Marron Mishala Davar stifled a yawn as the dawn’s first light crested over the Zarek Mountains in the east. He had kept vigil on the observation tower for most of the night, taking a break only a couple of hours earlier to sleep.

As he and the others expected, the Federation Combined Forces had made some movements near dawn, and they were currently forming up south of the west Faron’s Crossing. The River Caradec bisected the town, and while the west side contained the town centre and was heavily fortified, at least in comparison to the east, across the river were dozens of warehouses, inns, and varied services to cater to traders and merchants.

That lot had long evacuated from town, headed east towards the Zarek and possibly towards Eastern Rumiga. The walls around Faron’s Crossing were a tad bit better here compared to across the river, and the two crossing points, Northbridge and Southbridge, had been locked down. The decision to abandon the eastern side of town had not been light, but it was all for the better.

The town’s population hovered at ten thousand or so, but a large fraction of that were actually transients. Merchants and their staff and guards, mostly. Of the rest, the town could call upon nearly three thousand reserve warriors, though most of them hadn’t held a spear other than during the weekly training routine mandated by Imperial law. The five hundred active members of the militia would act more as squad leaders and points of communication.

Not all of the reserves had been called up; about a thousand were ready now, formed up in squares near the barracks, close to the new walls. Marron ran a critical eye on the troops, and he sighed in disappointment.

Mismatched gear, old collapsible spears, and few even had forceweave clothing. Nearly all of them wore bascinets though. Protect the head and the heart, and the healers should be able to keep any wounded from slipping into death.

A thousand reserves and five hundred militia were heading up the walls now, and the others were giving the call to the other reserves. Hopefully, they’d still have their old gear.

Well, there were weapons aplenty in the armoury, but nothing fancy. There weren’t enough Plasma Casters or Lancets to go around, especially the ones fitted with jade cartridges. There were more than enough spears, the regular kind not the collapsible ones, to go around as the town’s metalsmiths had been requested to increase the stockpile of weapons. Unfortunately, forceweave outfits weren’t easy to make.

Only a couple of weavers in town were qualified, and materials and reagents weren’t quite plentiful enough to outfit everyone. There were precious few runescribes who could enhance regular cloth, and her fiance, Niamh, had been working dawn til dusk to provide as many protective helmets and jackets as she could.

“Come to think of it…” he muttered to himself, “Yuri’s also a qualified runescribe, isn’t she?”

A thunderous voice echoed across the fields and Marron shook himself out of his musing.

“...Crossing! We of the Federation give you a chance now. We are not asking you to surrender, but to face our might openly across the field. We give you this chance to offer a proper battle!”

He missed some of the words, but the gist of the message was simple. They wanted the Empire to face them in the open field. When they were outnumbered seven to one, though the odds were better if he included the reserve fighters.

Marron’s Enhanced Sight swept across the enemy’s formation. The Federation had formed up in several squares, nearly a dozen from the looks of it, on the vanguard alone. The front rank of the squares was about ten men wide, and there were at least as many behind them. The front ranks… oh, those were the steam hand cannons.

Marron focused and his vision grew clearer. Each man or woman on the front ranks carried a hand cannon. The weapon itself was just a bit shorter than a Plasma Caster, maybe thirty inches from the tip of the muzzle to the shoulder stock. The weapon was also hooked up via several flexible tubes into a backpack. From his vantage point, he could see that each of the packs look as big as the militia standard issue. Each of those must weigh several Jins.

The next ranks carried more conventional Federation weaponry, shield, spear, and side-arm, and were clad in plate and mail armour.

He shifted his vision to the formations behind the vanguard and sighed with some relief to find out that those were attired in varied and shabbier armour. Their weaponry was more varied, too, with several polearms that looked more like hastily adjusted farm tools than purposeful weapons. Levies?

Did the Haveenians pull their farmers and commoners from their business to increase their armies? Since the harvest was done and the Season of Water was almost upon them, this was the best time, he supposed. Battles during the Season of Fire made more sense, though with Western Rumiga’s milder climate, it was easier to wage war all year round.

The Federation Commander repeated his message while Marron sought out the town’s leadership. He knew the answer to the challenge, of course.

By the fourth time the Federation commander had yelled out his message, the town’s Alderman, Ferell Ghana Rivos, stepped up on the wall. Despite his advanced age and elderly visage, the Alderman was quite spry and didn’t need help climbing up the narrow ladders. His short salt and pepper hair fluttered in the wind, and his lively blue eyes gleamed with silvery Animus.

“Who speaks?” he asked, his tone soft and quiet. However, that same silvery glow flickered from his mouth and the air around him shimmered. Despite being more than a hundred paces away, Marron could clearly hear every word.

“I am Commander Frederik Holster of Haveena. Will you face us in an honorable battle or will you cower before your walls?” The commander’s words were sharp enough to cut.

“You must be young and brash, Commander Holster.” Alderman Rivos’ voice sounded indulgent as though he were speaking with his grandchild. “Tell me, is this your first campaign?”

“You insult my magnanimity, do you?” the commander laughed harshly.

By now, Marron had pinpointed the man. He was behind the vanguard squares, surrounded by a group of bodyguards. Another man was beside him, and from the insignias on his chest, he looked to be the same rank as Holster.

