The Siege

“It doesn’t count if you’re already planning your defeat” yelled General Airo. The veteran soldier who had been in the line of fire for years wasn’t agreeing to what his current superior was proposing. For years General Airo stood in the line of fire and commanded the Lauriat army. He was a true master of war and none of the other generals knew better than him on how battle craft worked, which was why his voice was the most prominent in the room. Behind him the other generals nodded in agreement at his proposal but only one man seemed to have disagreed with him. The man he was addressing as his superior, Prince Daerion.

Daerion the Dragon as the commoners called him, was just seventeen years of age. A shocking feat for someone who had a reputation and fame which surpassed many who were five times his age. He started fighting in the army at eleven due to him being incredibly tall, and by the time he was fourteen he was named as a commander general. Of course being the Kings first son things were always easier for him, but nonetheless his achievements were still unbelievably great. Thus when Daerion took command of the armies attack to the rebellious city Qohort, some felt that he was overplaying his role as prince. 

Daerion looked deep into the eyes of general Airo, who stared back at him, eyes not flinching. Neither of the two men ever feared another nor did they fail to intimidate another. Daerion looked at Airo as if he was staring at a greasy old man who was past relevance and retirement. Airo returned the favour, berating Daerion as nothing but a snivelling boy craving glories he doesn’t have. In truth both men had assumable respect for each other, with Daerion secretly wishing he would be as respected and decorated as Airo when he would become old, while Airo always saw Daerion as a son he wished he had and a true heir to the throne. However the tensions of war had raised tension above the roof.

Daerion spoke sternly, staring into the pupils of the general, “I have never planned anything that leads to defeat and that won’t start today sir!” Airo remained defiant, “I have been seeing battle plans my whole life, plans which lead to great victory and plans which lead to demise, and none of the bad plans have ever looked as horrible as yours!” Daerion took little notice of the insult, “perhaps you need to update your knowledge of battles, the one you have is pretty ancient old man”. Airo didn’t take the reply kindly, “ listen to me boy!, I have led men, real men to war for more than double the years you’ve lived, I won’t stand to be insulted by a boy playing at a game of war”

The rest of the generals sat back and watched as the argument unfolded in front of them. Admiral Tao, one of the youngest leaders in the war council then softly interjected,” My Prince, encouraging as your idea is, I feel like this time general Airo has the better points”. Daerion looked at Admiral Tao and signalled him to continue, “If we wait until the storm passes our travels will be much easier and we can lay siege on Qohort in better circumstances”

The Prince chuckled at his proposal,”Admiral when has a siege ever worked against Qohort? When have they felt a pinch when someone simply settled outside of their walls forever?” Admiral Tao feinted to respond but was immediately intercepted by General Airo, “Prince Daerion, when has a direct attack ever worked on Qohort too?” Daerion looked at them and smiled broadly, “It will work when I storm the city”.

The next moments were spent planning what seemed like a doomed plan, the generals exchanging ideas, arguing about the van guard and preparing retreat channels. Meanwhile Daerion drifted into his own world seeing how things will plan out and how the war would go.

It was very early in the morning when the march to Qohort began. Thick dark clouds hovered above the army, a sign of the storm to come. The younger soldiers became nervous and frustrated; probably the weather which superstitiously spelt doom startled them. Only one man felt positive and glad that a storm was ahead. Daerion was the storm and Qohort was about to get flooded.

   The drizzle became heavier as they drew closer to their castle with the sky blackening like a furnace full of charcoal, soon the ghoul shall follow, a storm that would decide whether his gamble would either be a stroke of genius or a foolish move.

Admiral Tao approached hoping to make a last grasp at Daerion’s logic, “My Prince, there’s a storm coming, perhaps we should camp for now and begin the siege once the rains have passed?” Prince Daeron smiled, knowing that the commanders still didn’t trust in him, “there won’t be a siege commander, we are going straight for the castle and the rains shall be our guide”. The commander walked away with his face doing nothing to hide how puzzled he was. Behind him General Airo stared at him with bemusement.

