Chapter II, Baptized in Blood.
The city mayor, Karol Gryfline, was sitting to dinner when the horns were heard, immediately after temple bells began ringing. He gave one look at his wife before rising and moving quickly to the door. The towns guard captain was already waiting.
'What is it.'
'Enemies.'
The two almost ran to a staircase leading to one of the towers in the resembling a castle house. Once at the top Karol almost swore, it seemed as if the whole horizon was covered with enemies. In the courtyard of his house his personal guards were assembled and awaited orders, on the city walls he could see men assembling. Remembering his duties Karol began giving orders,
'Call up the city militia. Gather our forces on the city walls. The stockade is to be held only for the time necessary for the lower city to be evacuated, when evacuated burn it. Those not able to fight are to be brought here.'
The captain saluted and was about to leave when the mayor spoke again,
'Ready my armor.'
The captain nodded and left leaving the mayor looking at the dark mass. He heard a distant roar, resembling the sea that he remembered once hearing and the dark mass surged towards the stockade. Sighing he turned to see his wife, concern in her green eyes. Karol sighed again, what was there to say to a woman he was supposed to live with for the rest of his life, though he never saw her before the wedding day. A marriage arranged only to receive the acceptance of the Duke of Gaescoin for the election of a minor noble and ex-adventurer for the mayor of one of the richest cities of the kingdom. Only one thing could be said.
'If things go badly, you know what to do.'
She nodded, once. Stepping towards her he kissed her on the cheek before going to ready for the battle at hand.
Trying to walk as calmly as possible Sig walked through the eastern gate and into the new city, or lower city; neither name was official. Slightly paranoid from his meeting earlier, he tried to keep to the shadows as he walked down the street to the point where he agreed to meet with Anita if they got separated, the "Dancing Orc" inn. After checking if the coast was clear, he moved towards it. The inside was dark and full of smoke. He didn't stop at the entrance, but moved quickly inside. People who stopped at the entrance often became targets of the inn's patrons, as he discovered earlier, loosing their money at the least. So he immediately moved in without stopping and ducked into a dark corner where he began observing the room looking for his partner.
'You're late, I was about to leave without you.'
Sig turned to face the thin woman. Though they were together for a number of months he still couldn't get use to the stealth that Anita displayed. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as she hugged him, temporarily cutting off his air supply. He smiled and hugged her back.
'Settle down, settle down.' – he said in a calming voice before continuing in a whisper,- 'We've got to get out of the city.'
She nodded and taking a step back she said,
'If we hurry we can reach the gate before it closes for the night.'
Before Sig could comment the door opened with a bang and a group of ten men in hoods entered. The two thieves ducked, but not before one of the hooded men shouted,
'That's them.'
Sig heard Anita muttering some curse while she jumped up throwing a knife. One of their assailants yelped as it hit him in the arm. The patrons swearing began jumping out of the way.
'Too many of them to settle with blades,.'
Thought Sig as he jumped up throwing a knife. Thinking quickly he picked up the closest table. Anita seeing what he was doing picked it up from the other end and they rammed it into the group, sending them to the floor. Jumping over them they rushed towards the door with the simple plan of bolting to the gate and away from the city. Anita was about a meter from the door when it was flung open again. Sig went for one of his last throwing knives before stopping as he recognized who stood in the door.
The guard in the blue and white surcoat of the city guard grasped Anita by the arm and pulled her out while shouting,
'Get out! Move towards the city! Hurry!'
Saying that he ran to the next door. Anita noticed that other guards were banging on doors, ordering the residents behind the walls. Temple bells were ringing. Sig joined her and despite their situation they stood there for a second before they reached a decision and ran to the gate leading into the city.
The stockade was now almost full as the garrison from the new city assembled there. Peter and Andrew stood side by side along with the other members of their unit. A centurion climbed onto the stockade, straightening his conical helmet, the fact that he was busy doing that didn't hinder his shouting abilities one bit.
'Arrows on string! You will withhold from shooting till I give the command!'
In a much lower voice meant only for another centurion he said,
'Maybe they'll parley.'
The mass was now closer, two bow shots from the stockade. The mass stopped and began throwing insults at the men on the walls. Most were definitely human, though there was also a number of Hobgoblins amongst their number. The humans differed amongst themselves as well, from bandits in leather armor with clubs or axes, through mercenaries sporting every armor and weapon known, ending with fur-clad barbarians from the mountains. They also carried crudely made ladders and battering rams. On this warm summer evening many of the city guards felt cold shivers running down their spines.
