Atop the steed that had carried him faithfully through nine years of war and wandering, the whole place sat beneath his scrutiny.
The horse, white as the first snowfall of the winter that was yet to co, and armored in dust and sweat, breathed slow and steady beneath him, and Alpheo let his gaze wander across the vast face of the Great Rock, where the first ring of stone now lay wounded and half-claid.
No longer was there the flurry of movent that had been constant since his arrival beneath those walls; the battlents where figures had scurried like ants over spilled honey stood strangely barren, emptied of purpose, as if a great breath had blown life from them.
He brought him little pride the knowledge that he had been that wind.
From every angle his eyes could reach, he saw only signs that the first ring was slipping from the hands of the defenders and falling into the custody of his own. It baffled him that the retreat had co so suddenly, without the fierce resistance he had braced himself to et, without even a token struggle to stall his advance.
Was there sothing he missed?
Did the enemy’s head truly possess so little faith in his own strength that he would abandon the wall the mont it cracked? Did he an to spare his n needless bloodshed, or was this so deeper piece in a ga not yet visible to him?
His mind was a machine, pulling every known fact into alignnt, filling what gaps remained with reason, suspicion, and mory of his known behaviour.
But it didn’t reach any real notion.
Concession of the wall was fact, yet understanding eluded him like smoke above a fire, for though a second ring still waited to be manned, no ruler with the faintest claim to martial sense would yield the first without cost.
It was not in the nature of desperate n to give ground they might yet soak in the blood of their enemies.
He questioned trap, but found no hook on which to hang the thought.
There existed no position within the ruin that lent itself to ambush, no pathway that could draw his n inward only to break their bones beneath a hidden counterstrike, no cunning layout of streets or corridors that would allow the Rolians to sever a limb of his army and feast upon the wound.Was it a mistake to send the Fourth?Shoud he have sent so probbing levies ahead first?
The clibanarii were nowhere to be seen which they would be needed for a quick sortie, not that it was a mistery, for Mavius had attempted many tis to throw open his gates and spill forth his remaining heavy cavalry in so last glittering charge. Yet any further attempt had ended at once, one bloody night where the hounds tore through enemy rider, repaying past debts with screaming interest.
The Great Rock, second only to the Bane, keeper of the Fingers, guardian of the path into the Empire, yielded like damp parchnt.
He had given the Fourth the honor of entering first.
Yet it had not been needed. They swept through ash instead of fla, silence instead of steel, and now Edric rode toward him with that somber smile a soldier wore only when victory tasted strangely flat, as though destiny had forgotten to resist.
One glance at the towers confird what his instincts already knew.
Gone was the eagle of Rolia, talons shorn and feathers scattered to the wind, and in its place the white and black of the legions unfurled like a proclamation carved into heaven. They claid no sovereignty over this fortress, but they nonetheless marked it as the first stone won by their hand.
They deserved that glory.
Still, he knew glory was smoke; banners were only cloth; songs fed no hunger. He had not co for fa, nor for applause.
There was only one thing he wanted from that old Rock. There was a heart waiting to be cut out.
It did not take long for the roar of celebration to reach them, rolling through the battered ranks like a wind that carried joy, disbelief, exhaustion and a hunger for more.
Those who had taken the brunt of the diversionary assaults, the latecors who were forced to climb ladders slick with blood while arrows fell on them like rain , now bellowed loudest of all.
Behind them ca the engineers, pale-eyed and weary.
They trudged forward not as conquerors , for they did not have the prestige for that. In truth the victory belonged to them more than any soldier with a polished helm or noble with twenty nas, for the wall had not been conquered by bravery but brought down by craft.
The engineers’ corps had been dismissed for years as little more than clever servants wrapped in military leather, an auxiliary of thinkers rather than killers, yet Alpheo had known from the first day he forged them that their worth would not be asured in skulls cracked but in towers broken and in bridges built.
If Ro had left any lesson upon history’s skin, it was that armies win battles through muscle,but strategy was always complented by good engineering.
And so, while the legions were raised, Alpheo had ensured that beside every two hundred fifty n bearing steel marched twenty who bore parchnt, compass and the mind , n trained beneath the watchful eye of the Yarzat Marvel Head of Ponthio.
