Trace was woken to muffled footsteps and panicked voices. "Get up! It's time!" He wasn't even awake enough to know who was talking, but whoever it was and whatever they wanted was urgent. His mind was sluggish as he forced his eyes open. It was still dark, and only starlight filtered into his room through the veil of curtains. Surely he must have dreamed it, and he closed his eyes to try and fall back asleep, but to no avail, as light flew over him from the hallway. "Get up! Get up! They're coming!" Keiren's voice was hushed, and yet while there were hints of panic, he held his voice calm. The words snapped Trace awake as he bolted up in the bed, throwing the covers off. Still only half awake, he turned to see Keiren was standing in the doorway with his armor already donned, a sword by his side and a shield on his back. "Quietly! Get ready while I wake the others." With not a word more, his footsteps faded, leaving Trace to prepare his mind in peace.
It took him only a few minutes to collect his combat gear. The gladius he had come to know so well hung on his left, ready to be drawn. His armor was simple hardened leather, enough to stop daggers and a few slashes, but nothing more, meaning he would need to rely on his speed and magic to survive. In the main room, he saw that he was not the first, but also not the last to be woken. Natani looked as she always did: fierce and wild, a large cloak draped over her to conceal her movements. Her face was hardened and fierce, and her right hand was bound in enchanted cloth. Keith stood beside her, the pinnacle of what a Basitin should look like: gleaming silvery steel armor, a polished helmet rested on his head, the longsword by his right side sharpened and honed to perfection. Barret sat on the far side of the table, his ranger's garb resting on his shoulders, a quiver full of arrows on his belt, and not one, but two weapons: his bow, scratched, bent, well worn, and iconic in his left hand, but on his back was the glaive that he had been working so hard to train with. "They're on the move."
Trace turned to see Madelyn standing in the corner, polishing a dagger. He wasn't surprised that she was there, or that he had missed her. "How soon will they be here?"
"I don't know. Distances are hard to judge right now, there's a thick fog that fell in the early hours of the morning. I only know they're on the move because I was perched up in a tree and saw their pikes poking over the top of the fog. Dad's already raising the silent alarm across the city."
"Good." Trace was still half asleep, rubbing his eyes. He had staggered over to the table when Adira walked in with a dozen cups of hot coffee. "Oh, bless you."
"I'm happy to serve." She said with a smile. "Still remember when I first met you. You were so clueless, and when I heard you got with that lovely tigress of yours, I was not surprised at all."
"What makes you think he's not still clueless?" Natani smirked, elbowing him. He shook his head, smiling, but got very serious when he saw Richard walk in, his steel half plate gleaming. He looked rather strange at first, but then Trace realized that his hair was pulled back and combed, which seemed odd. That was, however, until he saw Raine. She was in her wolf form, a mana crystal necklace resting on her chest, and her hair was tied back in a similar manner to Richard's. Keiren followed them in, adorned in his steel plate armor, his now iconic vibrant orange cloak draped over his shoulders with the emblem of Edinmire emblazoned on it.
"I can ask no one to stay." His words were heavy, but clear. "Right now is your only chance to get away. When the fighting starts, there will be no retreat."
No one said anything, as people exchanged glances to see if anyone's courage were to fail. "I cannot fight, but I will not leave." Keiren turned around, stepping aside as Haelith walked in behind him. Her normal attire had been traded for a surgical suit, heavy apron, as well as a belt and pouches filled with tools and medicine. From scalpels and tweezers to bandages and bone saws, she looked equally ready to put you back together or rip you apart piece by piece.
Keiren slowly looked at every single person, taking in every detail. "Then may Fate be on our side. When you are ready, please join me on the gate. I must go lead us forward, whatever our Fate ends up being."
…
The sun had yet to rise, but the eastern sky was lit up like fire. Stretched out before the city was a thick layer of fog that lay low to the ground, swirling and moving as the wind tugged at the edge of the mists. The slow sounds of the night were fading, the world falling nearly silent. Armor rattled as the anxious men shifted, checking their swords and shields, reaching for spare arrows and bolts, and trying not to watch into the distance. Every shadow looked like a threat and every noise caused men to jump. All around, they waited with baited breath, they waited to hear commands, they waited to see if death was indeed coming.
And indeed, it was.
Just as the sun began to rise, Keiren shifted from where he stood atop the gatehouse, suddenly standing erect and proud, high above all the rest. Eyes turned, and rising through the thinning mist were the shadowy figures of men and horses. Raising one arm, the city silently came to attention, waiting for the command. But the command did not come right away, as suddenly the figures stopped. Eerie silence followed, and though they waited, though they watched, they did not move. For minutes that lasted hours, they as the sun began to peek over the horizon, the sky became bright red as the light reflected off the clouds overhead, and the men saw their doom.
