Valkyrie's Shadow

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 11, Chapter 7

The Tiger and the Dragon: Act 11, Chapter 7

Chapter 7

19th Day, Middle Wind Month, 1 CE

“Squads one through ten have assumed the positions defined in the updated schedule.”

“How much time do we have left?”

“One hour.”

Olga looked down past the neck of her Skeletal Dragon. It was rainy and pitch black and, as it always was at the beginning of any night shift, they were flying too high so her goggles did nothing. Both she and Raul agreed that improving the range of their Darkvision equipment was at the top of the list of future improvements if the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Royal Army expected its Commanders to operate from the air.

“What are the Beastmen doing?” She asked, “Did anyone spot our troops?”

“Enemy patrols maintain their regular behaviour,” the Elder Lich sitting behind her answered. “Barring any unprecedented individuals, their Darkvision range is insufficient to detect movement on the opposite shore at night.”

“How are the low-level Undead doing?”

“Holding.”

She released a sigh of relief. Before coming to the Draconic Kingdom, she thought that the Katze River was amazingly huge. Now, it only seemed average. The ‘deluge’ that made the rivers look dangerously swollen just got heavier and heavier, so she was worried that all the weak Undead would be swept away when they entered the Forst. Thankfully, the entire offensive line was now safely waiting on the riverbed near the Beastman side.

“Let’s head to our starting point,” she said.

Olga was pressed into her seat as the Skeletal Dragon banked north. At some point, she discovered that it didn’t actually need to do that. Skeletal Dragons didn’t fly because they could, they flew because they did. The way that they appeared to fly was simply an imitation of how a real Dragon would fly, but it was their ability to fly that allowed them to rather than having wings or anything like that.

Lady Zahradnik said that Dame Verilyn said that Skeletal Dragons were bad at flying and that it didn’t resemble how a real Dragon flew at all, but Olga couldn’t tell one way or the other.

The starting point of the Royal Army’s resumed offensive wouldn’t be anywhere along the gentle slopes of the Forst River valley, but at Forstspire – the Draconic Kingdom’s fortress at the border. It was occupied by one of the warrior clans of their Beastman opponents, and it was one of the only places where the Beastmen’s defensive posture meant that they would try to hold their position instead of cautiously withdrawing.

It was up to her to storm the fortress. The general staff had issued her orders along with a few objectives and it was her job to achieve them. What she needed to do wasn’t very complicated, though. Maybe it was because she was the Commander and they wanted to keep things simple for her sake, or maybe it was just because simple was best.

As they closed on their destination, her Skeletal Dragon ended up in a cloud. The Elder Lich summoned a set of Wraiths to guide them along. Instead of trying to catch a glimpse of their target below, her gaze unfocused as she recalled its details from memory.

Forstspire was small, but it was tall. It was basically a tower keep inside a small wall. That was the upper part, and a steep, winding path led down to the lower part, which was composed of the stone fortifications that overlooked the bottom of the canyon carved by the Forst River. The entire thing was built against one of the canyon walls with a single bridge leading to the road on the other side of the river.

Their scouts counted about a thousand Beastmen defending the place, and they were being supplied by the Beastman territories to the north. That part was different from the fortresses in the west, which didn’t seem to do anything with their fellow Beastmen across the border. The Royal Army hadn’t come to lay siege to Forstspire, however, so stuff like enemy supply lines didn’t count.

“We’ve arrived at our destination,” the Elder Lich said.

They were still in the clouds, so she could only trust that they were.

“Has anyone noticed the Undead?” Olga asked.

A minute passed before the Elder Lich spoke again.

“The sergeants have noted no changes. They are, however, limited in their reconnaissance coverage.”

We’re so strong, yet we can see so little…

Two infantry squads were enough to crush the Baharuth Empire’s Imperial Army dozens of times over, yet they couldn’t see what was going on in a single fortress. The Elder Liches and Death Priests were conserving mana for the assault, so they didn’t have any summons to look around with.

“How much time do we have?”

“Ten minutes.”

“Prepare for descent,” Olga said. “Drop to one hundred metres when you’re ready.”

