Chapter Twelve
Wars, famine, death, power
Things all great men crave
They lust after such desires
Like madmen seeking dangers to brave
She smiled as he went off yelling orders to his troops, the army started scrambling around. All who had not been assigned to watch were sleeping where they could find a spot in the court yard. At the sound of the gruff Master Sergeant, the regulars came quickly kicked their blankets and started donning their armor. The civilian conscripts rose slower, slightly so, to try as they might to fight for their lives and the lives of their families.
They had assigned the duty of lighting the arrows to civilians conscripts. To some of the other civilians, they placed them near buckets of water, so to put out any return fire. Right now they were trying to keep the conscripts out of the fighting and in other duties, freeing up the regulars for doing the bloody business. Half the main body lined the broad walk wall of the Temple, weapons in hand, for the archers to stir the hornet's nest. The other half they held in reserve, hoping not to need them.
It would take a couple of hours to set the town ablaze good. The infantry’s job was to come up and surprise the enemy, who managed to top the battlements when the signal was given. The ballista would hopefully provide the defenders with an advantage and speed up the process. The siege machine did put them in an interesting predicament. They had no experienced operators. Some on the guard had operated one in practice, but none of that few had experienced battle.
They would not have the luxury of time, as in practice. Aiming was not a problem. Demons and Chaos, they had a whole damn city around them! They couldn’t exactly miss. The problem lay with over tensioning the ropes. If that happened then, the tensioner cable could snap and slice men in two. They had too few defenders to kill off them from accidents.
Wallace walked through the assembling troops feeling the usual swell of pride and feeling of despair. He had been through battle before, but never on this scale. The gruff Master Sergeant knew as he inspected the men and women who prepared to fight for their very existence, that some, if not all, would not see another day. He strode quickly towards the front of the assembly and climbed on top of a broken portion of the wall to address his troops.
“Corporal Thad, I want you with the archers on top of the battlements with the General. Sergeant Howe died from his wounds; they are yours now. Protect her, since the Captain insists on playing with the ballista. Hope she doesn’t mind me speaking frankly, but she is a lucky son of a bitch,” Wallace said with a smile at Isobelle, who stuck her tongue out at the short man.
“I have waited for my twenty-five winters to play with one of those, listening to my dad talk about how fun they are. I am not about to pass up the chance. Now go sulk in the vanguard.” She pointed toward the waiting infantry at the gate. The Master Sergeant took a stricken look, theatrically shaking his head slowly.
“Well I guess that about sums it up, I am grounded.” Wallace said with mock sorrow, “Thomas will lead the inside defenses in my place. Take orders from the General but mainly keep the idiots outside, well outside. I will lead the elite vanguard and rescue our poor friends out there when all hell breaks loose when we leave this place. Everybody ready for the insanity of trying to screw an angry hornet's nest and not get our cocks stung?”
He clapped his hands in front of him looking around at his poorly outfitted army. They had broke furniture for clubs, shredded saddles for leather for armor. They had cut buckets for helmets and raided the pantry for pot lids for some measure of shields. The regulars had their standard chain for infantry that made up the East, West and South Garrisons. Then you had the archers in leather, that made up the North Garrison. The Temple Guard were the elites of Tharpe’s standing army, the ones he would lead. They wore studded but were specially trained with exotic sword fighting, customarily found in the deep Federation capital of Alderananon.
“I am not your normal commander, so I will not lie. Our chances are slim to make it out. But by the Grim who does Grace us today, we will make the bastards who slaughtered our mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters, burn like they were on the plains of Chaos this day. We will keep the reapers busy for the next year, ferrying the sick sons of bitches that we once called family, to see the face of the Immortal Father who witnessed this very battle. Let’s kick some ass.” Wallace roared raising his fist.
The crowd let out a deafening cheer, and Isobelle idly reached over and pulled the ballista handle letting the first fire cask go. Wallace gave her a hard stare. She shrugged idly.
“Oops--” she said with a yawn, “--Must have leaned on it. Sorry Master Sergeant.”
