This is beginning to be very serious.
When Ney's army had arrived at Agrippas Valley, it had been filled with an endless stream of wagons and travelers. Stretching east to west across the Romalia Mountains, it was the only suitable way to cross the rocky peaks for hundreds of miles. This made it a vital artery for the Empire. The Appia Road had been laid through Agrippa's Valley centuries before, facilitating travel from the Imperial Capital of Sadera to Italica in the west. As such, Agrippas Valley had been packed full of merchants with carts of goods, pilgrims heading to distant temples, travelers visiting extended family, and, of course, Imperial soldiers transporting supply wagons for the army of Prince Zorzal.
No longer.
Ney's army filled Agrippas Valley from end to end. Thousands of men worked with shovels and picks, digging lines of earthworks that choked the valley and blocked travel. The Appia Road no longer existed here; the stones had been dug up on the orders of French engineers to fortify vulnerable locations. Cannons and firing pits occupied the gentle hills that lined what had once been the Appia Road.
No one traveled through Agrippas Valley. One of Ney's first orders upon arrival had been to halt all transit through the valley and seize all wagons. Thousands of wagons had been taken in the first few days. Even now, Ney's army still feasted itself off of goods taken from Saderan merchants and the Imperial supply train. It took some days before word got out, but eventually people stopped coming down the road.
Imperial quartermasters had also caught on, and they were diverting convoys through difficult mountain paths, entirely unsuited for heavily encumbered wagons, in the vain hope that they could supply Zorzal's army. General Courbet had companies of light infantry raiding the paths. Every so often, they'd send down their captured wagons, resupplying Ney's army at the cost of the Imperial Army.
All the while, Colonel Feraud was ravaging the Saderan countryside east of the mountains and picking off couriers intended for Zorzal.
Ney had undoubtedly destroyed hundreds of merchants' and farmers' livelihoods with his orders, but he found that he didn't care. It was Zorzal who'd wanted to continue the war. Ney was just fighting it. If he had to ruin the lives of the Saderan people to do so, then so be it.
Now Ney stood on a small hill overlooking Agrippas Valley. He supervised his men's construction with a critical eye. Colonel Delon was in charge of fortifications as his cannoneers often were expected to double as sappers when preparing for battle. The man had developed a skill for building defensive networks, evidenced by the triple lines of earthworks, overlooked by six independent batteries of artillery, currently being dug by companies of soldiers and engineers.
"I think we might just have this," Ney commented.
"Yes, sir," Barbier agreed from his side. "We seem to have a veritable fortress rising before our eyes."
Ney nodded. "If Zorzal attacks us then he'll do little more than throw away his army." He smirked at the thought. Legionaries falling from the fortifications like the sea from a rocky shore.
"I'm surprised he hasn't done anything. He must know we're here by now; shouldn't he be fleeing to Rondel or trying to break through to Sadera?"
"Maybe." Ney shrugged his shoulders. "He must have supplies in his camp, maybe enough for a month or two. I suspect he still intends to seize Italica, but he's not doing well if our scouts can be believed. Dwindling supplies, a failed assault, and the loss of his siege engines? He's lost this one."
"Then why is he still there?" Barbier asked.
"Delusion perhaps?" Ney rubbed his chin. "I don't know."
"What if he takes the city? There might be something up his sleeve."
Ney gave his aide a hard look. "He will not take the city."
"Duclos!" Chaucer demanded. "I've got something to show you."
Jacques Duclos, mouth half full of an excellent meat pie that'd been provided as a gift from a grateful Italican baker, looked at the former quartermaster and groaned. Vidal, Astier, and Lagos were with him outside the Clan Formal mansion, also enjoying the excellent meat pies while the Ninth Company and men of the reserve basked in the glorious afternoon sun.
Jacques swallowed his pie and stood, even as Astier openly laughed at his misfortune and Vidal snickered quietly. "Coming… Coming…" he muttered.
He grabbed the Elban sword and buckled it to his side then strode to Chaucer. Militiamen nodded respectfully as he passed, and many made signs of reverence, something that greatly discomforted Jacques.