“?Protection from Arrows?. ?Reinforce Armour?. ?Shield Wall?. ?Lesser Resistance?.”

The Elder Lich cast several more defensive spells on itself before casting the same list of spells on the Skeletal Dragon and Olga. Once it was done, it cast Invisibility on them. Olga’s ears popped several times as the Skeletal Dragon rapidly shed altitude.

Where’s the ground…oh, there it is.

A canyon wall was the first thing that appeared in her Darkvision, followed by the tower keep of Forstspire. Her Skeletal Dragon manoeuvred away from the structure, staying far from the sentries manning the battlements. The roar of the swollen river soon filled her hearing and they levelled out over the canyon floor. Olga peered at the lower fortifications as they circled them from a safe distance.

The drawbridge is up, but they don’t look like they’re super alert for anything. It’s just Ocelo like the report said…wait, isn’t that bad?

Forstspire was built as a fortification that followed the ‘logic’ of people that fought on the ground. For a Human, the only way in or out was using the bridge, but Ocelo were reportedly ‘semi-arboreal’, which meant they could dwell in the trees. That meant that they were good climbers and, more importantly, normally thought in three dimensions instead of two like the average Human.

Olga adjusted the lenses of her goggles, carefully examining the sentries. Surely enough, they weren’t just paying attention to any potential approaches from the ground, they were looking up and down and all around.

Her orders were to capture Forstspire with two infantry squads. No one was supposed to escape. The problem was that Ocelo didn’t need to leave over the bridge – they could just climb away. Down or up. The Undead wouldn’t be able to notice the sneaky ones escaping the fight.

Were the general staff’s orders really that sloppy? She couldn’t imagine that they were, so maybe she was overthinking things. Maybe they would fight to the death to hold their position.

Argh. Surshana, what do I do?

She immediately took back her question. The gods didn’t give answers so easily. As a follower of The Six, it was up to her to make the best of what she had.

After staring at the walls for another minute, she motioned for the Elder Lich to ascend.

“Did they say how long it would take to clear the lower part of the fortress?” She asked after they rose to a safe altitude to speak.

“No estimate was issued by the general staff,” the Elder Lich answered.

“How long do you think it will take?”

“This one can only say that it should take less than fifteen minutes.”

That was plenty of time for the defenders to run if they chose. She couldn’t let that happen.

“Five Minutes remain,” the Elder Lich noted.

“Contact the sergeants,” Olga said. “Before we begin the assault, have them cast Fly and Invisibility on their squads. They’ll fly to evenly spaced points a hundred metres above the walls.”

“Be advised: the burden of maintaining so many Fly spells at once will be extreme.”

“That’s fine, it won’t be for long. When the attack commences, they’ll drop down onto the walls.”

“Be advised,” the Elder Lich said again. “A fall from that altitude will result in damage to the Death-series Servitors.”

“Uh…a lot of damage?”

“No.”

“Then we’ll heal it. Anyway, the Death Knights will be spaced out along the walls in such a way that their area taunt will keep anyone from escaping. The Death Warriors just need to drop down and make a bunch of flashy kills to set things up. If there’s anyone that can break free of the trap, the Death Priests will restrain them with crowd control spells.”

She waited for a moment to see if the Elder Liches had anything to say. After a dozen seconds of silence went by, she continued.

“Once we secure the bottom of the fortress, we’ll head to the top. Everyone that can will summon Wraiths to patrol the sides and make sure the Ocelo don’t sneakily crawl off somewhere while we get them all. Is there anything wrong with what I planned out?”

“We have not identified anything inherently problematic. Preparations are commencing now. Please note that they will cause us to lag behind our schedule by roughly two minutes.”

“Um…that’s fine? We’re not coordinating an attack with anyone – we’re the ones starting everything off.”

Olga could almost feel the Elder Lich’s crimson gaze boring a hole into the back of her head. If nothing had started yet, it didn’t matter beyond technically being late, did it? They didn’t have an expected timeframe for completing the assault. If she started two minutes late and ended five minutes early, she’d still start the advance sooner.

