22 Manufactured Morale

Locked in a staring contest, again. Across the length of the battlefield, Corco looked over to his old foe, the Duke of Balit. Large as the bear he was named after, the duke stood in front of his command tent, unmoving, and stared up towards the top of the walls. This contest had been going on for days already. As the war between the forces raged on, with ever greater ferocity, the duke still wouldn't act. He would just stand there and stare. In the end, it was once again the prince who first lowered his sight. He took down the telescope and the appearance of the duke turned sufficiently tiny again, his looming presence reduced to a bothersome fly for now.

"What's going on over there?" Fadelio asked with worry.

"Nothing new. There was a bit of a commotion in their command tent a while ago, but it seems like Herak put his foot down and held them all in check. No cracks yet."

"This can't go on. No matter how well we are holding for now, there will be a limit for the men, and it's not far off." Worried, the warrior looked out, towards the foot of the walls. At the epicenter of carnage, the war had transformed the grassy ground into a hell of brown and red. Although all bodies would be removed in the short moments of ceasefire between attacks, there were still some overlooked limbs left here and there, strewn in between the broken weapons, shields and pieces of ladder. Uncomfortable, Corco looked up again, away from the signs of the massacre.

On the first day of battle, he had spat out everything his stomach could spare. The horrible sight of bloody murder hadn't even been the worst, even though the spurting blood, or desperate eyes of men falling to their doom below the walls had also left a deep mark in Corco's memories. No, worst had been the sounds and the smells. Swords of iron clanging into armor and breaking apart flesh with spurts and splatters, muffled by the screams of the slaughtered, as the air filled itself with the metallic smell of blood, ever-present. Still, he had to stay and endure. It was an embarrassment for the city, but no one else was any more qualified to lead the defense than Corco was. By now, the tenth day, he could stand up to the views of terror, but sound and smell were still too much for him. All that human life, wasted for the greed of a select few, only because they demanded dominion over free land for no good reason. The very idea made him feel even worse than the flying limbs of battle had.

"For now, we're holding well. The sandbags hold off the cannons and protect the gates. The barbed iron wires protect the sandbags from getting removed. Even when they accepted the huge losses and stormed past the barbs, we just had to throw more sandbags from the gateway arches and fill the space back up. Easy." Corco reiterated their short-term strategy.

"I understand that the plan is good, but our men could still crack before we get it done. At first, we took them by surprise, but they've adapted well. When they came here first, they thought they had an easy job. Just fire the cannons a few times and storm the town for plunder. They didn't even bring other siege equipment. But now some time's passed and they've been getting at us with siege ladders. Their new protected rams are almost done as well, from the looks of things. We can't risk a sortie to destroy the rams, so we just sit there. That's way too passive, and bad for morale. What do we do?"

"We hold. It's the only choice we have," Corco answered with a grim mien. "They're not doing so hot either. I guarantee you that Herak didn't expect the war to last as long as it did and their morale must have suffered quite a bit. They're reeling too. By now, we just need to hold on, only a few days longer."

"Still, it feels as if we're worse off in the deal. If anything more happens, I can see our people cracking first. I mean..." As his words trailed off, the warrior turned to look out into the city. Corco's eyes followed along, and once again saw the now familiar picture of the new Etra. There was still smoke rising from the east, but most of the fires had been extinguished by now. As Corco thought back to the previous night, his fists clenched to whiten his knuckles.

This sight was one reason Corco was so convinced that the Bornish troops were in trouble. After days of unsuccessful attacks, the duke had lost his cool as well, and had gone far beyond anything he could disguise as knightly honor. His loss of any pretense had led to the fiercest Bornish attack yet. The sight of flaming arrows sailing across the night sky had been beautiful at first, but soon the enchanting lights had returned back to earth and turned every single straw- and wood-covered house of Etra into a potential pyre.

Without remorse and without care for the lives trapped within the walls, the Bornish soldiers had followed their orders and turned Etra's eastern quarters into a blazing inferno. At least, Corco's pumps had finally come in useful. So far, his insurance business hadn't taken off, but now he was sure that the merchants of Etra would understand the value of a dedicated fire service. It was a small comfort to the prince, who could find no happiness in profits, not before all this suffering.

"Chief Commander Fastgrade!" Arms waving in panic, Brym rushed towards the walls from inside the city, over towards Corco. After the merchants' union had declared Corco as their chief commander, he had named his little brother as his adjutant, responsible for communication between the supply stations in the city's center and the troops on the walls. It would give the kid a reason to stay away from the front line, but at the same time keep him busy. Corco knew Brym far too well. If the brat had been asked to stay safe while they all risked their lives, he would have sneaked out by himself to do something stupid. For a smart kid, Brym was far too stupid far too often.

"What's wrong!?" Corco shouted back. At least there was a recent lull in combat as the Bornish got ready for their next attack. For now, they would be able to talk over a distance like this.

"There's trouble at the doctor's house! Some men are saying they won't fight anymore!" Brym screamed back. "They say it's hopeless!"

Corco's jaws followed his fists' example and clenched as well. Fadelio's prediction had come true earlier than the prince had thought. This was bad.

"Fadelio, you take over command here. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Yes, boss. Good luck," Corco heard from the back, before he disappeared down the stairs.

