CAIUS: Crown of Threads and Shadows

For two days, Castle Precipice endured the assault.

The first day had been a storm of arrows, screams, and steel. The orcs repeatedly attempted to cross the stream while their warriors pushed toward the walls beneath crude wooden shields. The defenders answered with volleys from the battlements, while Caius and Cullum used their Far Sight to pick out vulnerable targets among the advancing ranks. Sereth remained beside them, his bow moving with deadly precision as he silently added to the defense.

But the horde did not stop. Every time the defenders drove them back, more orcs came forward.

By the second day, the ground beyond the stream had become a field of bodies. Broken shields and discarded weapons littered the muddy earth, while the water itself had become dark with blood and churned soil. Yet the sheer number of the orcs continued to overwhelm the defenders. They had lost thousands, but there were still thousands behind them.

Inside the castle, the defenders were beginning to feel the weight of the battle.

Caius stood upon the battlements with his warbow in hand, staring at the dwindling supply of arrows stacked beside the wall. The once overflowing bundles had been reduced to a small number of remaining shafts. The archers had fired until their fingers were raw, and many of the men-at-arms had already begun using swords and spears whenever the enemy came close enough.

Cullum walked along the battlements, examining the remaining ammunition. He stopped beside the archers and looked over the nearly empty bundles.

”Stop firing.”

One of the soldiers looked toward him. ”My lord?”

”Only shoot when the target is worth the arrow.”

The soldier hesitated before nodding.

Cullum turned toward the other defenders. ”Spare every arrow. No more volleys unless I give the order. From now on, every arrow must kill.”

The men nodded and began gathering the remaining ammunition.

Caius understood why. Their supply would not last much longer. They had spent two days fighting an army that seemed capable of replacing every fallen warrior with another, a luxury the defenders could not afford. The castle had already suffered losses. Some of the men-at-arms had fallen defending the walls, while several of the civilians who had chosen to fight had been killed during the attacks. The twenty archers were no longer at full strength either.

The horde, however, still surrounded them.

Yet sometime during the afternoon, something strange happened. The attacks stopped.

Caius stood on the wall and watched the orcs retreat from the immediate vicinity of the castle. For the first time in two days, there was no army charging toward them. No arrows filled the sky, and no war cries echoed across the valley.

The battlefield became strangely quiet.

Caius looked toward his father. ”Why did they stop?”

Cullum studied the enemy lines. ”I don’t know.”

Sereth stood nearby, watching the same thing. His eyes narrowed as he observed the distant movement. ”They are building something.”

Cullum looked toward him. ”What?”

Sereth pointed toward the distant army. ”Look.”

Caius followed his finger.

The orcs were working. Thousands of them were moving earth from the surrounding ground and carrying it toward the stream. Others were cutting trees and bringing them forward. The work continued throughout the afternoon, and as the hours passed, the purpose became obvious.

They were filling the moat.

The stream that had protected Castle Precipice for generations was slowly being choked with soil and earth. The first groups of orcs carrying baskets and sacks of dirt moved toward the water.

The defenders immediately responded. ”Archers!”

The remaining bows rose along the battlements.

Caius watched Cullum raise his hand. ”Fire!”

The first volley descended upon the workers. Several orcs carrying soil collapsed before reaching the stream. Others dropped their loads and fled back toward the army as arrows struck the ground around them.

The defenders fired again, and the tactic worked. As long as the orcs remained exposed, the archers could kill them before they reached the moat.

For a while, the orcs stopped. Then the next group appeared.

They were carrying something. Large wooden boards had been tied together into wide panels, reinforced with branches and covered with layers of leather and rawhide. Several orcs held the structures above themselves while others carried dirt behind them.

The boards formed a crude roof, serving as an entire moving shield. Arrows struck the wooden covering and bounced away. Some penetrated the leather, but most failed to reach the workers underneath.

Caius fired at one of the openings. His arrow slipped through and struck an orc carrying a basket. The creature collapsed, but another immediately stepped forward and took its place.

