d feared. The thought that they even could lose the wall… Suddenly, he realized just how serious the situation truly was.

His gaze darted to either side until he found his [Royal Guard Captain]. He pointed at the hulking suit of armor.

“Pull back all elite troops from the city and the wall immediately! Anyone over level fifteen, I want them guarding the castle!”

There was a moment of astonished silence as everyone processed the words. Then, the room devolved into a complete uproar. Everyone started talking all at once, shouting over each other to be heard.

The [Royal Guard Captain] ignored them all, simply saluting before stepping away to ensure the king’s commands were followed. At least he did as he was told.

“Your majesty!” The messenger shouted, his voice barely audible above the din. “But the city…! There’s no need for this! We can hold the wall if only they receive some reinforcements!”

But Gerald was already rising from his throne. A vague gesture in his direction sent more [Royal Guards] toward him. They seized the man and dragged him away to the dungeons as he struggled and shouted with increasing panic.

He issued a few more commands as he left the throne room. “Bar the gates and activate the castle’s defenses after all the strongest fighters have assembled here. I don’t want anyone coming in unless I explicitly allow it. Understood? Also…” A thought occurred to him. “I will give you a list of nobles to invite in as well. Allow them to bring their retinue as well, but only if they’re above level fifteen. Anything less will just clutter things up.”

More guards and aides sprang into action, rushing to act on their king’s orders. He gave himself a mental pat on the back for his decisive action. It had to be done. After all, the defenders had already proven incompetent enough to leg the orcs on the wall. Who was to say that they hadn’t misjudged their ability to defend it?

No, this was a far safer course of action. A kingdom was nothing without its king. He needed to protect himself at all costs.

Gerald left the shouting crowd behind him. He needed to get somewhere safe. Luckily, he knew just the place. The most secure location in the entire castle… His wine cellar.

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