Over the assailants jeering the sound of a kettle drum was heard and with a roar the mass surged towards the stockade.
'Archers! Draw strings!'
The order came clean and decurions repeated it down the stockade. Fighting the panic growing in him Peter drew the string of his bow to the ear, letting drill take over any conscious actions. When he was still a boy he would draw the string of his weak bow only to the eye so he could aim towards the target his father had painted on the barn. Later, when he joined the guard he was forced to get rid of the habit and drilled till he always drew it to the ear. Drawing it so far made the bow gain the maximum strength enabling the simple yew bow to punch through link-mail with ease. Though it was harder to aim, you don't really care about that as you rely on the number of arrows that you shoot to down your enemies. Immediately after he drew the string the next order came.
'Loose arrows!'
The air was filled with the hiss of bow strings as the yew boys snapped into their former position propelling 70 cm arrows tipped with long iron warheads towards the attacking mass almost 200 meters away. The first ranks fell with cries of agony as the arrows punched through mail, leather and flesh with equal ease. Immediately after the order to notch was repeated, but before the order to loose came, small bolts propelled from crossbows sailed from the mass tearing defenders off the ramparts. Bolts from heavy crossbows were infamous for punching through steel plates with ease. Besides the wooden stockade in front of them, the mail clad guard was almost defenseless against those missiles. Gritting his teeth Peter tried to ignore the cries of agony, the warm drops splattering his cheek and the gurgling cry of the guard next to him, he concentrated on the foe and on the arrow which he released when ordered to and smiled at the cries of pain coming from the enemy. They managed to release five volleys before the officers who were looking grimly at the mass now only a hundred meters away shouted another order,
'Shoot at will.'
The guards stopped waiting for the order and began firing at their own pace. About fifty meters from the wall bow equipped attackers stopped and began shooting. Most made the mistake of drawing the strings to their eyes and the often badly conserved and flimsy bows didn't have the strength to punch through the mail hauberks the guards wore.
Peter swore as an arrow grazed the side of his head, only the mail hood saved him from losing an ear. He picked out one of the enemies archers and shot an arrow that hit him in the chest. Peter later swore that he saw the arrow the archer was notching had hit and crippled another attacker.
Despite the arrows being poured into their ranks, the attackers reached the stockade and began filling the ditch with sticks bonded together with strings, the bodies of the dead were also used and the two meter deep ditch was quickly filled. The ladders were brought forward and the attackers were beginning to crawl onto the rampart. One of them ended up in front of Peter and Andrew. Dropping his bow Andrew pushed it to the ground while Peter continued pouring shots, picking out the teams carrying ladders. Ladders were still thrown against the stockade and Peter was forced to put away his bow, though his attacker was so close that he could only grasp his dagger and try to stab him in what looked like a wrestling match. Peter having such a long training with the bow became quite strong, so he managed to overpower his opponent and pulling his opponents head back he cut his throat. Not wasting time to gloat he hide the dagger, pulled his sword and went to help others. Despite his lack of finesse, his blows were lethal crushing bones and severing limbs. Soon he, like many others was stained red with gore, the rampart looked as if it was painted red and a large number of bodies littered both the rampart, and the bottom of the stockade. The guards decurion smiled as he commented,
'Well done boys, you just survived your baptism as soldiers, the baptism in blood.'
In spite of their situation, the two young guards couldn't help smiling.
The attackers seemed to be discouraged by the fierce resistance and brief respites in the fighting appeared. Despite the attackers casualties their numbers appeared undiminished, while the lines of defenders were thinning drastically by both the arrows hurled at them and by the combat raging on the stockade. Their decurion gathered some men and began systematically throwing the ladders down, when from one of them a nearly naked barbarian rushed up. Grabbing one of the guards he hurled him screaming from the ramparts, he cut down two others with one swing of his two-handed axe. The decurion delivered a devastating slash downwards. The barbarian's flesh parted in a spray of blood revealing muscles and bone. The barbarian took a step back, snarled and punched the unfortunate decurion in the face splintering the man's nose before crushing his scull with a blow from the axe. The berserker wrenched the axe free and roared in victory, spit and foam flying from his mouth as others began climbing up the ladder and edging away from yelling barbarian began moving towards points where the guards were still resisting, berserkers were also climbing up elsewhere, clearing the stockade for their comrades climbing up unbothered as the guards were busy fending off the barbarians.