Out in the distance, a building exploded in flames, and the battle began. The arrows started to rain out on the buildings that were in sight; at the start, it seemed to be a futile effort. The roofs were moss covered and damp in the winter, but the moist wooden shingles smoldered and eventually lit on fire. The ballista boomed off in intervals sending fire bombs lurching into the distance. When they landed, a building would explode into flame. Slowly, one by one, buildings caught fire lighting the night sky with an angry red glow. The Resistance Army came forward madly, past the prisoners, who seemed all but forgotten in the mad dash. They charged straight ahead to the Temple, carrying ladders, poles, grappling ropes, anything they could use to get inside and stop this desperate gamble of the defenders.
Thomas called his troops to ready as the enemy hit the wall like a wave and started to climb. When the first hand was seen, his Garrisons rushed to meet them and repel them. Thomas’s job was to keep them busy on top of the wall until the city was at a total loss. The fighting was fierce, neither side wishing to give way. Thomas’s troops were able to hold their own at first, repelling the first wave and pushing the ladders and poles full of men off and cutting the ropes.
The next wave hit and more defenders came up to pick the ladders back up, Thomas called his line to battle formation and ordered the attack. They started pushing the ladders and cutting ropes, but the numbers outside were too formidable. Thomas yelled to the back for the reinforcements waiting below. The civilians, who had been assigned to other duties, picked up their improvised weapons and climbed the stairs for the fighting above.
Arrows continued to rain like comets through the night sky all around the Temple’s four walls and trails of smoke could be seen as flames started to lick from the wooden shingles around the city. Out in the distance, any building hit by a firebomb was a blazing beacon, lighting up the horizon. Thomas’s conscripts came up the stairs to the battlements, struggling in front of the archers and spread to the parapet filling in any place they could. The fighting intensified, and the best Thomas could see the arrows had stopped. Either they had run out, or his lines had been pushed back into them, he was almost ready to call the retreat when he felt a tap on his shoulder, and a sword came swinging by his head, cleaving a wild-eyed, bearded man, he had been fighting.
“Need some help?” His formal corporal asked, putting his hand on top of the mangled head and wrenching his sword out with a sickening crunch.
“I thought the Vanguard was supposed to stay out of the main fighting?” Thomas asked wiping the blood out of his left eye. Wallace slashed at a woman, who took his blade with a backhand and fell back to prepare for a counter. She thrust at him, and he sidestepped it, swinging over her thrust catching her across the throat. She dropped her sword, clasping her hand over her throat, a pitiful gurgling coming out of it as she tried to breathe through the hole he just created.
Wiping her blood off his face, Wallace explained to his Sergeant, “Wouldn’t do no good if these walls fall now, would it? Now, let's push these bastards back off so they can see that their damn precious city is burning down and maybe they will leave us alone.”
Thomas nodded wearily and picked his sword back up and followed his short, stocky commander back into the fray. The defenders fought fiercely and pushed the Resistance back off the wall. The houses beyond were engulfed, the sky turning scarlet red with the blaze that was burning far below. The attackers looked around and took in the city for the first time. They started calling for water and forming chains, finally dropping their weapons.
“About time,” Wallace breathed heavily sheathing his sword, “That’s what we were waiting for, let's go.”
He turned to find Damon standing there grimly, in ragtag leather armor. He looked miserable, with his wounds he endured the night before. With the help of healers, his eye was finally opening but had turned a horrid mixture of black and purple. His nose he had set, but it was still swollen to the point of him breathing through his mouth. He had bruising in multiple places around his torso and neck, and he moved stiffly. If he was angry at Wallace for his part of Damon’s condition, he hid it well.
“Damon, go take your place with the other conscripts, we are leaving,” he commanded shorty, turning his back to continue the withdraw process.
“No.” Damon simply said folding his arms over his chest slowly.
Wallace pivoted back around on his heel angrily. They had the rebels distracted, but they were still horribly outnumbered, “What do you mean no, this is not a time for arguing. I have to save your Bonnie lass right now, or the Grim will have my hide. Now go; she will be fine.” Wallace assured him, trying to contain the growing anger.