Ever since the sortie, Jacques's reputation had soared in Italica. The men of the reserve saw him as some great hero, and they had a newfound loyalty to him that bordered on fanaticism. Undeserved as it was, at least it wasn't as bad as his reputation among the common citizens. They saw him as some kind of living saint, sent to save the city from its doom. Jacques couldn't even walk the streets without men and women recognizing him. It made his stomach uneasy.
"What is it?" Jacques asked when he got to Chaucer.
The quartermaster nodded. "Just come with me."
They left the mansion and headed east to the wall. People in the street saw them and bowed. Some even went to their knees, kneeling in muck just to show their devotion. Many shouted, "Duclos!" as they passed.
Jacques sighed and looked at Chaucer. The man appeared unphased by the attention.
"You're ok with this?" Jacques griped, in French, so only Chaucer could understand.
Chaucer's eyes lazily met his. "Your popularity?"
"This damned hero worship!" Jacques snapped. "It's like they think I'm God."
"The masses tend to gravitate towards exemplemary figures. It's only natural," he replied.
Jacques scoffed. "What happened to your notions of equality?"
"Every society needs heroes," Chaucer said. "You've been chosen by the people for that duty."
"Why me?"
Chaucer burst out laughing. "I'm not going to answer that." He looked around. "Besides, we're here."
'Here' was a section of the eastern wall. There was nothing really to distinguish it; the enemy hadn't launched any assaults here, and their siege engines had been focused on the west wall because the ground there was better. The only things of note were a dozen bowls of water on the ground, but those were at the base of every wall. Jacques had assumed they had some kind of cultural significance.
"You see it?" Chaucer asked.
Jacques looked at him. "See what?"
"Look in the bowls."
Jacques peered into them. The water was moving, slight vibrations on the surface. The bowls to the right had more vibrations than the others.
"What's that mean?" Jacques asked.
Chaucer grinned. "That's the enemy undermining our walls."
Jacques stared blankly.
"I had these bowls placed around the walls when the siege began," Chaucer explained. "See, when miners dig a sap, they create a lot of vibrations in the earth. You can't feel it, because it's so deep in the ground, but water can show it. About five days ago, some of the militia noted them digging down near the eastern wall. Sure enough, these bowls are vibrating, which means they're trying to dig under here. The strongest vibrations show exactly where they're working."
Jacques looked at the bowls for another moment. "So what do we do?"
Chaucer grinned again. "I'd like you to meet someone."
They left the east wall and headed for the wealthiest part of Italica. Here, the people were less devoted. Many spat when they saw Chaucer. No one bowed. Some, those dressed in the finest clothing, saw their blue uniforms and sent servants running back to their homes.
They ignored the people on the street. Chaucer led him to a mansion made of marble with finely gilded columns at the entrance and jade ornaments framing the windows. He knocked on the door, dark oak with dozens of scenes carved into the surface, and waited.
No one answered.
"Jacek you bastard, open up!" Chaucer called. "I have a job for you."
"Fuck you," a muffled voice came from beyond the door in surprisingly good French, "I don't need your money."
"You haven't heard my proposal."
"I'm rich; why the hell should I work another day?" Jacek retorted.
Chaucer rubbed his head. "You won't be rich when Zorzal's soldiers sack this city and steal everything you own!"
The door finally opened. A short, burly man stood in the doorway, dressed in clothing that seemed too fine for him. He looked Chaucer in the eye. "Fine. What's the job?"
Chaucer gave his characteristic grin. "I need you to countermine Zorzal's sap, kill all his sappers, and burn his tunnel. Then I need you to be prepared to do it again when he tries a second time."
"My boys aren't soldiers," Jacek growled.
Chaucer put an arm around Jacques's shoulder. "That's why you'll have him."
Jacques shrugged Chaucer's arm off.
Jacek looked Jacques up and down. "This the miracle worker they're all screeching about? Duclos or what not?"
Jacques stepped forward and offered his hand. "Captain Jacques Duclos, at your service."
Jacek looked at the hand and chose to ignore it. "I swear by the gods, Chaucer, if any of my men die in this fucking-"
"Their families will be well compensated," Chaucer cut in. "And everyone gets triple pay if any fighting occurs."
