Wiccer stood at the thicket’s edge observing the sizable, walled-up town that lay before his army. In a ring around the town was a small force of Estinian soldiers. As fearsome as their reputation was, these soldiers in particular looked feeble and sickly, like someone who had not eaten in days.

“Perhaps they can be reasoned with?” suggested Wiccer to Dallin and Greyblade. “Their men are in rough shape.”

“They can’t be trusted. They would relish at the chance to stab you in the back, Wiccer,” Dallin said.

“Aye, lad. It would be best to sweep in and take the town by force and hope that our SMO and ARO came by here and did their job,” Greyblade said.

“And our vernal mages can’t just bend the will of the palisades?” asked Wiccer as he stroked the mustache he managed to grow in the month he had been deployed to New Estinia.

“Runes, lad. Enemy mages rune the walls and other structures so that they can’t be manipulated,” Greyblade stated. “We’ll need to break in the old fashioned way, with some elbow grease and a belly full of fire!”

Wiccer nodded and let out a commanding roar, “Move forward and attack!!!”

With the orders given the Cypress Alliance marched out of the woods and advanced on the soldiers defending the town. With saliva foaming at the mouth and veins bulging off their muscles, the ferocious Bloodbog orcs sprinted forward while they screamed their savage warcry. Wiccer’s men rushed and crashed into a bed of steel and iron. Arrows launched from behind the town walls.

“Raise shields!” came the commands across the various infantry units.

A series of thuds echoed throughout the battlefield as arrowheads penetrated into wooden shields. More and more nailed into the shields until they resembled the backs of porcupines.

Little by little, inch by inch, Wiccer’s army pushed to the gates of the town.

“Bring out the battering ram!”

Six men ran up to the gate, hefting a large log with a shaved pointed end. Each man had a partner to protect them with a shield from arrows, rocks, bricks, pans, and anything else the enemy could throw down at them.

“Heave ho, boys!”

The battering ram backed up and charged into the large gate. With each bash of the ram, the wall buckled and splintered. Hot tar and oil poured down from the battlements, scorching and blistering the men carrying the timber, but replacement men quickly picked up the slack.

“Almost there, lads! Heave ho!!!”

Thud! Thud! Thud! Finally the gate burst open and Wiccer’s army pooled in.

***

Wiccer strolled through the streets of the newly captured town. The resistance was minor as were the casualties on his end. One by one his men kicked in doors to the houses and shops, searching for hidden enemies and weapon caches, anything that could douse the flames of an annoying rebelion. He smiled to watch his men drink the fresh water from the well.

One young runner handed a tin cup of the cool water to Wiccer.

“Partake, General? After weeks trekking through swamps and mud, nothing says victory like spring water!” the young lad said.

Wiccer grinned and nodded. He accepted the cup and raised it in the air for his men to see. “The spoils of war, gentlemen! Enjoy!” He ended his brief speech with a thirsty gulp. His men roared in glee, continuing to share the water for consumption and bathing.

Malady and Legion jogged up to Wiccer, back from their investigation of why the enemy soldiers were in such a weakened state.

“What have you found, Legion?”

“Elucard has been through this town. The food supply in the granary had been tampered with. This food is inedible,” Legion said.

Malady chuckled. He winked and nudged his blade brother. “Classic Black Rabbit tactics, eh Legion? This has Elisa written all over it.”

Wiccer remembered his first encounter with Elisa, stopping her from poisoning Lost Dawns’ water supply. His eyes widened and his hands began to tremble.

“B-Black Rabbit tactics?” he stuttered.

Malady’s face froze and looked to his allies enjoying the water in merriment.

“Did you drink any… Wiccer?” Legion asked slowly.

“I-I…” A spurt of pain wrenched Wiccer’s gut.

“Calm yourself, whelp!” Malady took a hold of Wiccer as the general staggered on his feet. “Legion, fetch the kings, I’ll see that no more of these men are foolish to drink from a compromised town. “

***

Wiccer’s eyes snapped open and found himself in a bed of one of the Estinian homes. His gut felt tight like he had spent a day with Elucard training his core muscles. He sluggishly sat up and only after a minute, hurled up more of the poison stagnating in his stomach.

“You’re awake. That is good.”

Wiccer looked up to see Dallin wiping puke and drool from his lip.

“H-how many of our men are sick?” Wiccer laid back down, his stomach felt twisted and jumbled, confused on whether it was upside down or inside out. He was light headed and his skin had a greenish tone. His shirt was soaked through and itched like a wool blanket.

“About forty of our men have been found poisoned. Twelve of them did not make the night. As we speak our alchemists work tirelessly to cleanse the water supply and food in the granary. If we still wish to use Valleyhorn as a checkpoint, it is recommended we stay until this all can be sorted out.”

Wiccer smacked his lips. “Water?”

Dallin frowned.

Wiccer moaned. “I am so thirsty.”

Dallin passed the general a cup of wine. “We still have wine and ale. Try not to drink yourself to sleep, we need you out of bed as soon as possible.”

Wiccer slurped down his drink and immediately heaved it up onto the floor. “Damn it! I can’t keep anything down.”

“I’ll send someone to clean up this mess. Take care, Wiccer,” said Dallin.

Wiccer grabbed Dallin’s hand. “Wait. I am still fit to lead!”

Dallin leaned over and patted Wiccer’s chest.

“Please, don’t send me home. I-I can’t fail my father…”

“I know. I know you can’t, Wiccer. And I know you won’t let a stomach flu keep you from leading your men the rest of the way.”

Wiccer gave the king a weak smile. “Thank you, my king… my friend.”