A few hours on and they were at the foot of the castle, the storm had just begun with their boots ankle deep in water and them barely seeing where they wear. One thing was certain; if they couldn’t see anything ahead of them, then so couldn’t their enemies.”Spear and Shields!” screamed Daerion, and a great clank of steel made a noise which silenced the rains. At a distance they could hear a faint noise of the drums from Qohort which spelt ‘WE ARE WAITING FOR YOU’.

Qohort was a massive castle, with walls 20 metres high and five metres thick unbreakable hard rock all around it. The front wall was about 2000 metres and positioned just in the middle of two hills, thus it was named Castle Of Hills. It was no easy conquest. At least 500 men would be waiting atop its wall, with a little more than a hundred Ballistae to fire. On top of that was a moat dug 10 metres deep just outside the walls with numerous murder holes to fill with fire and blood for those who dared attack. Archers have a great range of strike but rain made their target and reach much lower, as long as his men had their shields up, the archers would be of no threat. Ballistae too were useless in the rain, meaning the only resistance he expected was from soldiers who would have left the castle, something the Prince was longing for.

Fire and arrows were a deterrent to any smart man but Prince Daeron had other ideas, a conquest this big which had never happened in history would earn him eternal glory. He could already picture his victory march, the mothers who would name their sons after him, his statue mounted in every city with the words ‘Daeron the Dragon’.  The thought of it gave him an odd bit of excitement for someone who was marching to a potential death, but he grew up believing that he was to die sword in hand and there was not much to live for outside that.

 As he had anticipated, the castle defences had failed and before long they opened their gates and charged at them. Daerion’s army held position, a cow horn arch which made any attempt for a double envelopment attack by the Qohortese fail. When the Qohortese charge was stifled with their stable hold, they pressed the Qohortese army, forcing them back into their castle. A number of rows in the Prince’s Van guard had been dismantled but years of training let them reorganize. “Get the ladders up and bring the Rams!” shouted general Airo as the army prepared to knock over the castle doors. Thump after thump came, and the gate started giving in. Positivity began to flow into the Prince’s ranks and even the critical General Airo was admiring the success of Daerion’s idea. The gates finally collapsed and the real fight began.

Sword swung against sword while spears and shields collided. Throats were sliced open while bellies were pierced and before long the ground had more blood than the rain water. Daerion was in the middle of the fighting, swinging his sword from one man to the next. The Prince was a skilled warrior; however in the madness of battle skill only gave an ounce advantage. A large Qohortese warrior charged at him hammer in hand and they duelled atop a floor of dead soldiers. The Qohortese monster had strength which outmatched the Prince and was incredibly quick for his size. Daerion caught a blow to the head which sent him reeling to the ground; he sprung back up only to be floored again by another strike on his breastplate. The giant stood over him, hammer in the air, just before he brought it down Daerion reached towards his chest with a spear that pierced through his flesh and sent him collapsing to the ground and his blood gushing out.

Daerion stood up and caught a breath, he was a whisker away from death but the dragon in him had conquered the beast he had faced. He looked around and saw his army gaining an advantage and drawing into the city, but amidst that he also saw the bodies lying on the ground. Not too far away was Admiral Tao, lying lifeless with a spear dug into his eye. A bit further ahead was General Airo who was barely able to stand with a lot of holes in his body. Daerion rushed to his aid and held him, Airo looked into him eyes and whispered, “Your plan really worked my Prince”

For a moment all their bickering came to a standstill. Daerion embraced Airo as his life dwindled in his arms, remembering how he was taught how to fight and lead by the veteran. A flashback of all the moments in his childhood, when Airo taught him his favourite subject war craft, when he groomed him to be the leader he was now and when his man hood all came from Airo’s mentorship . General Airo reminisced on how he raised Daerion much more than his King father did, how he loved him like he was his own son. The day the Prince was born happened to be a fateful day as Airo’s only trueborn son died from a battle. Since then Daerion became a compensatory reminder of his soon until they were as close as father and son.

As the old man died, time went on a standstill for Daerion. He didn’t hear the bells of surrender from the city he had seized, neither did he hear the chants “Daerion the Dragon!” which he had longed for. Instead he heard every faint breathe from Airo until the very last one. Meanwhile his tears dripped onto the generals face more than the rain was doing and what was a sweet moment of victory had been tainted by the bitter essence of tragedy.