"You haven't even told me what our regular pay is."
Chaucer tilted his head. "Have I ever cheated you for pay?"
Jacek sighed. "Fine. I'll gather the boys up."
The next morning, Jacek's miners set to work at the east wall. They started by tearing out the flagstones from the street in order to create a space they could dig through. Then they dug a series of tunnels parallel to the wall, one on top of another. That was so they could determine at what height the Saderans were tunneling at. They placed buckets of water in the tunnels and watched to see which height gave off the most vibrations. Then they did it again with new tunnels to narrow it down. By the third day of work, Jacek was confident enough in his estimation to begin digging his countersap.
It only took two more days to find the enemy's sap. According to Jacek, it was very difficult to determine how close they actually were to the Saderan tunnel, so when they heard muted tapping in front of them, that was all the warning they had.
Everything happened suddenly. The Saderan miners burst open the tunnel and rushed at Jacek's miners with knives. Both sides put out their lamps, because in the tunnel they mainly just illuminated the ones holding them, and that made them targets. So everyone put out their lamps, and there was no light. It was a knife fight in pitch darkness, and somehow, Jacek's men came out on top. They drove back the Saderan miners, who promptly fled, and they began piling tinder to set fire to the mines.
Then Saderan legionaries filled into the tunnel, and it was Jacek's turn to run. Jacek's miners immediately fled, having not set fire to the mine, and they came scurrying out of the tunnel with dust and blood all over them.
Jacques and the Ninth Company were on standby when all of that happened. Jacek came running out of the tunnel, his entire body covered in dirt, his right arm gripping a dirk sticky with blood.
"Your turn," he spat at Jacques. Then he looked over Jacques again and said, "Listen, don't imagine a big cavern down there. Our tunnel's the width of a man's shoulders and only four feet high in some places. You walk hunched over and knees bent. Your boys don't wear armor, right?"
Jacques shook his head.
"That's good and bad," Jacek said. "Bad is that there's no light down there, and in the dark, armor's the only thing that'll save you. Good is that there's no light down there, and armor is noisy. You'll probably know they're there before they know you're there. Use that."
Jacques took in his words and nodded. "Anything else?"
Jacek gave a grim smile. "Don't die. Heroes aren't supposed to die. It's bad for morale." He patted Jacques on the shoulder and began to stumble away.
Jacques watched him stumble for three heartbeats then called, "Everyone on your feet and behind me! We're going into the tunnel!"
He went to the head of the mine and everyone else lined up behind him. Jacques threw aside his shako. He unbuckled his sword belt and held the Elban sword naked in his fist; the scabbard might've tripped him in the dark. Some men had their muskets with bayonets affixed, but most had heard of what awaited them and instead only held their unaffixed bayonets, steel spikes clenched in one fist.
Jacques looked into the darkness of the mine and tried to be calm. But it was all real. He was going to fight underground, in the dark. He considered praying.
Then Jacques went down into the mine. He grabbed hold of the ladder and slowly, rung by rung, watched the light disappear above him. At the bottom there was only a sliver of light and a single path to take. Forward.
Two of the miners were still down there. They held crossbows and were watching the tunnel.
"Duclos?" one of them asked.
"Yes," Jacques said, in Saderan.
"Emroy's balls, I wouldn't go into that tunnel again. Not for gold or the gods."
Jacques didn't want to either. But this was where he did his duty, a tunnel five feet wide and four feet tall, his men at his back, the fate of a city on his shoulders. If he failed, thousands would die. If he succeeded, he'd have to do it again.
Jacques started forward. There was no light after the first ten feet. He made it maybe twenty feet, his head scraping every so often against the dirt ceiling, and then he tripped.
He fell over a corpse. It was still warm, and blood got all over his hand. Jacques hit the ground. Hard.
Then he had to struggle to his feet. In the open light that would've been no problem, but in a cramped tunnel with no light, it was a feat in itself. He had to crawl to a wall and use it to feel his way to his feet. All the while, he expected someone to come from the dark and stab him.