Stretched out to the north of the city was the great host of men, the Templar soldiers in their gleaming steel armor, and yet this time it was different. Behind the front lines of pikes and shields rode hundreds of knights with lances and swords, their steeds armored just as much as the men atop them. Beyond that were rows and rows of crossbowmen and beyond even that were spears and swords, shields and staves. Even beyond that rolled forward heavy siege weapons: catapults and mangonels, and behind all the rest were the lumbering figures of trebuchets being erected and a wooden tower on wheels being raised.
Barret's heart stopped as he saw the army stretched out before them, and his courage gave way. His arms trembled as his body quaked, taking a step back, but a gentle hand on his shoulder told him that he was not alone. Trace stood by his side, steeling his own resolve, and Keith stood on the other side, his slow breathing shockingly calming. The giant figure of King Jade loomed just to his left, her golden plate armor beginning to gleam in the growing daylight. The silence was suddenly broken by the beating of a snare drum. Quick and light, it struck up a tempo like that of marching boots, and the men beyond the walls began to shift, matching the drum with their feet. Across the walls the defending men trembled and quaked as fear crept into their hearts, but Keiren sneered and drew his blade from his side, holding it high as he turned away from their attackers, away from the noise. "Join me now!" His voice suddenly rang out over the din, over the stomping boots, over the drums and over the rattling of armor. Heads turned as he shouted, and fear was driven from hearts.
"Join me, and take up your arms! Join me now, with spear and javelin, shield and sword!
May those who seek to destroy us be disgraced and put to shame! May they find ruin and dismay!
May they be swept away like leaves on stone, and may they know fear!
Join me now! Defenders of Edinmire, join me now! Rise up with me now, and fight!"
Hope was kindled in their hearts once again, a fire burned within their veins, courage was found, and like a spark to dry tinder it spread across the walls. Fear would not claim them, and they would not be put down. Keiren suddenly whipped around as a wild roar swept over the defenders, and they banged sword on shield, raised weapons and banners high, causing such a display that even the mighty Templars faltered back.
But they were not to be dissuaded, and as a horn rang out, a cry twice as loud as the one Edinmire had made burst forth, and like a dam that could hold no more, the Templar forces surged forward. The ground shook as thousands of men began rushing toward the wall, shields held high and spears extended. The knight hung back, giving orders to the men around them as plated soldiers rushed forward with steel ladders. Behind even them, the catapults began to shift and roll, moving just into range as they released a destructive volley of stone pellets, aiming to destroy not the walls, but the men atop them.
Keiren raised his blade high, catching the sun on the tip as he stepped up onto the ramparts, a shining beacon of hope and strength as King Adelaide gave a shout, commanding the musketmen to fire. Unlike last time, where the shots were barely a threat, the bullets ripped through the front ranks of soldiers, killing hundreds in an instant. But it did not even slow down the sea of men who stampeded over the fallen, crushing them into the dirt. While arrows and bolts rained down on them, the heavy plate armor the Templars wore protected them, and the shields they carried stopped much of what was thrown down, but they were falling. One by one, worn down under a hailstorm, men gave way as death claimed them. Finally, the front lines stopped, their giant tower shields digging into the ground fifty meters away from the wall, creating a metal barrier of their own, and from behind came the sound of a coordinated volley. Crossbow bolts sailed up and over the wall, causing the defenders to duck behind cover. Keiren reached for his shield as he stood back up, only for a second volley to come mere seconds later. Glancing back, his eyes went wide as the defenders were torn to shreds when they tried to stand back up. Again, seconds later, another volley came flying toward the wall, the sound of clattering bolts, whistling fletching, and howls of pain becoming dominant.
Trace snarled, his right hand glowing blue as he raised it, and the sounds of the Templars became dulled. Standing back up as magical shields were cast, the defenders began to fire back, ripping through those not right behind the front lines. But it was far too late to stop the assault, as the Templars ran between gaps in their wall of steel, rushing forward to push ladders up to the wall. Though they fell by they hundreds, they would not be slowed down, swinging the steel ladders upward, the metal hinges latching onto the stone. Swords were drawn, pikes were readied and the last remnants of fear was swallowed as the Templars began to scale the wall. With a shout, Keith dove into the fray, leaping on top of one of the soldiers that managed to climb up, hurling him to the stone floor. Natani spun around, a dagger flying from her hand into the neck of another swordsman, while Madelyn darted around from behind Natani's billowing cloak to finish him off.
