Investment - Siege Defensive Tactics

Acting Legate Talgilgalad shielded her eyes from the sun, and strained her elven vision to the utmost. Yes, that was dust on the horizon. Again, the sharp eyes of her commanding officer had picked out the approaching force before she was aware of it. It was shameful, she thought, for she was more than 300 years his junior. But, she admitted to herself, experience--not just sensory acuity--played a part. He knew where the orcs would be attacking from. Or, at least, where he would attack from, were he an orc.

Talgilgalad looked right and left along the battlements. The preparations were made. Vats of oil were readied to rain fire on the attackers, engines (called bombards by the dwarves) were positioned to duel with any orcish siege guns, cold-eyed archers tested bowstrings or used whetstones to touch up already razor-edged broadheads.

And there, standing at the salient of the east bastion, stood Talgilgalad’s father. Although he spoke no spell, wove no dweomercrafter’s web about himself, still his power was evident--whether in his manner and bearing, or in something more mysterious. Every warrior on the walls could feel his determination, determination burning so strong that even his daughter feared to approach him. Gilgalad Mooncrow was preparing to kill. Preparing to sell his life as dearly as he could.

Yes--The castle was doomed, Talgilgalad and her comrades-in-arms knew that, and accepted it to the core of their being. Within one moon--two at the outside--the orcs would foul the marble courtyards and despoil the gold-chased floors of the council room. Certainly, surrender was possible; even orcs accepted surrender (sometimes). It was possible, but it was never an option. The elves would fight, and they would die, but they would take a legion of orcs with them.

When hope is gone, all that remains is duty.