The Berserker's cry of triumph was cut short as two arrows slammed into his body. One crushing the collar bone, the other carving into his chest. Looking with the one good eye the centurion left him as he charged towards the two who shot at him, Andrew and Peter. Andrew dropped his bow and grasping his sword charged as well. He dodged beneath the barbarian's savage blow and stabbed his sword into the gut, twisting it before wrenching it free, pulling out some of the berserker's insides. This finally had some effect on the barbarian as he hit out with the flat of his hand, merely sending Andrew down on the rampart, instead of crushing his scull. Before the berserker did anything else he staggered back as his throat was cut open and wheezed some bloodied bubbles out of his mouth as a sword entered his heart and lungs. The officer that had rushed past Peter during Andrew's attack pressed the shield against the barbarian's dying body and pushed him off his sword, disemboweling another assailant that rushed at him. Peter notched an arrow to assist him, but the officer looked at some point behind him and shouted,
'The gate! The gate!'
Peter along with the other archers nearby looked towards it before turning around and lifting their bows. Someone amongst the attackers decided that it was time to bring down the gate and a battering ram was brought in. Arrows hissed as they pierced the air before hitting those carrying the ram, killing them in an instant. Despite the guards attempts, others jumped forward to lift the ram up and began beating it against the gate. Those that fell were replaced and archers were brought up to cover their action. The sound of horns cut through the sounds of battle, the centurions that could stopped and listened to the sound before shouting,
'Fall back!, Fall back to the city!'
The cry rang out and guards practically jumped off the stockade and began running towards the gates leading into the old city. Peter heard the sound of the battering ram hitting the gate as he ran towards the stone walls. Here and there one could see flames climbing up the wooden buildings of the new city. Though soon he stopped paying attention to his surroundings as he couldn't help thinking about what will happen to him if they break the gate down before he's behind those walls.
Chapter 2 done, First off thanks for the reviews (however few) keep them coming. Second in line a small dictionary to explain some of the words(just to be safe, though D&D players should know some of them); Surcoat: A long, loose flowing cloth worn over armor. Used to display the coat of arms. Conical helmet: A simple helmet protecting the top of the head, often equipped with a nasal. Decurion: A low ranking officer in command of ten men(something like a sergeant) Centurion: Low ranking officer in charge of a hundred men.
The city mayor, Karol Gryfline, was sitting to dinner when the horns were heard, immediately after temple bells began ringing. He gave one look at his wife before rising and moving quickly to the door. The towns guard captain was already waiting.
'What is it.'
'Enemies.'
The two almost ran to a staircase leading to one of the towers in the resembling a castle house. Once at the top Karol almost swore, it seemed as if the whole horizon was covered with enemies. In the courtyard of his house his personal guards were assembled and awaited orders, on the city walls he could see men assembling. Remembering his duties Karol began giving orders,
'Call up the city militia. Gather our forces on the city walls. The stockade is to be held only for the time necessary for the lower city to be evacuated, when evacuated burn it. Those not able to fight are to be brought here.'
The captain saluted and was about to leave when the mayor spoke again,
'Ready my armor.'
The captain nodded and left leaving the mayor looking at the dark mass. He heard a distant roar, resembling the sea that he remembered once hearing and the dark mass surged towards the stockade. Sighing he turned to see his wife, concern in her green eyes. Karol sighed again, what was there to say to a woman he was supposed to live with for the rest of his life, though he never saw her before the wedding day. A marriage arranged only to receive the acceptance of the Duke of Gaescoin for the election of a minor noble and ex-adventurer for the mayor of one of the richest cities of the kingdom. Only one thing could be said.
'If things go badly, you know what to do.'
She nodded, once. Stepping towards her he kissed her on the cheek before going to ready for the battle at hand.
Trying to walk as calmly as possible Sig walked through the eastern gate and into the new city, or lower city; neither name was official. Slightly paranoid from his meeting earlier, he tried to keep to the shadows as he walked down the street to the point where he agreed to meet with Anita if they got separated, the "Dancing Orc" inn. After checking if the coast was clear, he moved towards it. The inside was dark and full of smoke. He didn't stop at the entrance, but moved quickly inside. People who stopped at the entrance often became targets of the inn's patrons, as he discovered earlier, loosing their money at the least. So he immediately moved in without stopping and ducked into a dark corner where he began observing the room looking for his partner.
'You're late, I was about to leave without you.'
Sig turned to face the thin woman. Though they were together for a number of months he still couldn't get use to the stealth that Anita displayed. He opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as she hugged him, temporarily cutting off his air supply. He smiled and hugged her back.