"What happened?" Vidal asked, her voice distinct in the dark.
"There's a body," Jacques said. He didn't like how he sounded. Whiny and terrified.
He continued forward. It was harder to go forward the second time.
He went maybe fifty feet this time. His sword probed ahead of him. There was no room to swing it, so Jacques had it in two hands instead of one. One hand on the handle, the other half way up the blade, shortening its reach tremendously. He was probing ahead with the point, hoping he didn't fall again. Every so often there was another body, and Jacques would carefully step over it as best he could. He couldn't see, he was breathing hard, he seemed to jump at everything he heard, and he had sweat running down his back.
Jacques still hadn't fought anyone yet.
He went forward more, inching himself along. His left foot went forward, and his right slid behind it. Again and again.
There was clanking ahead.
Jacques stopped breathing. His eyes flickered around, but there was still no light, and he couldn't see what had made the noise. He tried to be as quiet as possible, slipping forward, sword still pointed ahead of him.
The clanking got louder.
Someone was ahead of Jacques. He could feel that somehow. The man's armor was clattering on itself as he moved. He was maybe ten feet out.
Jacques forced himself forward. He went forward for two steps, and the man in front of him moved too. Jacques was so close he could hear the man's breathing.
Which meant he was close.
Jacques suddenly charged forward, and the Elban sword's point collided with something. There was the sound of metal scraping on metal. Jacques felt the Elban sword go up, sliding off some piece of armor, and then Jacques's left elbow was against the man in front of him's breastplate. It slid up against what he presumed was the man's neck. He could feel the man's chin on his forearm, and the man's warm breath was on his face.
Jacques pushed. He got his feet under him and pushed, because there was nothing else to do.
The man went back and suddenly there was space again.
Jacques swung his sword pommel forward like a staff and hit metal. He couldn't see. He had no idea what he'd just hit. But Jaques hit something, and that meant he was still fighting.
He lashed out with the pommel again and hit. It got stuck on something, and Jacques had no idea how to free it. He stepped forward and pushed again. Whoever was in front of him stumbled back. The pommel came free. Jacques thrust with the tip of the Elban sword into the dark. It didn't hit metal this time. It hit something soft.
The man in front of him screamed.
There was a flash of light. It was so sudden, Jacques was blinded. Just for a moment. Then Jacques saw the men in front of him. One of them had opened the shutter of a lantern. They were just as scared as Jacques was.
Jacques screamed his fear and went forward.
He hit the man at the front in the head. Jacques could see now, and his thrust was accurate. The Elban sword speared through the man's eye and came away bloody. His next victim failed to parry, but the legionary's breastplate saved him. The legionary tried to swing at Jacques but his shortsword got caught on the low ceiling. Jacques thrust at his throat, and he died. The man behind him was more prepared. His sword was ready, and he parried Jacques's first thrust.
And then the light went out. Jacques could do nothing but push forward.
He slid ahead. One foot after the other. But his backfoot got tangled on someone's corpse. He fell. He went to his hands and knees.
Desperation kept him going. He got to one knee and slashed with the Elban sword which, thank God, was still in his fist. It hit metal. Again, and the tip got caught on the wall.
There was a flash of light and a clap of thunder. Blood sprayed on Jacques's face. Someone screamed.
Smoke was everywhere. The acrid smell of gunpowder hit Jacques's nose. His ears were ringing.
He went forward again because, really, he had no better idea of what to do. Fear continued to surge through him, and, despite that, he managed to thrust forward.
The Elban sword hit nothing.
Jacques went forward again. And found nothing.
Another flash of light and thunder. Dirt sprayed next to Jacques. The gunpowder smell of sulfur was strong in the air. His ears continued to ring. And everything was still completely dark.
"Stop shooting! You're going to hit me!" he blurted in French. Jacques hated it. The way his voice so easily conveyed all his fear. The horror he was currently trapped in.
Hell was dark. It smelled of smoke and sulfur. Its heat was oppressive.
Jacques forced himself further into hell.
He stepped on a corpse. Shuddered. Forced another step forward. One after the other.
