SIEGE

Day 2

1

That night was no night. It seemed but a hazy period of dark, of lowered awareness, of ceaseless doubt and strangeness. Still, more confused than they were frightened, the castle defenders waded through the sunless, cold hours one step at a time by the sheer force of routine. And before long they looked up to see the sky grow brighter over the walls and were almost surprised to find themselves still alive.

At seven o’clock, the resting watch was called up and a personnel check was carried out. None of the force were missing. Carmelia’s telepathic skills and Margitte’s shadowmeter confirmed there were no impersonators among the numbers. The watchmen had reported no suspicious movement in or outside the wall either. True enough, after the initial sighting at the plaza, no one had spied any signs of life whatsoever, as if the city were what it seemed, entirely emptied, of both locals and enemies alike.

What could this silence mean?

The day resumed with breakfast, a ladleful of oatmeal porridge per person and a cup of strong tea, and bit by bit spirit and vitality returned to the company. From there, search parties regrouped and continued to chart and secure the remaining areas of the castle. Unneeded rooms and hallways were barricaded with furniture, spells, and miscellaneous equipment to prevent their use by friend or foe alike, and sentries patrolled the battlements keen as falcons.

At the same time as the drowsy troops scoured the Langorian nobles’ closets and corners, a rather expected argument unfolded in the conference hall above.

“We have to send scouts into the city,” Colonel Foulton demanded of the Imperial leaders. “Look for survivors!”

“How many times must I tell you, Colonel?” Miragrave replied from across the table, her patience wearing thin. “There are no survivors! Any scouts you send out there will not come back—if we are lucky!”

“Bullshit!” the man retorted. “You can’t know that! You can’t tell the future any better than the rest of us! If there is anyone left alive out there, it is our duty to save them! My duty!”

The Marshal got up from her chair and leaned over the table, her face grimness itself.

“Another word of this, and I’ll gladly send you out there to scout by yourself! But make no mistake—anyone who leaves the castle grounds has no more business ever coming back! End of discussion!”

“General,” Foulton appealed to Monterey next, apparently thinking men had some common dimension of understanding women could not access. “Speak sense to this stubborn witch! I am entirely willing to lead a team of my own men out, if your knights are too scared of phantoms.”

The General could only disappoint his request.

“My take on this does not differ from the Marshal’s,” he said. “I cannot condone such plans, voluntary or otherwise. The daemons have been passive thus far, but we cannot tell how they will respond if provoked. An armed venture into their turf could bring about our collective demise. It is a risk we cannot afford.”

“With all due respect, I’m not so sure there’s anything out there,” Foulton spitefully retorted. “You put your faith in a misshapen compass—your trinket might be broken, for all we know. Well, I’m accustomed to fighting enemies I can actually see with my own two eyes! Whatever awaits out there, it must be Hel of a lot better than sitting here, twiddling our thumbs, waiting for a wonder. For Lord’s sake, Yuliana, you say something to these people!”

Yuliana sat back in the King’s chair and kept out of the debate. Now, forced by the gazes turned at her, she answered the Colonel with visible reluctance,

“I have seen with my own two eyes the daemon that caused this. I have seen it strike down a squad of hardened knights in a blink of an eye. And if there are even ten of those things in the city, all who go out there are guaranteed to only lose their lives in vain. I would not send out a soul, unless I knew we had no other choice.”

Unable to accept an answer he wasn’t looking for, even from the highest authority present, Foulton shook his head with an expression not even a rotten lemon could’ve made sourer.

“Colonel,” Miragrave called him, locking gazes with the man. “You and your troops will obey, if you want to survive. And if you happen to be unbearably eager to die, nonetheless, I’d like to remind you that we have your squad outnumbered two hundred to thirty. Maybe I won’t let the daemons take the credit.”

“As you wish...Marshal,” Foulton replied with a stiff nod, his expression and tone delivering the sarcasm with unfailing effectiveness. Attempting no more arguments, he turned and strode out.

The others watched him go in silence. Nobody needed to put the obvious into words.

Sooner or later, they were going to have a problem.

2

The underground areas were particularly nerve-racking to explore with their low ceiling and numerous small compartments, but no hostiles were encountered in the grand kitchen, larders, butteries, store rooms, or garderobes. In the forenoon there spread a rumor that old skeletons had been found chained in the castle dungeon, suffering an eternal punishment for some unknown, no doubt terrible felony, but the story was left officially unverified. The wine cellar, in the meanwhile, was declared off limits upon discovery and sealed, to the endless chagrin of its finders. The risks of handing out unrestricted amounts of alcohol to two hundred people trapped in the same place were too obvious to be ignored.