“Indeed. Your magnanimous words belie the fact that your troops have captured a sovereign village of the Eternal Empire. You hide behind words but your intent and character shine through. Tell me, why would we abandon an advantage to meet you in open battle? Honourless dogs, break your teeth against Faron’s walls.”

“So be it,” the commander replied grimly. “On your hands, their blood shall be.”

“Foolish boy. Do not attribute blame to your victims. Our hands will be stained with blood. Yours.”

The enemy’s vanguard squares seemed to ripple as each of the warriors shifted uncomfortably. Alderman Rivos wasn’t simply jawing to anger the opposing commander. His Facet was one of influence and it was expressed through his voice. At the moment, he was doing his best to unsettle and demoralise them.

Marron knew, however, that Commander Holster wouldn’t let it go on for much longer. He and the Federation would be foolish if they let their armies go unprotected against mental influence. Sure enough, a wave of reddish light erupted from the commander and the uneasy shifting settled down.

Alderman Rivos had already stopped talking and had retreated from the walls. Marron waited for the Federation to make their move. The Empire certainly wasn't going to. Although at this distance, some ranged strikers would already be able to hit their targets. Too bad he wasn’t specialised in long-distance sniping.

Marron checked his Plasma Caster and readied it for use. But the anticipated charge didn’t happen. Well, that wasn’t too likely, now that he thought about it. The vanguard squares didn’t have any siege equipment. The walls were five paces high, and there was a five pace wide moat in between too.

Instead, the Federation army spread out into wide ranks, levered their hand cannons up, and began shooting.

Puffs of white steam came out of the muzzles and from their backpacks. Marron’s visual acuity, enhanced with Animus, was barely enough to make out the bullets, spherical and about a quarter of an inch wide, on their flight paths.

The volley reached across the three hundred or so paces between the walls and the army, though none of the Imperials was hit. The bullets struck the walls or flew over their heads. Almost as soon as the first shots were fired, another volley followed, and this time, they were a bit more accurate.

Marron heard a squelched scream and saw one of the reserve fighters fall back, clutching at a leg. The others ducked under the crenelations and the dull staccato beat of the bullets striking stone covered up the sound of the breeze and the babbling water of the flowing river.

The Empire’s response was a ragged volley of plasma bolts that were countered by a shield wall. The superheated plasma splashed against Animus-laden tower shields and did nothing more than deplete the reserves of both sides.

The two sides exchanged fire, and the Empire definitely came out on top. Their defences were bolstered by the stone walls while the Federation had to defend using their Animus. The exchange of volleys lasted several hours.

Marron took his own shots, using crescent wave shots that blasted through the shielder’s defences and crumpled the man behind it. But it didn’t take long before an enemy Adept singled him out and they exchanged blows

Arrows made out of twinned fire and ice rained down on his position, and he had to run away from the main battlefield to avoid implicating the weaker reserve and militia. His counterpart, a feisty looking woman with green hair, followed him west. He noted her weapon, a recurve bow made from bone and steel and etched with runescript lines, as she materialised arrows out of the ambient Chaos. She was quite agile, too, and guarded.

He tried to bait her into unleashing her full might, but the arrows only came when he exposed himself.

This was how the first day of battle ended. It started with pompous declamations and ended with a whimper. Casualties were unexpectedly light on either side. Just a few deaths and a handful of injured. Most of those could recover using their own Animus techniques.

His sister had not made an appearance until the fighting had died down. She looked disappointed but didn’t try to jump across the moat. She didn’t use her spell, either.

By mid-afternoon, the Federation had pulled back towards their camp, but several diggers had begun making foxholes and trenches. How long would it take before the entirety of the southern field was covered with holes?

Marron shook his head as he suppressed a yawn. The Empire will emerge victorious as long as they didn’t give up. Even now, the fortifications were being bolstered, and with the foreign quarter finally evacuated, the area of defence was tighter. They would just have enough warriors to cover the town, Marron thought, in contrast to what the council had speculated. He couldn’t help but feel optimistic.

“Where have you been?” he asked his sister and Yuriko gave him a sour look and a pout.

“Sleeping,” she muttered.

Marron raised a surprised brow. “All day?”

“I was up until dawn dealing with my spell,” she said. “I guess I was more exhausted than I realised.”

“Oh. Well, you didn’t miss much. The Federation tried to goad us with a challenge, but the Alderman refused.”

“Challenge? Did they want to fight duels?”

“No, they wanted us to meet them on the open field.” Marron chuckled. “We may be outnumbered when it comes to professional warriors, but our reserve fighters bolstered our strength.”

Yuriko frowned. “I would have met the challenge and broken them,” she muttered.

“No doubt you would have,” Marron chuckled, “but they haven’t really shown their hand yet.”

The day’s battle was lacklustre. Aside from Marron and that archer, no other Knight or Adept had stepped up to fight. A single one of them was more than a match for one of those vanguard squares, but the reverse was also true. And, he had the odd feeling that the Federation wasn’t really in a hurry.

But, that was the nature of a siege. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to the point that both sides starved to the point of boiling and eating their boots.