Yomadan was marshalling his men. The first wave was making its way to the citadel, and the first few volleys had been launched. Bazragahi archers were well known for their accuracy, but Yomadan knew that Eamus would have used some kind of tactic to ensure that they did not do as much damage as they would have otherwise.
Yomadan wished perhaps the thousandth time since he had embarked on this journey to the north that the mages had agreed to send some disciples along. He hadn’t even asked for a ranking mage, just a cadre of acolytes would have done the trick. And yet, in spite of his incessant requests, the mages refused to send anyone with him. They claimed that it was unnecessary, and that all mages were required elsewhere. Yomadan had wondered just then what could possibly be more important than acquiring a suit of armor that could save all of civilization.
As he monitored the advancing battalion from his vantage point, he saw that the citadel had started to fire at them. His men were moving in a tight phalanx and their shields were protecting the soldiers from most of the arrow fire. It was then that something entirely unexpected happened.
The archers and soldiers upon the battlements began to pour a liquid onto the advancing phalanx. Upon the liquid drenched phalanx was launched a single flaming arrow and the entire phalanx burst into flames.
Cursing, Yomadan called for a messenger and told him to tell all soldiers to spread out and for the siege towers to be halted. Yomadan had been hoping for his first wave to last a little bit longer, but if these northerners were going to be using such barbaric tactics then the first wave stood no chance at all.
The north was always full of such mysterious substances. He wondered what liquid they could have possibly invented that was so flammable. This was almost… alchemical in its efficacy. Yomadan wondered if his enemy had thought of bringing magic into the fray just as he had. It seemed unlikely, however. From what he had heard, the alchemists had been just as powerful as the mages back in their glory days, and based on the stories if they were part of the battle right now their display of power would have been terrible to behold.
Still, he did not brush the thought away entirely. It was entirely possible that alchemists were involved in this, and if he could somehow prove that this was the case then he could send word back to Uru Digir and have a contingent of mages brought out. There was no chance of them refusing to come and fight if there was a chance that alchemists could show their strength with no one to answer in kind.
The siege towers had been fast approaching the walls but now they had stopped dead in their tracks. Yomadan knew that if the towers got any closer they would be doused and set aflame. This would not do. He needed to come up with a solution.
He marched out to the archers and ordered them to reform the line. “I want steady, consistent volleys,” said Yomadan. “Keep them busy in there, keep them confused. One line fires while the other line draws. And bring some more arrows over here, we are going to need them.”
Yomadan saw one of his lieutenants, Igmilum, running towards him. “General,” he gasped. “The siege towers have been stopped. What do we do?”
“I doubt water would put out the fires those blasted archers would set,” said Yomadan, “and we do not have the time to insulate our towers and then send them back.”
Yomadan knew that the day was slowly slipping from his grasp. He had to gain some kind of ground otherwise his men would lose heart.
“Send two siege towers,” said Yomadan, “but with as few men as possible. Archers, focus your volleys on their archers. Igmilum, send scouts up as close to the citadel as you can. Form a line of communication. I want to know where the liquid fire is coming from and when it is about to be used. If we can find this out, we would be able to attack at that specific point and stop them from setting our towers aflame.”
Igmilum bowed and rushed off to find his scouts. In the distance, Yomadan could see his men retreating. As long as the archers kept their volleys up, however, he might be able to revive this wave.
“Bring the ladders,” said Yomadan, “I want fifty men to each ladder. Follow in the wake of the two siege towers.”
Yomadan hoped that the siege towers would provide enough distraction along with the concentrated fire of his archers that the citadel would not notice the ladders incoming until it was too late. If he could get some men onto the battlements it would create enough of a distraction to allow him to dispatch the remaining siege towers and win the day. The Basileans would be beaten back from their preliminary defenses, they would retreat to the higher ground. Beating the enemy back after the first wave would be a huge victory, and it was one that Yomadan needed to keep his men’s morale up. The plague back home had killed family members of many of the soldiers present. The conditions in Bazragah had started to make these men lose hope.
As Yomadan saw two of his siege towers move towards the enemy’s citadel, he hoped that his plan would work. The Basileans were proving to be more tenacious than he had expected. His men would not be able to survive a defeat. One defeat would make the rest of the campaign to acquire the armor even more difficult than it already was.
All Yomadan had to do was break through the front gate. Everything would be much easier after that was done.