Above the ground level, shortly before noon, the investigation squads reached the back end of the main building, where they discovered a majestic chapel.

Coronations, royal weddings, religious services, and other such rites characteristic to the local culture had been carried out in this place since many centuries ago, as Yuliana had told the scouts.

It was a lengthy hall of particularly decorative make, with high galleries held up by airy arcs of stone, handcrafted stands for blessed water and idols of mystical nature. From front to back ran rows of wide, heavy benches, which could fit as many as three or four hundred guests at once and with ease. In the back wall, magnificent windows of stained glass imposed a most peculiar, kaleidoscopic filter upon the space, the impressionist imagery depicted upon them stealing attention right at the moment of entry.

On a high pedestal under the windows’ rainbow stare, in the place of a Christian altarpiece—yet not so far removed by theme—stood a statue of white marble, roughly twenty feet tall, shaped as a fair, winged woman.

Benevolent gaze turned down at the seated subjects, arms wide open to bestow blessings equally to all sides—a work fit to be called art, by any means.

It was not only a vague ideal of virtue captured in stone, but the earthly representation of a celestial power and as such easily identified. Langorians had, since the dawn of their realm, only ever revered one Divine, as the Empress had told.

The servant of the Old Sun God, the Aesic Governor of Light…Aiwesh.

Margitte was the leader of the first squad to reach the scene. After confirming the chapel free of enemy presence with the shadowmeter, and lacking alternative exits, she went on to examine the statue closer, and marked the place on her private notebook.

“Lord of Light…” the girl muttered with a frown. “This Divine is not part of the Imperial canon, is she?”

“No, I don’t think so, ma’am,” her adjutant replied, but couldn’t provide a more educated answer.

Tratovian lore knew hundreds of Divines, greater, lesser, and in between. Not even a specialized university professor could have listed them all out of memory, but even the most minor of spirits had at least a handful of believers out there to offer them an occasional prayer. The one to lord over the vast domain of light ought to have been famous. Yet, Margitte was confident she had never heard the name before and couldn’t recall a single fable featuring such a spirit. Thinking about it now, it was weird.

“Margitte?” Millanueve was a member in the second team to reach the chapel and came now over to the magician as she stood apart from the others. “What is it? Did you find something important?”

“Important? Not really,” the mage absentmindedly replied. “Only a mild curiosity.”

“It is a very beautiful statue, yes.” The girl nodded. “Although, that outfit might be just a little...daring. Is it really all right to stare so closely? You might be bolder than I thought, even with all these people looking...”

Millanueve glanced up at the statue’s generous cleavage and quickly averted her gaze with a blush. The thin veil on the figure conformed closely to its anatomically correct curves and contortions....the way the marble was shaped looked remarkably true to life.

“What are you on about!” Margitte cried, growing flustered. “I couldn’t give a rat about the model! That’s not what I’m here for!”

“Hm? It’s not?”

“Of course not! I’m doing research! Legitimate research!”

“What does that mean?”

Margitte restored her composure under the girl’s blank stare and explained,

“Mythology says all natural phenomena have a dedicated cardinal spirit. That is how reality is structured. Light is one of the eight classical elements, one of the key components that make up our reality, yet the Divine of Light is never mentioned in any of the texts pertaining to the Divine mythos we had in the College. She’s almost unknown in Tratovia; yet, for some reason, the Lord of Light is the only spirit they revered in this land—in this city, specifically. I have never heard of any nation or a tribe so dedicated to a singular spirit before. It’s even more unusual that the ruling house would openly take part in the worship, to the point of constructing such an expensive facility inside the castle.”

“...So?” Millanueve inquired, unable to see what the mage was going for. “Is there something wrong with doing that?”

“It’s not a matter of right or wrong,” Margitte replied with a sigh. “It’s about what it represents, what the very existence of this place tells us of the local culture. In terms of alchemy, sunlight symbolizes life and death. Nothing can grow without a regular light source, but have too much of light and all will wither. Everything in balance. When you think of it like that, it is a most natural thing to revere. Humans have always sought answers to life’s great questions—where do we come from and where we are going. What is the purpose of our brief lives here. Langorians probably thought this spirit could give them the answers better than any other. Or rather, it was the ruling house of Langoria that wished to act as if they had the answers. By claiming close ties to a Lord so much more important than the rest, they wanted to give the masses a heavenly justification for why they should stay in power, see?”