The Skeletal Dragon circled over the keep twice more before the Elder Lich stirred behind her.

“Your forces await your command.”

My forces.

Throughout the campaign in the Draconic Kingdom, she had done plenty of observation and little things here and there. This was the first time, however, she felt like she was about to do something momentous and Commander-ish.

Olga looked down across the wing of her Skeletal Dragon as it banked again. She couldn’t see her soldiers, but they were down there, somewhere.

“–”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out.

I still can’t do it…

Commanders were supposed to be able to issue their orders across the battlefield. They weren’t just words that inspired the troops or told people to do things, it was an Ability that had power.

The legends always spoke of that power; of great leaders who could seemingly shape the battlefield according to their will. She didn’t think that she could become a legend, but she also didn’t think that just a bit was too much to ask. Yet, at the most momentous moment in all of her thirteen years, she couldn’t do it.

“We are three minutes behind–”

“Gah, whatever! DROP!”

Hundreds of Ocelo heads turned up at her voice. Olga cringed, resisting the urge to bury her face in her hands. She wanted her moment back.

Her troops slammed onto the walls. The defending sentries looked about in confusion, as they could only sense the sound and impact of the invisible landing. A split second later, they were given plenty to look at as four sprays of blood simultaneously erupted along the wall.

“What the–we’re under attack!”

“It’s the Undead!”

“There are only four! Take them down!”

The defenders converged on her four Death Warriors. Gleaming black greatswords carved bloody arcs through three and four Beastmen at a time, sending limbs and whole bodies flying. Yet the Beastmen still came, pouncing with their claws extended and fangs bared. Olga frowned at the sight.

Why are they still attacking? Where are my–

Her eyes widened in alarm.

“Break your Invisibility! You can’t taunt them if they can’t detect you! Priests, keep our warriors alive!”

She leaned forward, fists clenched over her thighs. The defensive power of Death Warriors was relatively weak, and hundreds of Beastman warriors could bring them down fast.

Then, all at once, the scenery below seemed to freeze. No – the rain was still falling and the Death Warriors were still swinging. It was the Beastmen that stopped. Most of them, at least. All across the wall, Death Knights appeared as they delivered vicious stabs and cuts to the nearest Ocelo to invalidate their Invisibility. The Death Priests remained invisible, as they weren’t performing any direct attacks, but she could see her Death Warriors recovering from their heals.

Olga heaved a sigh of relief, leaning back against the Elder Lich as the carnage spread below.

“Bring in the sergeants,” she said, “tell them to make sure the Death Knights get their fill of Squire Zombies. Let’s get set up for the next–”

The renewed clash of battle rose from below. Olga leaned forward again, peering down at the lower fortress courtyard. Ocelo warriors were flooding in from the rear, roaring as they charged at the Undead. It seemed that the battlefield wouldn’t simply wait for her.

She scanned the clash playing out in the fortress.

“Are the Death Knights out of taunt range?”

“They cannot cover the entire courtyard, but the Beastmen nearest the wall should still be affected.”

Now that the Elder Lich mentioned it, she noticed that the Ocelo that had been neatly frozen were beginning to move again. They showed no hesitation in attacking their former comrades who had been turned into Squire Zombies and Zombies. Her troops were still working through the Beastmen, but the Beastmen only intensified their counterattack in response.

“I think there’s a Lord down there doing that,” she muttered after watching for a while longer.

“This one cannot be certain,” the Elder Lich said, “but your conjecture is likely correct. The unbending behaviour of the enemy is consistent with similar cases where a Commander is present. Shall we prioritise any suspected Lords?”

“No, leave them for last.”

She knew how hopeless it was as someone with sufficient information on the battlefield and its participants, but the Commander below would only have fragments of what was going on. Until they developed a clearer picture, they would likely continue attempting to hold the fortress they were assigned to defend.

The Ocelo continued attacking, dying in droves until all that remained was a large Ocelo with a dozen or so of its companions. They stood there in shock for a few moments before turning to flee.

“Too late,” Olga sighed.