But ahead, Jacques could hear the clanking of armor. He gripped his sword by the blade again. Tried to breathe. Tried to pray. Tried to get rid of fear.
Forward.
Jacques ran into a man. He jabbed the Elban sword forward. It hit flesh. There was a cry, but Jacques had no way to know if the man was still fighting. He jabbed again and hit metal. Again and more flesh.
The cries stopped. Something fell to the ground.
Jacques's undershirt was soaked in sweat. Everything was too damned hot down here. The heat mixed with death and darkness to create the hell he was in. He took an unsteady breath.
Forward.
The clanking was fading. There was shouting in Saderan, but it was distant, and Jacques couldn't make anything of it. He kept going and found nothing.
Jacques stopped. Listened.
Nothing.
"Light!" he demanded.
Someone had a lantern. Orange light suddenly engulfed the tunnel.
There were no Saderans. The only legionaries left were dead on the ground. They were somewhere deep in the Saderan sap. Jacques could see tinder piled up where Jacek's miners had attempted to fire the supports.
"Pass up the lantern!"
It came up the line of men behind Jacques, steadily brightening the tunnel as it did. When Jacques finally took it, he had to squint at the light.
"Start moving back to the surface," he ordered.
There was shuffling as the line of men turned to leave. Meanwhile, Jacques opened the lantern and began to coax the flame onto the tinder. It caught, and Jacques moved the burning material to the piles around the support beams.
Then there was a smell. Just a faint whiff.
Rotten pork.
Orcs.
Jacques knew that, if he fought those suicidal creatures in this hell, he'd die. His heart was pounding. He turned, abandoning the fire, and fell back. To stay was certain death. He ran as well as he could with a four foot ceiling, as the smell of rotten pork became stronger.
Behind him, the orange glow of the fire was extinguished.
Darkness engulfed him again.
Fear.
He kept going. The orcs were loud. They roared and spoke their guttural language, but they didn't seem to be in any hurry. He stepped on bodies, trying to get out of the tunnel.
Jacques made it to the mine entrance with far less trouble than he'd had entering it. His men were climbing the ladder. After a minute, Jacques climbed the ladder himself.
The light of the sun hit Jacques, and he felt better for it. After being in hell, there was relief in simply being able to stand up straight with light all around him.
He sat down and rested, just basking in sunlight. The great tide of orcs never came. They didn't even try. Eventually a few orcs wandered down the tunnel, but they were torn apart by musket fire. No more came after that.
Jacek approached Jacques after some time. "Did you fire the tunnel?" he asked.
Jacques shook his head. "Couldn't. Orcs."
"You have to retake the tunnel then," he said, "or they will widen the sap and collapse this wall."
Jacques shook his head again and let a tear fall. "I'm not going back down there."
"Well, I suppose you're only mortal after all," Chaucer said, leaning back in his chair. He and Jacques were in Chaucer's office, only an hour after the Ninth Company's failure. "Still, I'm going to try and keep this quiet. Heroes aren't supposed to fail, and we don't want any panic."
Jacques didn't feel like dignifying him with a response. He didn't feel much of anything at the moment other than the terror of having gone to hell. Everything else was just… numb.
"Regardless," Chaucer went on, "this is bad news. If they collapse the wall then we're going to be hard pressed to hold on for much longer. I happen to agree with Jacek's assessment of the situation; we need to retake the tunnel."
Jacques stared past him, not really listening.
Chaucer bit his lip and inhaled. "You know, I could send the Ninth Company back in. I'm told you're the only one who really fought. The others are still fresh."
Jacques finally met his eye. "No." He trembled. "We can't go back down there."
"It wouldn't be you. I'm sure Sergeant Astier or Sergeant Vidal would be more than capable of-"
"I won't send them anywhere I won't go," Jacques whispered. He made his hands into fists to stop them from shaking. "And I will not go down there again."
Chaucer looked at him in silence for a long while. Then his eyes darted away, and he pursed his lips. "You're very fortunate that we have other options."
Jacques blinked.