“I see now…” the girl pondered, touching her lip.

“The weird thing isn’t that Langorians would worship such a spirit, but rather, the fact that no one else in the realm does. Why is that? There are only two reasons I can think of. Either this Divine isn’t genuine to begin with, but a fake myth the Langorians invented to serve their needs. Or else, for whatever reason, the ‘Lord of Light’ was erased from the Imperial canon over the ages. Well, the former seems a great deal more believable, if you ask me. The idea that someone, a person, or a group, could have manipulated information throughout the ages—as if such a thing could happen...”

Millanueve made a faint smile at the lecture.

“What?” Margitte noticed it and raised a brow. “Did I say something funny?”

The girl shook her head. “No. I just thought how even under such desperate circumstances, Margitte is still composed enough to get lost in her hobbies. That courageous spirit might be a bit admirable even.”

“Huh! I am a magician!” Margitte responded and bashfully turned away. “Controlling base emotions like fear comes as second nature for us. And so long as I still draw breath, I will never cease to study the world. Don’t call it a ‘hobby’, it’s my job! It’s for our own sake too! Nature gives us the problems and nature presents the answers—so it has always been. Who knows, I might uncover something useful while at it.”

“I see. So you still think we have a chance to get through this ordeal alive?”

“Magic is almighty,” the young Court Wizard haughtily answered with a wave of her hand. “If we fail, it’s because of our own ignorance, and not because there literally was no way. And what cures ignorance is study! Study! So quit lazing about and get back to work. Use those eyes for something beneficial. Shoo.”

“Hmm…”

Instead of immediately complying, Millanueve fell in thought and looked up at the statue again.

“Where do we come from and where are we going—I can understand the want for answers. Since I often feel like I know nothing at all, and I can’t say it’s a nice feeling. But why would a being so different from us just tell us whatever we want to know? What’s in it for her?”

“There you have come at the heart of the folly of religion,” Margitte replied and put away her notebook. “If a being so far above our understanding could give us mortals a purpose we could make any sense of, then I’d be the first to suspect deception.”

“Deception? What do you mean by that?” Millanueve asked, her brow contorting. “Please explain it in a way I can understand too!”

“That’s the whole point, dummy. If I give you an answer clear enough for an unschooled dimwit like yourself to digest, then that means I’ve tailored my message and terms specifically for your limited capacity. Which means, I have complete control over your opinion and perception, while I myself remain wholly outside your grasp. You should always doubt the intentions of those who have the intellectual higher ground, since you have no real way to tell whether they want the best for you, or not.”

“What I understand perfectly well is that Margitte has grown all jaded and mean, despite being only a child.”

“I’m not a child! I’m seventeen!” the mage roared. “I’m the same age as you are!”

“No. I already turned eighteen two months ago,” Millanueve replied with pride.

“No way...!” The Court Wizard recoiled. “You—a doofus like you—is my senior…!?”

“It can’t be that much of a shock! I’m not stupid!”

With an offended hmph!, Millanueve spun around on her heels and left to join the other investigators on their way up to the second floor gallery.

“Are you not scared?” Margitte asked, looking at the girl’s back. “You’re not a mage or anything at all. Fooling around with such a carefree attitude at a time like this—I have to wonder, is your peanut brain even capable of comprehending what we’re up against?”

Millanueve paused but didn’t look back.

“I’m fine,” she said. “I may not know all the answers, and I may not have the skills to find them either—but I have courage. Lots of it. And so long as there are people who need my courage, I can’t give up. No, never again.”

Her voice was steady; nothing about it suggested she was putting on an act. Not that she had the ability for such a charade in the first place. The girl’s mind was always clouded and difficult to read, but never dark. Even now, she appeared to hold a firm faith in something—something other than Divines.

“Tch.” The Court Wizard clicked her tongue, watching the knight go. “Just like that sword idiot...”

3

The already cool air assuming a dry, biting quality was the first indicator of the approaching nightfall, the deepening dark only the second. Winter days were regrettably short. As dusk neared, her majesty’s confidants reconvened again to go over the day’s results.

Such results they had not expected.

No enemy contact. Not even sightings. No losses. No damages to property. Almost all of the castle grounds had been secured by now, including several hidden areas and passages Yuliana had described for them, and they could now declare with some confidence that the ways in and out were limited in number and fully in the defenders’ control. Not even her majesty could claim to know every conceivable secret the vast, centuries-old castle complex hid, but if she, the lifelong resident of this stronghold, couldn’t point out any holes in their security, then how could the enemy?