A throwing axe flickered through the darkness, burying itself in the back of the Lord’s head. His retinue was overrun seconds later. Silence fell over the surroundings and her troops started to form up in the fortress courtyard.

“Summon Wraiths to investigate the upper keep and its surroundings,” she told the Elder Lich. “Get rid of any Beastmen you notice trying to escape.”

“Understood.”

Olga looked down at the blood-soaked battlefield with a rising sense of annoyance. Despite her seemingly successful assault, she didn’t feel happy at all.

“Do you think this happens everywhere?” She asked, “People dying like this because their Commanders don’t understand the situation they’re in? Or are too proud or stubborn to withdraw?”

“This one cannot be certain,” the Elder Lich replied, “but your conjecture is likely correct.”

“Captain,” Commander Lluluvien said, “Forstspire has been secured.”

Emmad released the breath he hadn’t realised he had been holding.

“Any complications?” Captain Zahradnik asked.

“None that threatened the mission’s objectives,” the Half-Elf Commander answered. “However, Olga did see fit to note that the defenders had been afflicted by ‘hold-the-line disease’.”

“We need to come up with a better name for that,” the Captain muttered. “You may commence the operation. I will see to it that Queen Oriculus is informed.”

With that, the Baroness left the war room: a repurposed tavern in an abandoned town just behind the front lines. Given that Her Majesty was still in Phelegia, contacting her likely involved using some magical means to communicate with Countess Corelyn’s delegation, who would in turn deliver the information to the Queen on the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Royal Army’s behalf.

Yet another thing that we need to figure out…

If the Draconic Kingdom had its own means of magically delivering information, then Emmad could have carried out the task. More importantly, once the Sorcerous Kingdom’s Royal Army left, the Draconic Kingdom had no way to do so at all.

They needed to recruit and train communications officers for that purpose. The problem was that Message was a Second-tier spell and he could count the number of individuals capable of Second-tier magic on his fingers and toes. On the plus side, they were all soldiers in the Draconic Kingdom’s Royal Army: the Clerics of Highfort. Unfortunately, none of them had learned the Message spell due to the taboos surrounding its use.

Furthermore, they were needed by their respective companies, so he couldn’t just take them away and scatter them around the country. What the Draconic Kingdom required was dedicated staff for every military station, but, in the wake of the occupation, competition for magic casters would be stiff. In other words, they would be expensive and the limited budget of the military would have a hard time competing with the entire private sector.

At least things won’t be rigged like the Adventurer Guild is. Second-tier casters aren’t impossibly rare. Plus, it’s a military job but the posting is low risk…

Emmad’s gaze absently went between the Forst and the Billaeus. Despite the signal to advance, nothing had changed. Suddenly, an Elder Lich reached out with a plotting rod and moved one of the squad markers one millimetre.

Was it even a millimetre? He sighed and turned away from the table. Those experienced in warfare often said that ninety-nine point nine per cent of it consisted of waiting, and that appeared to be true. Standing around waiting for things to happen, however, was very different from someone arriving to conveniently inform the court with a compilation of past events.

“Kartal. Yilmaz. There’s no need to follow me so closely.”

After arriving at one of the tables set up in the shadowed fringes of the room, Emmad glanced at his two new aides. With things in the west well on their way to being sorted out, they had been assigned to his department and joined him on the barge back from Phelegia. Along with himself, the two had been selected as candidates for Marshal. Saroukhanyan’s survival, however, meant that two out of three of the Marshal positions had been filled and the court wanted to see if any other experienced Commanders would miraculously show themselves.

Still, like Emmad, Kartal and Yilmaz had been aiming for a position in the military from the start. They were more than happy to secure anything, and Emmad thought their situation a great deal less absurd than his own. They hadn’t been dumped into a leadership position with rudimentary knowledge and no experience, after all.

Yet, now, they look up to me for some reason…Kartal is older than I am, dammit.

Despite his offer to step down should more suitable candidates appear, the Queen insisted that he stay where he was. A part of him believed that it was solely due to his connection with Baroness Zahradnik, but he knew that Her Majesty’s calculations were far shrewder than that.

