A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor
Chapter 1668 - 1668: A Captured Capital - Part 3

"There hardly seems a counterattack against these dastardly things," Broadstone commented. They were still so far out of range of the archers, that any sort of retaliation seemed more than unlikely. The defenders were forced to stand there and wait, enduring the assault, just a Broadstone and Blackwell had once endured the assault from the gathered army of the Verna horde, waiting for the opportunity in which they might counter attack.

"They do not seem quite as bestirred as they ought to be," Blackwell said, stroking his chin, and narrowing his eyes. He had supposed that the archers would be set to a degree more panic than they were. For even the most lowly of infantrymen could not surely see through the lacking of their position, and the slimming likelihood of their victory.

Then there came a thudding of retaliation. Giant stakes of pointed wood came flying. A whole volley of them, as if the archers had unleashed them – as if they'd grown to the size of mountains, and equipped trees and logs themselves straight into the bowstring.

There were ten shots in all, but when those shots were so large, there seemed to be hundreds more. And they went a remarkable distance – far further than any of the Blackwell men could have hoped. The engineer that Blackwell had set to tending to the trebuchets were forced to dodge, as those wooden stakes came crashing down into the ground beside them, sending mud and debris flying.

Some shots went just too short. Others went just too far. And one shot in particular landed right next to the frame of a catapult. It seemed to be the sheer divine protection of the Gods that had seen it spared.

"…I might have spoken too soon," Broadstone remarked. For some reason, he looked more pleased than he did shocked.

"You do understand that we are the attackers, Broadstone?" Blackwell said. "Wipe that smile off your face, if you would. We've a problem now to overcome…"

"Quite right," Broadstone said. "We did not anticipate that they would have imported ballista. But I suppose, with our campaign into the Verna, that technology is not any longer a classified thing."

"We are fortunate that they were unable to distribute more ballista throughout their kingdom," Blackwell said evenly. "That would have made our job far more troublesome."

Another volley of ballista shots was thrown out, taking to the sky, and thundering forward. With how they flew, so targeted, one would have thought that the flying stakes themselves had a personal vendetta – that it was their own will that controlled their perfect accuracy. And that second volley was accurate indeed, striking down of Blackwell's catapults, and rendering them ineffectual. One of the boulders that they'd been in the midst of preparing misfired, exploding off to the side, rolling into the crew that had attempted to fire her, crushing the leg of one man in the process.

"It would seem that they are faster to load than our catapults…" Blackwell noted, unperturbed by the loss of his equipment. "We might be forced to hold this siege in the old way."

"If that hill were just a little closer," Broadstone said. "We would have been able to hail them with catapult fire unmolested."

"True enough. But it is no closer. The situation is what it is. I leave command of the catapults to you. See not another one lost – and see that you begin an assault on the right wing of their main wall. I will do what I can to bother them from the left," Blackwell said, moving towards his other advantage instead – the fact that he had another General in him in the form of Broadstone, whereas he assumed Pedidarius to be entirely by his lonesome.

He calmly split the army in two, leaving Broadstone to his own devices, knowing that he could do so confidently, knowing full well that the sort of pressure that Broadstone applied would give him far more freedom of his own.

The problem for Blackwell, more than anything, was the moat. They'd sent scouts to measure it beforehand, and had seen bridges built to fit it, but those bridges were excessively long by now, and they were remarkably heavy for it. Such was the width of the moat that held the Pendragon castle where it was. And there was a current to it as well, courtesy of the river that had been redirected around it, so even if one of their armoured men were to split into it, and be capable of swimming, by virtue of their equipment and the whims of the river, they were almost certainly dead men.

"First bridge," Blackwell said, giving the order. The waiting bridgemen hefted the bridge up from the ground and onto their shoulders through a series of coordinated shouts, and then they saw it raised above their heads, clinging instead to the little handles that had been installed underneath, to give them a better chance at carrying it.

If there was any consolation to be had for those bridge men, it was that the bridge itself functioned almost as a giant shield. Though that shielding effect was far more pronounced for those men hidden in the middle of it, than it was for those at the sides.

It was a courageous, and rather unfortunate role to be given. For those on the outside especially, their placement was almost suicidal. With Command in his voice, whoever, and for all the loyalty that he had seen instilled in them, over the course of many battles, Blackwell found not the slightest shred of complaint. They had that bridge in position, and when the order did come for them to charge, not a single man hesitated.

Another group went behind the first, ducking behind them, with small shields raised above their heads. They were sent for the purpose of reinforcement, knowing full well that when an arrow volley took to the air, men would die, and they would need to be replaced, lest the bridge fall down in no-man's-land, right in the range of the Pendragon archers, where none could ever hope to secure it again.

The sky was blackened when those arrows came for them, and it wasn't just the usual pointed metal tips that they sent their way – there were little pouches of oil attached in places, and they splashed all over the top of the wood, and down onto the men beneath it.