"I presume you're acquainted with Rory Mercury?" Chaucer didn't wait for him to reply. "The woman claims to be blessed by a death god. She says that he gives her incredible powers." He scoffed. "I have my doubts about her so-called 'god', but the powers are real. She snapped my old sword by walking onto it. I gather that she's damned near immortal."
"She killed four of my men," Jacques muttered.
"I read the report; my condolences." Chaucer ran a hand through his hair. "Regardless, she's on our side. I don't know why exactly, something to do with killing, but she's an advantage I intend to utilize."
Jacques's breathing hitched. "You're going to send her into the tunnel."
Chaucer nodded. "Apparently she has some sort of heightened awareness that will allow her to find her way down there. Add that onto the ability to regenerate practically any wound and…" He shrugged. "Well, I don't think the Saderans will be able to stop her."
Jacques shook his head. "You can't trust her. What if she turns on us?"
"I'm not in a position that can afford not to trust her," Chaucer spat. "And to be completely honest, Duclos, I doubt we could stop her if we tried."
"So I'm supposed to fight alongside a murderer?" Jacques hissed.
"Yes," Chaucer replied. "In the end, I don't really give two shits about what we have to do, so long as this city holds. That's all that matters. So yes, you're going to fight alongside a murderer. Yes, you're going to pretend to be a big, strong hero. Yes, you're going back in that tunnel if it becomes necessary."
"Fuck you," Jacques snarled. He stood and marched out of the office without looking back. Scribes hurried out of his way. No one came after him.
The next morning, Rory Mercury was sent to the east wall.
It was fitting that, when confronted with hell, Chaucer tried to send a demon to deal with it. The Saderans had spent the night filling in as much of Jacek's tunnel as they could with baskets of rubble. That was meant to give them time to widen and deepen their sap under the wall so that the wall would totally collapse when they brought down the sap. To combat that, Jacek had teams of miners dig two parallel tunnels while the rest worked on clearing the baskets. That way, they would be able to breach the Saderan tunnel from multiple directions, in case the old tunnel was fortified. Jacek had a much better idea of where the Saderan tunnel was now, so he knew exactly when his boys were about to breach. He sent for Rory just minutes before they breached.
Only, Rory refused to enter the tunnels. She was afraid of going underground.
Chaucer, of course, hadn't told her she was going to be fighting in the tunnels. Rory hated the idea of fighting in the tunnels. He'd only told her she'd be fighting, and that was something she liked. Rory blabbered something about the goddess Hardy who, apparently, ruled the underground. For whatever reason, Hardy terrified Rory, and she refused any attempt to get her into the tunnels.
But that left Jacek in a horrible position, minutes away from breaching the Saderan tunnels without the demi-goddess he'd been promised. He could fall back, but they were so close that the Saderans almost certainly had heard them digging. Any delays would give Saderan legionaries time to reinforce their workers and ruin Jacek's plan.
Instead, Jacek drew a dirk and decided to finish the job with his miners. They breached the Saderan tunnel from three directions nearly simultaneously. Jacek's men rushed the Saderans, cutting them off from the rear while men at the front and middle of the sap desperately grappled in the darkness with shivs, dirks, daggers, and knives.
Five minutes of the most horrible fighting of the entire siege followed. It was almost impossible to distinguish friend from foe in the darkness. Jacek's miners were, of course, Italicans who spoke Saderan indistinguishable from their opponents. And, because Jacek's men came from three directions, no one could rely on the person in front of them being an enemy. Jacek had expected Rory Mercury to do most of the fighting; he hadn't prepared for this eventuality.
The result was a bloodbath. Saderans and Italicans brutalized each other. Men on both sides murdered comrades in the darkness. Dozens of men were damned to eternity, unable to know if it was friend or foe who'd killed them. No one took prisoners, because that was impossible in such cramped conditions. In the end, Jacek's miners slaughtered all the Saderan miners, broke through their sap, and set fire to the tunnel supports. By the time Saderan legionaries arrived to reinforce the tunnel, the fire was too out of control to put out. The Italicans had already backfilled their tunnels with baskets of dirt, stopping the fire from collapsing the wall. The Saderan tunnel caved in on itself as soon as the supports failed, and days of work disappeared in the span of fifteen minutes.