“Would you like some fresh tea, Your Excellency?”

Like a ghost, Lady Zahradnik’s Maid appeared before him.

“Yes, thank you, Miss Luzi.”

The Maid lowered her head with a smile before retreating to the kitchen of the repurposed tavern. Kartal and Yilmaz tracked her with their gazes until she disappeared from view.

“This ‘War Room’ is a conundrum to any man,” Yilmaz said after he took a seat across the table from Emmad. “On one hand, you have exotic and beautiful young women. On the other, you have the Undead.”

“And sometimes,” Kartal added, “the exotic and beautiful young women are Undead.”

Emmad turned a sharp look at Kartal.

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know,” Kartal made voluminous motions in front of his chest, “the…the Vampires.”

“Oh. Them.”

For a moment, he thought that Kartal was about to make the insane assertion that Baroness Zahradnik was one of the Undead. Despite her imposing image and the sense of danger that accompanied her wherever she went, that was hardly all that defined her.

“Don’t tell me you have eyes for those ‘postal workers’,” Yilmaz said.

“And why not?” Kartal shrugged, “They are what they are, no? The legends say that powerful Vampires are bewitching in appearance, and so they are. No harm comes from appreciating beauty.”

“The souls of your ancestors will weep when the only remaining scion of their house is turned into a decidedly-less-than-bewitching Vampire Spawn.”

“Hey, now, you shouldn’t speak ill of that which you do not know. I have spoken with them and they are most pleasant.”

Yilmaz reached into his coat and produced a small crystal vial. He unstoppered it and splashed Kartal with a few drops of clear liquid.

“What was that for?!” Kartal wiped his brow and sniffed at the moisture on his fingers.

“Just checking.”

“You brought Holy Water with you?” Emmad frowned.

“Your Excellency did not?” Yilmaz frowned back.

“A-all that aside,” Kartal leaned forward, “is this alright? I don’t mean to sound disrespectful to our allies, but this almost seems a joke. The two Commanders are nursing mothers; a pair of children oversee the front lines…”

Yilmaz leaned forward over the table as well.

“With the power of these Undead,” he said in a low voice, “even a crippled wharf rat could emerge victorious over the Beastmen. And the way they answer to that mysterious ‘general staff’ in some unknown somewhere: what these people do is more ‘following instructions’ than leading an army.”

Their commentary couldn’t be helped, as the situation would seem equally ridiculous to anyone. The Sorcerous Kingdom conducted war in a manner unlike anything they had ever seen or heard. When most were asked for their idea of a Commander, they envisioned a powerful man who led vast armies on the battlefield, not a group of women who stood over a map in a warm and safe location with every convenience one could ask for.

The mere fact that they were women weighed heavily, as well. When humanity’s continued existence was on the line, women were to be protected while war was the province of men. The Beastmen had their own take, which was that women gave birth to more prey and thus tended to leave young women alone in regular circumstances. Either way, both sides’ reasoning used the same basic logic and it was a point that they tacitly agreed upon.

As such, women were nearly unheard of in the army period, never mind Commanders who were women. Emmad believed that there was an opportunity for them to serve in the same fashion that the Linum sisters did, however. Because they worked in safety, it didn’t run afoul of the baseline cultural norms in the Draconic Kingdom and would be easier for people to accept.

“You two wouldn’t have any problems working with our own woman Commanders, would you?” Emmad asked.

The two aides exchanged a look.

“I wouldn’t have any problems,” Kartal said, “so long as their competence is proven. Having a fine lady to work with is always welcome.”

“I can’t recall any noblewomen expressing an interest in the military, historically,” Yilmaz rubbed his chin. “Even now, when there are foreign female Commanders left, right and centre, all of our ladies have gone off to work in every ministry but ours.”

Emmad grunted. That was another thing. Just because positions were open didn’t mean that people would appear to fill them. Preconceptions and cultural norms applied to everyone, and the noblewomen of the court based their aims on them.

“Then I suppose us men will be doing twice as much work compared to every other ministry, relatively speaking.”