Barret reached for another arrow, shockingly calm in the chaos of battle. An expert hunter of game usually, his skill with a bow was good enough, but against armored enemies he was less effective. Still, arrows like hornets flew from his bow into the carnage, piercing the sides of those trying to climb up. But more fearsome than anyone else was King Adelaide, who went entirely unchallenged from ladder to ladder, crushing armor and bone alike with her mighty claymore. Telk followed in her wake, his small frame meant he slipped through the crowds unseen until far, far too late. Richard stood next to Raine, and though his falchion bounced off of the thick armor, his bursts of fire magic made him far to dangerous to approach. But it was Raine that the Templars feared. Her hair flowed like water as her eyes and hands glowed as magic surged through her. Bursts of light streaked from her palms, shields deflected the unending volley of crossbow bolts, and men were thrown violently from the walls.
For each one that fell, another would climb up, but the main bulk of the Templar army held back, content to withstand the barrage of counterattacks. Though arrow, bolt, bullet, and javelin fell like rain, the front lines did not move. The back lines, however, began to close the gap as the hulking figure of the siege tower began to roll forward and the first trebuchets began to swing into action, hurling gigantic stones through the air. Silence surrounded Keiren as he followed the boulders through the air, tracking them as they came down. Though they had immense destructive capabilities, they were thankfully inaccurate, crashing into the city behind the walls, though one hit a ballista tower with a loud boom. As the dust cleared, Keiren grew a wicked smile, seeing that the stone hadn't moved at all, barely even scratched. Basidian stonework. We need more of that.He shook his head, grinning as he slammed into a soldier with his shield.
The battle raged for an hour, neither side able to truly gain the upper hand, but the tower rolling forward slowly ensured that time was limited, and it was about to be even more limited. Keith leapt back, catching his breath for a moment at the edge of the walls, but something strange caught his eye. A shift in the crowd as something moved through it, like a fish just beneath the water's surface. Suddenly, bursting through the wall of shields and men came a jagged steel head fixed atop a monstrous log, carried by thirty soldiers, screaming as they ran toward the gate. "Brace the gate! Brace the gate!" he shouted. On the street below, soldiers dropped their shields and ran to the gatehouse, pressing against the wooden barrier. Seconds later, the walls were shaken with a loud crash as the ram collided with the steel outer layer, the sheer force sending splinters of wood and the men bracing it flying backwards. Keith leapt down from the battlements, running down the stairs, with Trace, Barret and Natani right behind him. The sound of closing shouts heralded the next thud, sending more pieces of wood backwards and denting the plating. Again the men who held the gate in place were thrown backwards by the force coming from the other side, several clutching now broken arms. "Get back! Everyone back! Stand firm and let them come! Let them taste the bitterness of defeat!" Though blood poured from a gash on his left side, Keith stood at the front of the defenders, his courage giving hope to those around him, raising their morale. Gripping his blade tightly, he snarled, poised and ready to strike.
Again, the sound of shouting rang out over the din, and the gate could hold no more. The wood ripped from the hinges, cracking and splintering as it fell, the outer plating barely holding together as pieces twisted through the air, and through the mayhem, the Templar foot soldiers carried on through the broken gate, barely even slowed down by what had once held them at bay. Keith ran forward, leaping over the bent head of the ram, slicing through several of the soldiers on one side. As the weight suddenly shifted, those behind could hold it no more, and the ram began to crush them. Natani and Trace held out their hands, together creating a shield that the huge ram slammed into, stopping it entirely, but draining nearly all of their mana. Barret let loose a torrent of arrows through the gate, but it was to no avail as hundreds of soldiers rushed through the breech. Behind them, Basitins, Keidrans, Humans, and Ishtaer alike drew their blades, a collective roar as they surged forward to hold the line. Sword met shield, pike met helmet, mace met bracer, halberd met chestplate, and blood and body met stone.
Madelyn danced between blades and legs, picking out weaker soldiers as she wove across the battlements. She was quick, but not infallible, and her chest bled heavily where someone managed to catch her with a sword, and her head was bruised after having an unfortunate collision with a shield. Keiren stayed atop the gatehouse, armor gleaming in the light, and though he too was bloody, no one could tell if it was his blood or from someone else, as dozens lay dead around him. Unstoppable he seemed, as no man could contest with his might and skill, and even as a storm of arrows flew toward him, he cared little, for they could not pierce his shield or his armor. Even though a bolt had lodged itself in his thigh, he felt no pain, the adrenaline of battle overwhelming his thoughts. Jade did not stay in one area, but went from one end of the wall to the other, leaving blood, destruction, and death behind in her wake. Telk likewise wandered from one area to the next, but he was slower, more tactical, leaping to wherever the assailants seemed to be gaining the upper hand.