When the miners emerged, covered in gore mixed with thick layers of dirt, each one looked like they'd aged ten years. All that in less than half an hour.
Jacek wasn't with them. His body was buried somewhere in the collapsed tunnel. One of the miners had managed to grab his dirk before they'd evacuated. The entire thing was coated in sticky blood.
Jacques heard what happened from Jacek's miners. He took the dirk. Then he marched to Chaucer's office and slammed it onto the former quartermaster's desk, smearing a report with a dozen men's blood.
"This is what happens!" he hissed. "Your murderer failed us, and men died!"
Chaucer stared silently at the dirk.
"She can't be trusted," Jacques went on. "She's not a soldier. She has no discipline or loyalty. Can we even be sure she won't turn on us the moment she gets bored?"
Chaucer didn't seem to be listening. He was still staring at the dirk.
Jacques sighed and left him.
Jacques was sleeping when he was interrupted. It wasn't a good sleep, so he didn't mind much. But he was very groggy.
A woman was saying something in his ear. Jacques couldn't make much sense of it.
"Vidal?" Jacques asked. "What time is it?"
Only the woman wasn't Vidal. She was wearing a smith's apron, and her face was black with soot. And she spoke Saderan.
"Slow down," Jacques said, because his Saderan wasn't great, and he couldn't understand her. "Who are you?"
"Tullia Bato," she replied. "I'm with Chaucer."
Jacques could see it was pitch black outside, and he wasn't in the mood to deal with Chaucer. "Tell him to get me in the morning."
Tullia's face scrunched up. "Chaucer didn't send me. I need you on the wall now."
There was something in her voice. Jacques didn't like it. "Are we being attacked?" he demanded.
"No!" she snapped. "Just come with me already."
Jacques obeyed, pulling on his uniform as they rushed out of the Clan Formal mansion. He only just managed to get his sword on before they were out the door. Tullia practically sprinted through the streets, and Jacques scurried to catch up.
They arrived at the east wall and climbed one of the towers. It was two hundred steps to the top of the tower. Jacques could barely breathe when got all the way up. A swivel gun crew was on duty; they bowed their heads to him.
Tullia Bato was practically bouncing on her heels when Jacques reached her. "Do you see that?" she asked.
Jacques looked out from the tower. The tunnel collapse from yesterday had left a solid indent in the ground. It led to where the Saderans had dug their mine entrance about four hundred yards from Italica's wall, far out of swivel gun range. Beside it, Jacques could see little dots of light where miners were starting to dig a new mine.
"They're persistent," Jacques noted.
"Not that," Tullia hissed. She pointed into the dark. "That."
Jacques followed her finger. Out in the dark, illuminated by moonlight and lanterns, something was moving by the new Saderan mine. It was fast.
"What is that?" Jacques questioned, eyes never leaving the distant mine.
Tullia rubbed her head. "That's Rory Mercury."
Jacques turned. "What?"
"I saw her jump over the wall," Tullia explained. "I was checking up on the guns, seeing if they needed any maintenance and whatnot. You've got to do that, or they might explode when you fire them, and that'd be really bad if it happened in the middle of a fight. One of them had a thin crack, because I don't think we did the casting as well as-" She saw Jacques's blank look. "Anyhow, I was up here checking it out, and then I saw her leap off the wall. I think she's attacking them."
"Why did you come to me?"
Tullia blinked. "Well, I thought you'd want to know. In case you have any orders."
Jacques rubbed his brow. "Why didn't you go to Chaucer?"
She made a face. "Well… You're the uh…er… You're the one in command, right? Chaucer's managing all the background work, and you're the one leading the troops?"
Jacques sighed. He didn't really know what the arrangement was, but that was how it seemed to be going.
"So… uh. What are your orders, sir?"
He looked out into the darkness again. He could just barely recognize signs of struggle at the Saderan mine. Every so often, one of the dots of light would fall and be extinguished. There were also signs of movement in the main camp, probably reinforcements moving to stop Rory.
"Leave her be," Jacques decided.
Tullia looked surprised. "What? Do nothing?"