The orcs had adapted. They began advancing beneath the protective structures, carrying earth toward the stream while the defenders fired from above.

”Keep shooting!” The castle archers released another volley.

The moving shields continued forward. Some were destroyed by repeated arrow strikes, but the orcs behind them quickly repaired or replaced them. The workers were no longer exposed to the same degree, and every hour they managed to move more earth into the water.

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Caius watched with growing frustration. ”They are learning.”

Cullum kept his eyes on the enemy. ”That is what armies do.”

The defenders continued firing, but their ammunition was limited. Then something else happened.

The orc shaman stepped forward. Morga raised her twisted staff toward Castle Precipice, and the air around her began to change.

Caius immediately felt the disturbance in the mana.

Cullum saw it as well. ”Brace yourselves.”

Morga began chanting. The markings covering her body glowed faintly as mana gathered around her. Dark green energy spiraled around the staff before surging toward the castle in a violent wave.

The defenders instinctively ducked.

The magical force struck the outer wall. For an instant, the entire castle seemed to tremble.

Then the ancient runes carved into the stone walls awakened. Lines of pale light spread across the masonry, running along the old carvings that had been worn smooth by centuries of weather. The defensive inscriptions had been placed into the castle when it was first constructed, and though most people rarely paid attention to them anymore, they were still bound to the stone.

The magic struck the runes and dispersed across the walls, the glow spreading outward before fading into the ancient stone. The castle held.

Caius stared at the wall. ”The runes stopped it.”

Cullum nodded. ”They are older than this castle’s current walls. They were made to protect this place.”

Morga attempted another spell. This time the magical force struck the eastern wall with enough power to shake dust from the battlements. Again, the ancient runes illuminated, absorbing and scattering the spell across the defensive enchantments.

The castle remained standing.

Morga’s expression darkened, and she raised her staff again.

Cullum watched her carefully. ”Good thing there is only one.”

Caius looked at him. ”One what?”

”One shaman.” Cullum kept his eyes on Morga. ”If there were several of them working together, the runes would have a much harder time holding against repeated attacks.”

The shaman continued her assault, but each spell was met by the ancient defenses of Castle Precipice. The runes weakened slightly with every impact, their glow becoming less intense, but they continued to protect the fortress.

Eventually, Morga lowered her staff. She had learned something as well: the castle’s magic could not easily be broken from a distance.

The attacks against the walls resumed, but the orcs now concentrated on their physical preparations. Caius watched as the workers continued carrying dirt beneath their wooden shields.

The stream gradually became shallower while the defenders could only watch.

Cullum finally raised his hand. ”Enough.”

The archers lowered their bows.

Caius looked toward him. ”But Father...”

”We cannot waste arrows on shields.”

Caius understood. The enemy had forced them to choose: either spend their remaining arrows trying to kill workers protected beneath wooden coverings, or preserve the ammunition for the final assault.

Cullum had already made his decision. ”Save the arrows.”

The orcs continued their work. They carried baskets of dirt, pushed carts, and dumped earth into the water. Some formed long lines, passing loads of soil from one warrior to another, while others drove wooden stakes into the mud to reinforce the newly created crossings.

By nightfall, large sections had been filled enough for the orcs to cross without swimming. The work continued through the darkness.

By the following morning, the battlefield had changed. The stream that had once separated the castle from the approaching army was now partially buried beneath layers of soil, rocks, broken wood, and earth. The water still flowed through the lower sections, but the main approach toward the castle had become a wide muddy path.

The natural moat was disappearing.

Then the defenders heard something else. A deep grinding sound came from beyond the orc camp.

Caius looked toward the noise. Something enormous was moving through the enemy lines. At first, only the top of it could be seen above the mass of warriors, but then it emerged into the open.

It was a war machine, an enormous wooden siege structure reinforced with thick iron plates. Massive wheels rolled beneath it while teams of orcs pushed from behind and others pulled it forward with ropes. A large stone-covered ram protruded from the front, designed to smash through the castle gates.