Barret tried to back up as the Templar soldiers rushed through the gate, but found himself being pressed forward by the defenders behind him. Suddenly within striking distance, the Templars turned to him, their faces twisting into wicked snarls as they beheld the towering Ishtaer, and their blades were drawn to him. Courage suddenly filled him, and Barret dropped his bow, reaching around his back. Sharpened to perfection, gleaming like starlight, and held in the hands of a dragonkin, Barret was a sight to behold as he held the glaive, swinging toward the nearest man. Barely trained, the blade impacted against his helmet, but that mattered little, as Barret swung with such force that it dented the steel, knocking the man aside with one blow. But as he swung again, a blade caught his chest, and he gasped for air as blood poured from the wound. Anger suddenly welled inside him, and the Templar realized far too late that he was already dead, as scales began to shift and eyes began to glow like the sun. Barret thrust out with his left hand, a blast of force hurling the man backwards, leaving the dagger embedded in his chest. Roaring with the righteous fury of a dragon, he swung wildly, cleaving through steel and flesh, the raw force behind each blow enough to leave any man crippled and broken, if not outright dead, as magic surged through his veins and fire burned in his eyes.
Trace's blade never stopped for long. There was always another man who was turning toward him, always another soldier who wanted him dead, always another Templar who would shout "Traitor!" And yet for every one who tried to claim his life, he would only earn another cut or bruise. He had grown used to fighting with either hand, and regularly switched his sword from right to left and back during a fight, keeping his enemies on their toes. While he loathed using magic from his corrupted left hand, he let the power flow through his fingers. This quickly began to govern his fighting style, using his blade to push back against someone before finishing them off with magic, or the other way around, throwing them off balance with a burst of magic only to close the gap and end them with his blade.
Beside him, Natani fought with two blades, both of which she had scooped off the ground from fallen soldiers. Quick on her paws, she danced between blades, her cloak almost looking like a billowing dress as droplets of blood clung to the edges of her swords. Though her magic was spent, she was still far more dangerous than any Templar had anticipated, leaving many of her would-be-killers in crumpled heaps on the ground in her wake.
Keith leapt up the wall of the gateway, then up and over the man who had just tried to stab him. Cut and sliced in dozens of places on his arms and legs, he felt no pain, his Basidian strength and battle fury carrying him forward. But as he threw another man to the ground, something strange echoed over the noise: a humongous booming crash from beyond the walls. Heads turned, even the Templars seemed shocked, stopping to see what happened. Keith followed their gaze to see the siege tower that had been rolling forward erupting in a pillar of smoke and fire, the trebuchets burning, and explosions rocking the back lines. Suddenly, a horn rang out; two short bursts followed by a long blast. Seconds later, the same pattern repeated, and again and again. Glancing around, the Templar soldiers hefted their shields and began to walk backwards, away from the city, leaving the defenders shocked. Keith turned and ran up the stone stairs to where Keiren stood on the gatehouse, staring at the army. "What happened?" he asked, panting.
"I don't know. They just… gave up." Keiren did not take their eyes off the retreating soldiers, but even as they spoke, columns of smoke and ash rose from the Templar ranks, shouts of pain and death, explosions lighting up silhouettes of towering figures and falling men.
"Perhaps we have an ally in this war." Jade trudged over, her blade and brow dripping with blood.
"I hope so." Richard was bleeding heavily from his head, but he remained upright somehow. "They sounded a full retreat, so we hopefully don't have to worry about them attacking again."
Keiren turned to the city. It was shockingly intact, with only a few small fires, a dozen crushed houses, and rubble not too difficult to clear. But it was the men who he was looking at. "We don't have enough to mount a counterattack. Shore up the gate as much as we can, and when the smoke clears, we can find out more."
"Actually, I can go!" Madelyn stepped out from behind Raine. "I'm fast, and get over there unseen."
Keiren opened his mouth, but King Adelaide was the one who responded. "No. You are too badly hurt. And there is no cover from here to there. If you are seen, you will be killed."
"But-"
"No. We will wait, care for the wounded, and investigate once things are calmed down. If there is indeed an ally over there, they will come to us." She, like Keiren, turned to the city behind them, the cries of the wounded a chorus over the noise of distant battle. "Come, let us clean ourselves."