Much needed to be done to stop the brake out attempt. Step one was rounding up those to proud to run. They were few and believed in their own invincibility. The mage believed them to be overconfident if not in denial. The group must be around 60 at most the knights would be troublesome but the remaining cavalry were just men is orange coats. Trained to use sabers most likely but not armored. They would not be able to take hits the way the armored men could.
"Scab." Thought the mage through the mind link. "Find the governors manor and deal with those whoever is still there."
"Do you have a need to eat them?" asked the wight.
"No speed is more important," responded the mage. "If they can be used as food great. If not they likely have useful muscle memory."
"They will make a good first wave for tomorrow," responded Scab.
"Be ready tomorrow night," ordered the mage.
"Yes father," responded Scab.
The mage looked through the eyes of a twisted crow to see the men down below moving to the western wall. The men scurried around with great vigor setting up barricades in the streets. Buildings were being pulled apart with ropes and hammers to salvage stones. All the walls a block out from the cannons had been torn down. From the sky it looked like even the stones in the street were not safe. The tradesmen made themselves busy leading the construction of the barricades.
Digging, dragging, lifting, the amount of work the men were doing surprised and puzzled the mage. He had no idea what purpose behind some of the actions. If he watched them long enough it might make sense, but he had rituals to preform and prisoners to use.
Albie began to walk home. The ash still blocked the sun in this part of the city. He put the hood over his head the hospital was not under the ash cloud. The sky would likely clear in a day or two. In the meantime, those that preferred shadows were free to do as they pleased in the darkened parts of the city. The lurkers and the lady included. The mage sent them an order to harass the orange coats. The response was growling and voiceless whispers.
It seemed to Albie he now owned the streets of Yourz. His family had won the city from Brand. Everything the sun could touch and everything it couldn't belonged to his family. He kissed Cats moon stone as he looked to see the sun past its zenith. In a few hours, the sun would be setting. His time would truly begin.
In the meantime, the crows would need to watch the orange coats. The lurkers would drag off anyone who stayed to far from the rest of the group. The way those men were moving they would not notice if a few went missing. In the meantime, he had a good number of prisoners to use.
The mage returned to the hospital. Inside was a group of 20 men most of witch wore orange the rest were dressed plain. One group was the solders the other 6 where the craftsmen. He pointed at the craftsmen.
"upstairs," declared the mage. "Bring me one of the great swords and jars… Three of the soldiers as well."
The rats scurried about pulling men upstairs and move to the shadows to find a stollen great sword. He moved to the top of the stairs and awaited the moonlight. It was time to test his new brain in a jar formula. Sun still came through the focusing lens. The mage stood in the shadows of the building watching the men be strapped down to tables.
Bees buzzed through the air as the mage began constructing a device from the heart of Lord Brand. The men lay in silence or sobbed quietly. One of the men still seemed to be mesmerized.
"Do any of you know how to make gunpowder?" asked the mage.
The men did not respond.
"The lady pulled you out of a gun smithy I imagine at least one of you knows how to make it," said the mage into the room. "I will likely find out no matter what you do. I don't believe any of you have a strong enough will to resist me."
The men's silence bothered the mage. The man who was sobbing only cried a little louder.
"Rorke would at least answer questions," half taunted the mage. "I had to torture him a little but he was a very pleasant fellow."
"What did you do with old man Rorke," asked one of the tradesmen angrily.
"I used him in a great experiment," declared the mage. "I tried to put his mind into a jar. Sadly, most of Rorke was gone by the time I finished but he was still somewhat functional. I have revised my ritual and think I shall be able to get your minds into the jar with little to no loss of self."
The sobbing man began to bawl and shriek prompting another man to yell. "Shut up and have some dignity."
"Or don't," declared the mage. "Dying with dignity is largely overrated. Death is death it is almost always a painful, confusing, and lonely experience. Some may die in what is close to comfort in their beds, but most will die eyes wide open realizing no matter how hard they try they can't take one more breath. You all will come close to death but none of you will die. At least in the traditional sense. You will all be decapitated and left in eternal darkness for as long as I deem it necessary. Decapitation in all honesty is not that bad compared to being eaten alive. It's a lot like bleeding to death except more confusing as you can't use your arms and legs. Still it doesn't take more than a minute to fade away as just a head. Unless the cut isn't clean. Then it's a lot like being strangled on and off until something finally breaks, but don't worry I would never dream of using a dull sword."
The crying continued but none of the other men said a word. The moon began to rise the soldiers were blead into jars and the mage mixed some of his own blood in for the magic it provided. The jars were place underneath the men's heads. They looked straight down into the blood-filled jars a few more started to sob softly. A team of rats presented the mage with a well sharpened great sword. The mage using the power of the moon to enhance his strength lifted the sword with his hands and stood over the first trades man.