'Settle down, settle down.' – he said in a calming voice before continuing in a whisper,- 'We've got to get out of the city.'
She nodded and taking a step back she said,
'If we hurry we can reach the gate before it closes for the night.'
Before Sig could comment the door opened with a bang and a group of ten men in hoods entered. The two thieves ducked, but not before one of the hooded men shouted,
'That's them.'
Sig heard Anita muttering some curse while she jumped up throwing a knife. One of their assailants yelped as it hit him in the arm. The patrons swearing began jumping out of the way.
'Too many of them to settle with blades,.'
Thought Sig as he jumped up throwing a knife. Thinking quickly he picked up the closest table. Anita seeing what he was doing picked it up from the other end and they rammed it into the group, sending them to the floor. Jumping over them they rushed towards the door with the simple plan of bolting to the gate and away from the city. Anita was about a meter from the door when it was flung open again. Sig went for one of his last throwing knives before stopping as he recognized who stood in the door.
The guard in the blue and white surcoat of the city guard grasped Anita by the arm and pulled her out while shouting,
'Get out! Move towards the city! Hurry!'
Saying that he ran to the next door. Anita noticed that other guards were banging on doors, ordering the residents behind the walls. Temple bells were ringing. Sig joined her and despite their situation they stood there for a second before they reached a decision and ran to the gate leading into the city.
The stockade was now almost full as the garrison from the new city assembled there. Peter and Andrew stood side by side along with the other members of their unit. A centurion climbed onto the stockade, straightening his conical helmet, the fact that he was busy doing that didn't hinder his shouting abilities one bit.
'Arrows on string! You will withhold from shooting till I give the command!'
In a much lower voice meant only for another centurion he said,
'Maybe they'll parley.'
The mass was now closer, two bow shots from the stockade. The mass stopped and began throwing insults at the men on the walls. Most were definitely human, though there was also a number of Hobgoblins amongst their number. The humans differed amongst themselves as well, from bandits in leather armor with clubs or axes, through mercenaries sporting every armor and weapon known, ending with fur-clad barbarians from the mountains. They also carried crudely made ladders and battering rams. On this warm summer evening many of the city guards felt cold shivers running down their spines.
Over the assailants jeering the sound of a kettle drum was heard and with a roar the mass surged towards the stockade.
'Archers! Draw strings!'
The order came clean and decurions repeated it down the stockade. Fighting the panic growing in him Peter drew the string of his bow to the ear, letting drill take over any conscious actions. When he was still a boy he would draw the string of his weak bow only to the eye so he could aim towards the target his father had painted on the barn. Later, when he joined the guard he was forced to get rid of the habit and drilled till he always drew it to the ear. Drawing it so far made the bow gain the maximum strength enabling the simple yew bow to punch through link-mail with ease. Though it was harder to aim, you don't really care about that as you rely on the number of arrows that you shoot to down your enemies. Immediately after he drew the string the next order came.
'Loose arrows!'
The air was filled with the hiss of bow strings as the yew boys snapped into their former position propelling 70 cm arrows tipped with long iron warheads towards the attacking mass almost 200 meters away. The first ranks fell with cries of agony as the arrows punched through mail, leather and flesh with equal ease. Immediately after the order to notch was repeated, but before the order to loose came, small bolts propelled from crossbows sailed from the mass tearing defenders off the ramparts. Bolts from heavy crossbows were infamous for punching through steel plates with ease. Besides the wooden stockade in front of them, the mail clad guard was almost defenseless against those missiles. Gritting his teeth Peter tried to ignore the cries of agony, the warm drops splattering his cheek and the gurgling cry of the guard next to him, he concentrated on the foe and on the arrow which he released when ordered to and smiled at the cries of pain coming from the enemy. They managed to release five volleys before the officers who were looking grimly at the mass now only a hundred meters away shouted another order,
'Shoot at will.'
The guards stopped waiting for the order and began firing at their own pace. About fifty meters from the wall bow equipped attackers stopped and began shooting. Most made the mistake of drawing the strings to their eyes and the often badly conserved and flimsy bows didn't have the strength to punch through the mail hauberks the guards wore.
Peter swore as an arrow grazed the side of his head, only the mail hood saved him from losing an ear. He picked out one of the enemies archers and shot an arrow that hit him in the chest. Peter later swore that he saw the arrow the archer was notching had hit and crippled another attacker.