“Hmm…I’ve never considered it that way,” Kartal crossed his arms with a thoughtful expression. “We lose out on half of the labour pool because the ladies never consider joining the Ministry of War.”

“That’s true,” Yilmaz nodded sagely. “Moreover, if Delerose were Marshal, our budget problems would have been long solved. Alas, we must make do with this lump of stone.”

Yilmaz preemptively stepped back from Emmad’s swat. Kartal laughed.

“Your tea, my lords,” Miss Luzi’s voice came from nearby.

They settled down as the Maid served their refreshments. Not only was there tea, but a small variety of sweetened biscuits.

Emmad was barely two sips into his beverage when Lady Zahradnik reappeared from the stairs leading to the inn’s suites. The three of them rose from their seats, joining her at the main table. He examined what had changed on the map since they stepped away.

Out of the thirty infantry squads along the front, only ten had moved – the five northernmost and five southernmost. One of the squads from Forstspire had pushed ahead along the border to join the patrols keeping the Beastmen from fleeing north. The Beastmen in question had yet to make contact with the Undead, so their markers remained where they were.

Though only ten minutes had passed since the start of their advance, things still felt slow. But it was a deceptive sort of slow: even if the Undead were scouring every village along the way, they were tireless. One could take a nap and wake up to find that they had moved a surprising distance.

“Have there been any changes in Rivergarden?” Captain Zahradnik asked.

“None, at last report,” Commander Linum answered. “Chiyome is positioned inside near the western walls, and the city routines remain the same.”

His eyes went to the confluence of the Forst and the Oriculon, where thirty thousand dominated Undead from Katze were amassed. Those forces, along with the five infantry squads escorting them, were the ‘active’ component of the ‘Undead horde’.

Moreso than ever, they were meant to seize the imaginations of the enemy leadership. To Emmad, who saw the whole picture, the effort seemed oddly incongruous or even ‘cheap’.

The ‘command centres’ of the Beastmen were lined along the Oriculon, and the central component of the Undead army would serve as the ‘face’ of the Undead forces across the entire front. Whenever Undead movements were reported, they would be likened to the central force, as it would be subject to the most frequent and direct reconnaissance. With only tiny, incomplete fragments of what was going on across the entire front being reported to them, the enemy directly in the Beastman leadership’s faces would dominate their thinking.

It was part deception and part exploitation. Their enemy didn’t use any form of magical communication, divination, or aerial reconnaissance. They relied on a network of scouts who doubled as runners to deliver information on enemy movements. The Beastman military was loosely organised at best, with tribal hierarchies serving as a command structure.

Even as powerful as they were, the Sorcerous Kingdom’s forces chose to prey on those weaknesses…because even with all of their power, they couldn’t completely control the precise outcomes of the campaign. They could only encourage events to move in the desired direction.

Many likened war to the various board games that were meant to represent it. Emmad was one of them, but he now understood how laughable the comparison was. Rules; pieces; conditions for victory and defeat; even the shape of the board itself – they were fluid and ever-changing from moment to moment. The different sides didn’t even have to be playing the same game.

“It’s alright to bring your tea over, Your Excellency,” Captain Zahradnik told him. “We’re in for a long wait.”

Over the next two hours, the markers continued to move forward, millimetre by millimetre. According to expectations, the Beastmen cautiously withdrew before the unexpected and aggressive push. The front resolved into two main lines: that of the advancing Undead forces, and that of the retreating Beastmen.

“The strategic review stated that this would happen,” Emmad said, “but it’s strange how neatly it came together.”

“We’re only seeing markers on a map, Your Excellency,” the Baroness said. “What’s going on is likely a lot messier than this.”

With that, she set down her own cup of tea. Her gloved hands moved to collect the documents in front of her into their respective folders. The folders disappeared into the magical container on her right hip.

“What’s happening?” Emmad asked as she stepped away from the table and headed for the door, “Where are you going?”

“I am a Captain, Your Excellency,” Baroness Zahradnik replied with a smirk. “And a Captain’s place is on the front lines.”