“I was certain we had flown into a death trap here,” the Prince of Luctretz said. “And yet, nothing? Why would the enemy give us the castle and let us set up our defenses in peace and quiet? Why deliberately put themselves at a disadvantage, if their goal was our murder? It makes no sense.”

“That’s probably why.” Izumi was the one to answer, to everyone’s surprise. “This is all a big game for them. There’s no fun in crushing an enemy that can’t fight back. No sense of accomplishment. They want us at our best, to make a good show of it.”

“How would you know that?” Margitte asked the woman with a skeptical frown.

“Just a theory.” Izumi shrugged. “You don’t need to believe me if you don’t want to.”

“Who would!?”

“No. Most likely, it is as she says,” Miragrave commented. “These are typical tactics they’ve displayed against emiri in the past. I don’t claim to understand the enemy’s preferences, but defeating the opposition is hardly ever their only goal. They are rather finicky with the way they go about this, and are known to have withdrawn from fights they were guaranteed to win, only for the sake of prolonging the conflict.”

“Psh.” Colonel Foulton shook his head at the exchange, apparently not buying a word of it, but didn’t bother to share alternative views either.

“I wonder, is there any way we could use this tendency of theirs to our advantage?” General Monterey reflected.

“I doubt they’d let us walk no matter how pathetic we make ourselves,” Arnwahl remarked.

“I think they want us to make the first move,” Izumi said. “But it’s only a timed offer. If we do nothing, they will probably try to unbalance us, somehow. I suppose how long we live depends on how long we can entertain them.”

“And what is entertainment for these things?” the Prince asked. “You don’t suppose they’d be content with the bard singing for them?”

Waramoti answered the joking suggestion with a highly unwilling look.

“Indeed, is death in battle all they care about?” Laukan pondered. “If only there was something else they desired, we might perhaps attempt to bargain with them.”

“There is nothing,” Carmelia candidly interjected. “My people have tried everything conceivable and more to deal with the enemy, only to arrive at the same conclusion each and every time: they cannot be reasoned with. They do not operate by reason at all. They imitate our speech only to confound us. Semantics are lost on them. Battle is their native tongue, but as such only a tool, not the goal; what they thirst for is our sorrow, our horror, our hatred, grief, and pain. That is what they wish to extract from us, every quantifiable ounce. They have granted us this refuge so that we would tear it down ourselves as we drown in our despair, and only then will they allow us to end.”

“Then,” Yuliana spoke to the sorceress, “in your opinion, what do you believe we should do, Master Carmelia?”

“Do not give up,” the cirelo answered. “Do not submit to negativity. Hold onto courage. Resist terror and support one another. Keep the enemy from what it desires, and it will stall them.”

“Stall them?” Colonel Foulton commented. “Why don’t we think about something that stops them?”

Carmelia let the comment pass without a response.

“Well, whatever we do, none of us is short on courage, right?” Waramoti remarked, looking around the table.

“Why, of course!” General Monterey said. “Bravery is our second name, isn’t that right!”

“O-oh! Sure,” Izumi hurried to play along. “We’ll get through this. One way or the other.”

“It goes without saying!” Millanueve added with a nod.

“Rest assured, your majesty, we will protect you to the last,” Margitte assured Yuliana.

“Not just me,” Yuliana corrected her. “Promise me that whatever happens, you will protect the weak, the servants, and the civilian staff. They are the ones who need courage and protection most of all.”

Everyone agreed.

The meeting was about to end, when Carmelia unexpectedly asked everyone to wait a moment. She got up from her chair and stepped over next to her majesty where everyone could see her and resumed with her usual air of nonchalance,

“Now, you may find that what I’m about to say runs counter to my earlier counsel. I know you humans value your lives more dearly than my kind does. However, in certain situations, being able to choose your own end can be considered a blessing. I wish for you to recognize this.”

The sorceress snapped her fingers and at the empty end of the long table appeared a line of tiny steel cylinders.

“The enemy is...not always known to kill quickly,” she continued. “These vials contain medicine I’ve prepared. When digested, it shuts down the central nervous system and stops the heart. Death will not be immediate—the time you have left will depend on the effectiveness of your metabolism and innate resistance—but it will be certain and the way to it entirely painless. Should you find yourself cornered, or touched by the enemy, you may want to consider taking the pill. Unfortunately, I have no ingredients to make more. This is a privilege reserved for her majesty’s confidants and I recommend that you keep the drug’s existence a secret from the others. You may take a vial with you on your way out. One per person. First come, first served. The choice will be your own.”