Despite the arrows being poured into their ranks, the attackers reached the stockade and began filling the ditch with sticks bonded together with strings, the bodies of the dead were also used and the two meter deep ditch was quickly filled. The ladders were brought forward and the attackers were beginning to crawl onto the rampart. One of them ended up in front of Peter and Andrew. Dropping his bow Andrew pushed it to the ground while Peter continued pouring shots, picking out the teams carrying ladders. Ladders were still thrown against the stockade and Peter was forced to put away his bow, though his attacker was so close that he could only grasp his dagger and try to stab him in what looked like a wrestling match. Peter having such a long training with the bow became quite strong, so he managed to overpower his opponent and pulling his opponents head back he cut his throat. Not wasting time to gloat he hide the dagger, pulled his sword and went to help others. Despite his lack of finesse, his blows were lethal crushing bones and severing limbs. Soon he, like many others was stained red with gore, the rampart looked as if it was painted red and a large number of bodies littered both the rampart, and the bottom of the stockade. The guards decurion smiled as he commented,
'Well done boys, you just survived your baptism as soldiers, the baptism in blood.'
In spite of their situation, the two young guards couldn't help smiling.
The attackers seemed to be discouraged by the fierce resistance and brief respites in the fighting appeared. Despite the attackers casualties their numbers appeared undiminished, while the lines of defenders were thinning drastically by both the arrows hurled at them and by the combat raging on the stockade. Their decurion gathered some men and began systematically throwing the ladders down, when from one of them a nearly naked barbarian rushed up. Grabbing one of the guards he hurled him screaming from the ramparts, he cut down two others with one swing of his two-handed axe. The decurion delivered a devastating slash downwards. The barbarian's flesh parted in a spray of blood revealing muscles and bone. The barbarian took a step back, snarled and punched the unfortunate decurion in the face splintering the man's nose before crushing his scull with a blow from the axe. The berserker wrenched the axe free and roared in victory, spit and foam flying from his mouth as others began climbing up the ladder and edging away from yelling barbarian began moving towards points where the guards were still resisting, berserkers were also climbing up elsewhere, clearing the stockade for their comrades climbing up unbothered as the guards were busy fending off the barbarians.
The Berserker's cry of triumph was cut short as two arrows slammed into his body. One crushing the collar bone, the other carving into his chest. Looking with the one good eye the centurion left him as he charged towards the two who shot at him, Andrew and Peter. Andrew dropped his bow and grasping his sword charged as well. He dodged beneath the barbarian's savage blow and stabbed his sword into the gut, twisting it before wrenching it free, pulling out some of the berserker's insides. This finally had some effect on the barbarian as he hit out with the flat of his hand, merely sending Andrew down on the rampart, instead of crushing his scull. Before the berserker did anything else he staggered back as his throat was cut open and wheezed some bloodied bubbles out of his mouth as a sword entered his heart and lungs. The officer that had rushed past Peter during Andrew's attack pressed the shield against the barbarian's dying body and pushed him off his sword, disemboweling another assailant that rushed at him. Peter notched an arrow to assist him, but the officer looked at some point behind him and shouted,
'The gate! The gate!'
Peter along with the other archers nearby looked towards it before turning around and lifting their bows. Someone amongst the attackers decided that it was time to bring down the gate and a battering ram was brought in. Arrows hissed as they pierced the air before hitting those carrying the ram, killing them in an instant. Despite the guards attempts, others jumped forward to lift the ram up and began beating it against the gate. Those that fell were replaced and archers were brought up to cover their action. The sound of horns cut through the sounds of battle, the centurions that could stopped and listened to the sound before shouting,
'Fall back!, Fall back to the city!'
The cry rang out and guards practically jumped off the stockade and began running towards the gates leading into the old city. Peter heard the sound of the battering ram hitting the gate as he ran towards the stone walls. Here and there one could see flames climbing up the wooden buildings of the new city. Though soon he stopped paying attention to his surroundings as he couldn't help thinking about what will happen to him if they break the gate down before he's behind those walls.
Chapter 2 done, First off thanks for the reviews (however few) keep them coming. Second in line a small dictionary to explain some of the words(just to be safe, though D&D players should know some of them); Surcoat: A long, loose flowing cloth worn over armor. Used to display the coat of arms. Conical helmet: A simple helmet protecting the top of the head, often equipped with a nasal. Decurion: A low ranking officer in command of ten men(something like a sergeant) Centurion: Low ranking officer in charge of a hundred men.