Caius stared at it. The orcs had spent the previous day filling the moat, and now the reason became obvious. They had not simply been trying to reach the walls; they had been preparing a road for their siege machine.

Cullum watched the machine approach. ”They have prepared the way.”

Caius looked toward the muddy crossing. ”And tomorrow they will use it.”

Cullum nodded. ”Tomorrow.”

The enemy army began gathering around the siege machine. Krag’gath’s banner rose above them, and the shaman stood nearby, watching the castle from beneath the shadow of her ritual staff.

For the first time, Caius understood that the two days of fighting had only been the beginning. The orcs had been testing the castle. They had learned how the defenders fought, where the walls were strongest, and how many arrows remained.

Now they were preparing for the final assault.

Cullum turned away from the battlements. ”Sereth.”

The dark elf followed him toward a quieter section of the wall where Caius could not hear their conversation. Caius remained several paces away, watching the battlefield.

Cullum looked toward the castle grounds. Caius had finally fallen asleep after two days of fighting. He was lying beneath the cover of a stone shelter, still wearing much of his armor, with Nightdancer resting beside him. Exhaustion had finally overcome him.

Cullum watched his son for a long moment before turning to Sereth. ”When the battle begins tomorrow, you leave.”

Sereth’s expression changed. ”You want me to abandon the castle?”

”I want you to take Caius.”

Sereth looked toward the sleeping boy.

Cullum’s voice remained calm. ”If the castle falls, you take him into the mountains. Keep him alive until he reaches sixteen.”

Sereth remained silent.

Cullum continued. ”Fourteen years ago, I spared your life. I never demanded an oath from you, but now I am asking you to pay the debt.”

Sereth’s eyes remained on Caius.

Cullum looked toward the battlefield. ”Get him away from here if we lose.”

Sereth finally looked back at him. ”And you?”

”I will remain.”

Sereth knew what Cullum meant. There was no guarantee that Castle Precipice would survive the coming battle, nor was there any guarantee that Cullum would survive it either.

Cullum looked toward his son again. ”When he reaches sixteen, your debt is paid.”

Sereth remained quiet.

Now, at the edge of war, Cullum was calling that debt in.

Sereth looked again at Caius. He remembered the boy from the previous days, standing beside his father on the walls with a warbow in his hands. He had watched Caius use his gift to find weaknesses among the orcs, seeing the boy fight beside Cullum, firing arrow after arrow until exhaustion nearly forced him to his knees.

Caius was only fourteen, yet he had stood on those walls while thousands of orcs came against his home.

Sereth’s expression softened. ”I will keep him safe.”

Cullum remained silent.

Sereth continued. ”And I will train him as well.”

Cullum looked at him. For the first time since the battle had begun, a small measure of satisfaction appeared in his eyes. ”Good.”

Sereth gave a slow nod. ”I will not let him die.”

Cullum looked toward the approaching war machine. ”Then I have nothing more to ask.”

The two stood together in silence for a moment, watching the enemy prepare for the final assault.

Behind them, Caius continued sleeping. He had fought beside his father for two days. He had fired until his arms ached and his eyes burned from using the Eye of the Loom, pushing his newly formed mana core harder than it had ever been pushed during training. He needed the rest.

Cullum walked over to his son and quietly picked up Nightdancer from the ground. He examined the elven blade for a moment before returning it to the scabbard beside Caius. Then he placed a hand on his son’s shoulder.

Caius stirred slightly but did not wake.

Cullum stood and looked toward the walls. Tomorrow would be different. There would be no more time to conserve arrows, and no more time to wait. The orcs had filled the moat, their siege machine was ready, and their warlord and shaman were waiting. Behind them stood thousands of warriors prepared to finish what they had begun.

Cullum finally allowed himself to rest. He found a quiet place within the castle and sat against the stone wall, keeping his sword within reach. His eyes slowly closed as the sounds of the enemy camp continued beyond the walls.

Tomorrow would be the final battle.