A dismayed silence fell.

It was another grim message the sorceress had delivered today. Stalling was their course; never victory, under any circumstances. It was indeed a concept difficult for human beings to swallow.

Seven cylinders, eleven people—there wasn’t enough for nearly everyone, but neither were all going to want it.

Colonel Foulton was the first one to get up. He spared not the “elven witchcraft” another look but marched straight out of the hall with his adjutant in tow.

General Monterey followed shortly after the Langorians.

“Thank you kindly for the offer,” the General told Carmelia, “but as a soldier, I am sworn to only leave this life when so ordered. And when the time to depart for beyond comes, I will take the last step standing.”

And he walked out of the room.

The next one to rise was Arnwahl.

“Then, I’ll be taking one,” he declared with a smile and picked up one of the vials and put it in his pocket. Looking at his carefree gait on the way out, Izumi and the bard were not so sure if the man meant the medicine for himself, and resolved to keep a closer eye on their food portions from here on.

Once Arnwahl was gone, Miragrave got up without a word, took one share, stuffed it in her trouser pocket and was out. Being well-acquainted with daemons, she knew better than to be caught alive.

After the Marshal, Margitte stood. She leaned both her hands on the table, hiding her face under her bangs. Only those seated on her side could tell that the girl leaned on the table not so much to make a dramatic pose, but because her knees trembling would’ve otherwise been visible to all.

“May I…?” she quietly asked, facing down.

“If you choose,” Carmelia calmly replied.

“So-chan…?” Izumi eyed the young mage with concern.

Margitte left her seat with quick steps, picked up one of the cylinders and hurried out.

Even if capable mages knew techniques to take their own life, having the strength of mind to do it too was a different matter. Recognizing one’s own weakness and seeking outside assistance—was it a sign of maturity?

Laukan exhaled a deep sigh, but didn’t protest.

“Well,” the Prince said and stood. “I know not what to make of the situation yet, but I shall take the counsel of my betters.”

He went and took one dose of the medicine and left.

There were three vials remaining and six people still at the table.

“Your majesty, have you made your decision?” Laukan asked Yuliana.

“...Not yet,” she answered with an apologetic, forced smile.

“And you?” he turned towards the others.

“Eh...”

Before anyone could answer, the man continued, “Forgive me, but I am already an old man. Running away from any enemy, mortal or immortal, is beyond me. And I have sworn, as a life-amplifying specialist, that I would not bring death to a soul again by my own hand, not even myself. But perhaps I may be excused, if I rely on the method of another. Would you hold it against me, if I took one?”

“...Sure.” Yuliana nodded at him, unable to find better words.

The Court Wizard stood, retrieved a vial, bowed to the Empress, and was gone.

“Are you still thinking?” Izumi turned to Waramoti.

“Oh, no!” the bard quickly replied. “I shall abstain. I’m only an observer, please act as if I’m not even here.”

“I don’t suppose you need one yourself?” Izumi asked Carmelia next.

“I do not,” the cirelo answered. “This particular compound would not work on me, at any rate. I have built too much resistance.”

“—I...I believe I shall take one, after all,” Yuliana now found her voice and spoke in a hurry. She didn’t need to get up and go retrieve her share. Carmelia raised her hand and one of the cylinders shot off the table, onto her palm, and she handed it over to the Empress directly.

“Thank you,” Yuliana mouthed, her voice barely audible. She slipped off her seat and left by the back door in brisk steps, followed by her maids.

“Well, if that’s how it’s going to—” Izumi began to say as she got up.

But stuck watching after Yuliana for too long, she was late to act.

Millanueve had already picked up the last remaining vial.

“’First come, first served,’” she told Izumi with a sad smile.

“Oi, wait—!”

Millanueve didn’t listen, but hurried out of the hall, as though to run away from the woman.

“…Damn it, I got played here, didn’t I?” Izumi turned to the sorceress, stunned.

“You are free to blame me, if you wish,” Carmelia replied. “But I think taking one without any intention to use it would have been more cruelty than kindness on your part.”

“So living on and watching others die is fair?”

Her aloof air undisturbed, Carmelia turned and took her exit without another word. Only with a slight lag, Izumi realized how insensitive her remark had been.

“Damn. Immortality might not be such a great deal, after all.”