Soon, he found himself close to the city's center. In this place, far enough from the walls to escape the arrow fire, the merchant prince had bought an old stables and turned it into a field hospital over the past month. He entered the previously clean, disinfected room, only to be once again greeted by the metallic smell of blood and the sound of terrified, muffled screams. Even more so than the battlefield, this place was the worst the war had to offer. At least there were not too many men who had been injured so far. The crenelations had done their job and protected them from enemy arrows for the most part. However, as the duke's attacks had become more and more impatient, this space had been filled with human tragedy as well.

"Over here," Brym said as he led Corco over to a cluster of men who had grouped themselves around one of the beds in the room. On his way there, the chief commander observed the surroundings. The so-called doctors ran all over the place as they offered their limited help to desperate men. Among them, yet so distinct, he spotted Ronnie. With his simple use of modern-day first aid, the alchemist must have been responsible for more saved lives than all real doctors in the room combined. Of course, neither man had time for chatter, so they only shared a nod before they carried on with their respective work. They both were too busy saving the city, each of them in their own way.

At last, Corco had ended up in front of the troublesome group of men, and found it to be two, rather than one. The two parties stood over another man's body, injured or dead, and argued with animated voices. With all the chaos around them, the prince couldn't even make out what they were saying until he reached them.

"Boss," Ulf, one of his own workers, and apparent leader of one side of the argument, called out once he had spotted them. Right away, all men calmed down. Together, the embattled parties stood up straight and called out "chief commander." No matter what, the month of military drills hadn't been for nothing, even though their training was still superficial.

"What's going on here?" Corco asked in the stern tone he had trained over the last month, arms crossed behind his back and chest puffed out. With a frown, he looked over to the side Ulf had opposed. With Ulf's earnest character, the commander knew that the worker would never stir up trouble during the siege, so the problems must have come from the other side.

"Sir Fastgrade," one of the men began, "we can't fight any longer. Resistance has become impossible."

"You just don't wanna fight your Reverer buddies from Borna!" Ulf shouted, but a stern look from Corco shut his mouth again.

Rather than answer the original concern, Corco just stared at the Reverer and waited. Emboldened, the man continued. "We've been fighting day and night, ten days now! And last night we put out fires all night too! The men haven't even slept any! And now Braden died too! The Bornish attacks are worse and worse! Like this, won't we just make them more angry if we hit back?"

Corco just stood there for a while, as he stared the man down. Inch by inch, the Reverer's shoulders sank, as he shrank under the stern gaze of his drill sergeant. At last, the chief commander answered the confused, frantic concerns.

"So you think that winning is impossible, so we might as well cut a deal with the Bornish and surrender. Is that it?"

Though they were terrified of their boss, the Reverers to the left of the dead Braden still managed a unified response, although it consisted of only nods and mumbled words. Corco countered their naive view with a sneer.

"You really think that surrender will save you? I don't blame you for being Reverers or whatever. I understand your thoughts. You're afraid. You're terrified. You have never seen blood and pain like this, and you don't want to die. But you've never thought about the alternative either: What happens if the Bornish win, if we surrender? What will they do with us?"

"They'll just take the city, right? I mean, they can't be worse than the merchant's union." a small voice came from the back. Corco only replied with a harmless smile, until the man had disappeared behind the back of his fellow soldier.

"You really believe that, honestly, from your heart? Just think about all that has happened over the last few days. Sure, the Bornish acted all proper and knightish at the start, announcing their attacks, only attacking during the day, using the off-time as ceasefires to move away the dead... but look at what's happened since. Those bastards have shown their true nature more and more. You were exhausted from last night. Why is that exactly? Isn't it only because the honorable bornish knights decided to burn down the entire fucking city? You really believe that things will get better, even if we surrender? The Bornish aren't here to conquer us, they're only here to wipe us off the map, down to the last man, out of no better reason but revenge. Don't forget who leads their troops."

"The butcher of Borna," an especially brave soldier whispered under his breath, as if he was telling a ghost story at a camp fire. As the Bornish Commander of the siege ten years ago, Duke Herak of Balit had unmatched infamy within Etra. It was a reputation Corco could make good use of now.

"That's right. Do you really think the butcher of Borna is gonna let you guys go, or your families, for that matter, just because you're all Reverers? You believe that monster has any faith, in anything? No, he'll go through every alley himself, and wring every last baby's neck, Reverer or not. Believe me, if we continue to resist, whatever fate awaits us, it cannot be worse than our fate after surrender."

"But... but there is no win in sight. The Bornish haven't let up, and instead have come with more men every day. The only way to hit them back are the new matchlock guns, but even then, we're low on powder now, so it's not gonna last. What can we do?" A worried soldier held against Corco's speech. The chief commander could see his troops shiver and huddle together. As they found no escape from their fate, they despaired. At last, a sly smile crept onto Corco's face. He would tell them of his strategy, and give them a way out. The desperation would weld them together, give them the power to hold the walls. After all, opposing destiny was Corco's specialty.

"We don't need to win, we just need to hold out, just a bit longer. The longer the Bornish take, the weaker they seem, the more rules of knightly conduct they break; the more interested our neighbors will become. We just need to wait, wait until the Bornish wounds have begun to fester, until the vultures start to circle."