"She's invulnerable, right? Leave her. The Saderans can't hurt her, and I won't risk losing more men because of her actions."
"But shouldn't we help her?"
Jacques shrugged. "Why? She can't die."
"I thought she was our ally. We ought to help our allies," Tullia said.
Jacques bit his lip. "Get back to looking at the guns," he ordered. Then he went back to sleep.
In the morning, there was screaming.
Three hundred yards from the east wall, the Saderans erected a wooden, X shaped cross. They established an outpost, palisades and earthworks with men guarding them, for the sole purpose of guarding the cross. It was intentionally built close enough for the screams to carry over the walls and into the city. The cross was covered in blood, so much blood that the cross looked to be made of it.
Nailed to the cross was Rory Mercury.
Jacques went to the wall as soon as he woke. From a distance, Rory was barely recognizable. Her outfit was practically replaced by blood and gore, and her muck-filled hair draped over her face like a curtain. But it had to be Rory.
No one else could've survived what they'd done to her.
Rory's limbs were no longer attached to her body. They'd been hacked off, leaving behind stumps that continually spurted blood, adding to the gory scene. Her limbs were nailed to the ends of the cross while her body was nailed to its center, creating a horrific effigy that drew one's gaze even from three hundred yards. Two men worked on her with large knives, flaying the skin from her face and torso. Each time their blades ripped off a part of her, the skin would regenerate fully, only for them to cut into it again like vultures picking at a corpse. For all her invulnerability, she still felt pain, and her torso writhed uselessly with each cut.
Rory Mercury screamed and screamed. Her agony pierced the very air. Every time she let out one of her gut wrenching shrieks, the militiamen on the wall would wince.
Chaucer was on the wall, watching her as well. He noticed Jacques and nodded, slowly making his way over to him. "I'm told she giggled at first," he said solemnly. "But I suppose even immortals have limits. She began screaming when they started tearing away her face. She's been at it for hours now. Apparently, even her vocal cords regenerate, so she won't be able to lose her voice. Death obviously won't come. She'll just keep screaming and screaming until she goes mad. Even that might not be possible. She might just scream forever."
Jacques shuddered at the thought. He closed his eyes when Rory let off another tortured screech. Finally he breathed in and asked, "How did she get captured?"
Chaucer shook his head. "She went out last night, because she felt guilty about not entering the tunnels. Left a note and everything about how she wasn't useless. Said she'd finish the job for us."
Jacques looked at his boots as Rory shrieked again.
"Apparently, after she'd butchered all their miners, she decided she wasn't done yet," Chaucer went on. "She attacked the main camp, and the whole army swarmed her. Our sentries saw the lights moving from the walls. Who knows how many men the Saderans lost taking Rory down, but somehow they eventually managed to incapacitate her. Then they hacked her apart and strung her up." He gestured to where Rory had been crucified.
More screams came from Rory. Everyone on the wall winced.
"Why are they doing that to her?" Jacques asked in between shrieks. "Why torture her?"
Chaucer let out a particularly dark laugh. He indicated with his head at the others on the wall. "Isn't it obvious? They're going to keep her screaming until any morale we have is gone. Then the next time they attack us, we'll blow over like a pile of ash."
Jacques shuddered. "God help us."
Chaucer looked at him and gave a sad smile. "You still believe God has a place in all this?"
Jacques didn't answer. Instead, he looked out over the wall. Then he looked at a swivel gun and wondered.
If there's one word to describe this chapter, it's hell.
Originally, I'd intended for this chapter to be one section of a much larger chapter. However, I think it fits better as its own chapter both thematically and pacing wise.
Also I've finally managed to write a scene about tunnel fighting. It's hell in every sense of the word. Have you ever been in a place of complete darkness? Have you ever been in a space so cramped you have to hunch down everywhere you go? Imagine both of those things at once and then add on fighting to the death. I visited the remains of a siege tunnel in Italy a few years back, and that experience greatly influenced this chapter.
Anyways, that's that. Reviews are, as always, incredible motivation for my writing. Regardless of if you enjoyed or didn't enjoy, please leave a review.