Then to the feast ca the nobles.
Their approach slithered rather than marched, they were vultures who slled carrion.
Disgust coated Alpheo’s thoughts like oil spilled atop clear water, refusing to sink, refusing to be washed away.Had he been a dog he would have bared teeth at the company.
They were roaches in silk, scurrying from shadow to shadow until they found where the sun shone brightest, then swearing they had always lived within its light. They were moths drawn blind toward the heat , fish turning in every shifting current of fortune, loyal only to the tide that carried them safely to shore.
Three days before, these sa n had whispered venom behind his back, dismissing him as hesitant because he had chosen not to partake in the assaults, sneering at him. Now those very tongues curled around cheers of his greatness, hands reached as though to embrace a brother, and Alpheo felt only the instinct to recoil as one recoils from fla.
He wanted to be done with it and return ho.But he still could not.
So he turned instead to his true companions. He saw on their faces not exultation but a tempered sobriety, half-smiles that flickered down as soon as they ca, eyes slipping beyond celebration toward the second wall looming inside the first, the towers set like teeth, the unfilled ditch where any wise defender would have dug death into the ground.
They took in every detail with the careful calm of n who had already buried too much of themselves to waste breath celebrating a victory that could yet sour into tombs.
He was proud of that, he had after all trained them well.
He did not deserve them, he was sure of that.
They had followed him from chains into war, he had them for half his life and yet they were everything he had.
When they were slaves, it was by blood and flesh that he stole food. When he was hunted and starving, it was their hands that lifted him up.
Without him, they would not have eaten. Without them, he would not have lived.
There was no ti left to mourn those who had fallen, they had a job to take care of, for if they did not, more death would follow.
One had already hit him hard; another would break him.
"The first wall is ours," Edric of the Fourth Ardita announced at last "The enemy has fallen back fully. No hostile remains that has not already fed the ground."
Alpheo answered with a single nod, though it was a tired one, for victory tasted less like wine and more like ash when one could already see the next wall rising ahead.
Edric pressed before silence could settle. "Permission to lead the next assault? They reel from the breach, they are winded as they fear water on their knees. Send the Ardita, and we will drag them down until the water reaches their lungs.They found great sport in their wall, seems ti soone let them find their fun below.Let that be , Your Grace and I shall deliver unto you as many heads as you wish from the enemy."
His eyes held the earnest hunger of youth, fierce and bright as steel fresh-forged, the sa expression he had once worn under Jarza’s gaze, back when he was under his wing.
No matter, the prince’s afterbattle were always with his na on a piece of paper dictating so feat of honour and valour. The man was a rabid dog...
Now he understood the pride Jarza must have felt in him, just as he felt pride now in Ratto whose rise among the Crown’s hounds had shaped him just like Alpheo desired.
Perhaps his ti was coming sooner than he expected; he needed soone to take the reins of the Golde Cloaks.
reth was growing too old and was far too conservative.
Reform demanded youth, and Alpheo, ever practical, knew that if the army was to change, then its captain must change first.
It was ti the White Army got its own heavy cavalry detachnt perhaps....
Alpheo exhaled, long and slow, and shook his head. He may have been an hunting dog before, but now he wa sa legate.
"Your courage honors you, Edric, but courage alone is not coin enough for the second wall. An assault there would be little more than slaughter thrown like grain into a mill." His tone remained steady, held firm by the authority of soone who had watched too many brave n die beautifully for no reason but pride. "Give the Fourth rest. Their ti will co again, and when it does, they will strike where it matters. I will not throw legions into stone teeth, nor spill blood where earth and shadow will do the work better than steel."
"You an to bring it down again the sa way? Will they let you so?" Edric’s surprise was genuine, for even victory tastes strange when repeated in the sa shape.
Alpheo allowed a thin smile to lift one corner of his mouth. "When it ends, they will na this siege the Rat Battle.I hope that will be answer enough."
Understanding imdiately reached Edric’s eyes like flint striking iron. He bowed his head
’’Then the worms will dine well. If you need blood spilled, you need only speak. The Ardita shall answer, for our blood is nothing if gladly traded to see theirs run deeper.
We got a na to asure ourselves after all...I hope you will recall that when tis co."
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