Welcome back! Even though not many people actually read this story, but I felt like writing another chapter. I wrote this about a month ago, Enjoy.
~chapter 2~
The sound of the walls collapsing was deafening. Armed men rushed to the breach to stop enemy attackers.
To the thirteen year old Maira no-name it was like a thunder. The soldier's spiked boots stamping on the wide roads towards the breach, Carthaginian knights on their large warhorses galloping to halt the enemy.
Her grip tightened around her trusty dagger, her only fried in her life as a street urchin. It had served her well over the years and it would serve her well again.
She could hear the screams of men dying and the clanging of steel on steel as swords, spears and axes met.
She knew it was probably best to run to the castle and seek refuge, but something kept her there, standing on the side of the road. The blue and red flags of the Kingdom of Sweden and the Persian Empire waved proudly over the attacking soldiers.
She could see the walls and towers. Persians and Sweeds were streaming off ladders and out of siege towers. Some of the white and purple flags that used to be on the towers were being replaced with red and blue ones.
The girl snapped out of the trance that kept her on her place and turned around to head for the castle. She ran through the narrow alleys that had been her home for years, only to end up on a road where Swedish soldiers were fighting a local militia group that clearly didn't stand a chance against the better armed attackers.
As the last of the militia group were killed or taken captive she turned around to run the other way, but was seen by three Swedish men looking more like criminals than soldiers that immediately gave chase of the girl, shouting something in their language which seemed almost happy.
She ran through the alleys once again, but she couldn't shake them, for the siege on the city had caused the food to run out and people were living off meager rations, causing her to be underfed.
She turned a corner. Oh no. She thought. It was a dead end. The three men slowly approached her as she backed up more and more until she couldn't go any further. She cried for help but doubted that anyone would come to her aid.
Marcus wiped the blood off his sword with a patch of cloth he had cut from one of the enemy soldiers tunics.
They were making significant progress in the south while the Persians attacked from the north. In the west was a great lake, if it hadn't been filled with fresh water it could have classified as a sea, so attack from that direction was impossible. The east was assaulted by a mixed force of both Swedish and Persian soldiers.
"Sigmund, take the archers and crossbowmen and take positions on the roofs. Algruff, I want you to take 30 men and secure the western alleys. I will keep the rest to hold our position. Dismissed." the young commander ordered and his two most trusted lieutenants left to do their respective tasks.
He had lost only a few of his men in the assault, he had 134 men left and all the veterans had survived.
He took a sip from his water bag and passed it on to the soldier next to him who gave him a thankful look and drank some water as well.
And then he heard a scream. It was the scream of a girl, which in war, usually meant only one thing.
"Mathias, take command until I return." He motioned at a group ten of his men, all loyal to the bone and hurried into the alleyways while putting on his great helmet.
They heard another cry, this time they could make out the Phoenician word for "Help!" and quickened their pace.
When they turned a corner they saw it was a dead end with at the end three Swedish men and a girl, perhaps thirteen- fourteen years old.
A dagger lay on the cobbles and one of the men had pushed the girl against the wall.
"Get away from her and back to your posts soldiers." He said from under his helmet and all three men turned around, giving the girl the chance to kick the one that was holding her in the crotch. He let go of her arm and she quickly picked her dagger up and backed off as far as she could, dagger raised in a defensive stance.
"I said get back to your posts soldiers." Marcus said again, with the smallest hint of anger in his voice.
"An' why shouldn't we get some fun capt'n? We've bin fightin' hard ya know." The apparent leader of the three said.
"Because I say so. Now. Get. Back. To. Your. Posts." He said as he drew his heavy bastard sword out of it scabbard a couple centimeters.
Two of them got the hint and slowly backed away from the girl to resume their duties.
The leader was outraged. He drew his arming sword and charged the captain in front of him.
Hallsman kept calm and simply sidestepped the charge, making the man stumble and fall to the ground.
He drew his sword and hit the man on the temple with the pommel, rendering him unconscious.
"You two," he said, pointing at two of his soldiers, "tie him up and take him back to camp, he'll be court-martialed for ignoring orders and attacking a superior officer."
While the unconscious man was being dragged away, he turned to the girl.
She was slowly backing away, not sure what to think of the man that had just saved her. It was clear that he was some sort of commander. His voice carried a tone of authority, even while she couldn't understand it.
She saw her assaulter being dragged away by two soldiers. The man that had saved he had easily knocked him out and now he was looking at her, sword still in his hand.
She looked at the weapon and raised her dagger a bit further, trying to look confident. Which was a useless endeavor, since her hand was shaking heavily.
He saw what she was looking at and slowly put his sword on the ground. She looked wearily at him. the Carthaginian government had always said that the Swedish were ruthless savages, barbarians that would kill without remorse, but these soldiers had just saved her and their leader had just put his sword on the ground. She lowered her dagger, but didn't sheathe it.
The man slowly put his hands to his helmet and lifted it off his head, revealing a surprisingly young man with dark blue eyes and dirty blond hair.
"I not Hurt you, not be scared." He said in heavily accented Phoenician while putting his great helmet next to his sword on the ground.
He slowly approached her, "My name is Marcus, your name?" he asked.
"Maira." She said with a small voice.
He put a hand in a pouch on his belt and pulled out a piece of bread. "Are you hungry Maira?" he asked and she was about to say no, but then her stomach rumbled loudly and she took the food.
One of the other men said something and Marcus turned around. He picked up the sword and helmet. She didn't want him to go, but before she could say anything he turned to her and said one word. "Come."
I hope you enjoyed this chapter!