“You don’t understand, Wallace, no one lays a finger on my woman. No one.” Damon said with dark rage, curling and uncurling his hands, “I will be there when she is released.”
Wallace nodded in understanding, “Well you can’t go dressed like that. I don’t like being laughed at. Go commandeer your cousin armor. He won’t be happy to swap with you but tell him it is an order. If he still doesn’t listen, tell him he can go with the vanguard in your place. That ought to motivate him. This mission will be to much work.” Damon gave a little chuckle and clapped Wallace on the back and walked off.
“He’s got a lot of me in him.” came that deep baritone from behind him making him jump, “He is very protective of his wives.”
“Would you kindly stop doing that,” Wallace said irritated trying to rub the goosebumps that had formed through his chain.
“Stop what?” Grim asked innocently as he walked up with a quite and subdued Bethel beside him. She was dressed in heavy chainmail that bore the crest of Grim on it and had a broad sword at her side. He seemed to almost have an invisible leash on her with the way she moved when he did.
“Sneaking up behind people. It is nerve-racking enough to have the All-Father, Champion of Order with us but to have him listening over my shoulder is more than I can take.” Wallace said turning to face the Grim, “You could, I don’t know clear your throat or something.” the soldier said irritatedly, then he tacked on as almost an afterthought, “your Grace.”
“I will try to keep that in mind,” he said with a thin smile, “But it is that Champion of Order title I wanted to talk to you about. I did not interfere in the battle because there was no interference from Chaos. I do have certain restrictions that do cause some irritation to me from time to time.”
“Is that why she wasn’t out there?” Wallace pointed at the heavily armed Bethel, “She is one of the best armed and trained in Tharpe.”
Grim looked at Bethel and smiled, “No, it is because she is concerned about fighting Chaos, not peasants with swords.”
“They weren’t all peasants with swords out there Father,” Wallace objected, “But what restrictions could an immortal like you have. We are taught that you are all powerful, do as you please type person.”
“Ever wonder why Temple is held for three days every two weeks?” The Grim pointed out.
“Yeah supposedly because you can only.. oh I guess you do have some restrictions,” Wallace admitted scratching at his blood-crusted beard.
“More than you know, but right now I am going to help. Chaos has put its finger into the mix. I don’t know why but I do know now is the time to go. Beware though. I have known since I arrived, a sorcerer from the Free Cities is here with the enemy. I will try to intercept any harmful energies in time, but even I cannot be everywhere at once I am not a…”
“God I know, I have heard that several times since you got here your Grace.” Wallace finished his sentence dismissively as he turned to complete preparations for leaving the relative safety of the walls. The Grim smiled. He liked this man more and more. The Master Sergeant broke so many formalities that everyone else observed it was refreshing. Someday he would be the greatest commander the world had seen if he was any judge of people and he was the best.
Damon showed back up with his cousin's blood-spattered armor, and long sword buckled onto the sword belt. The armor was a little too big, but he would be better protected than when Damon was dressed in the rugged leather. He looked at his father with a smug smile plastered across his face and came to stand beside The Grim. Wallace returned and looked at the two and shivered. The resemblance was uncanny, Damon was a miniature of the All-Father without glowing eyes. The Master Sergeant turned from the father-son pair and motioned for Damon to come to stand beside him. The soldiers had worked to remove the timbers throughout the afternoon and now all that had to be done was to activate the mechanism to unlock the gate.
“What?” Asked Damon innocently trying to suppress a mischievous smile.
“You know what boy. You did that on purpose.--” Wallace said smacking him on the backside of his head, “--Please don’t do it again, sent shivers down my spine.”
Damon gave a small laugh. “I take it from your smile that he was not happy?” Wallace guessed. Damon showed the Master Sergeant a red fist and smiled happily. Wallace shook his head, though he could not blame the lad. After the beating Damon had taken at the hands of that belligerent man, a couple of good sucker punches couldn’t be blamed. He motioned to the man operating the mechanism.
“Open them up. Let’s move out.” He ordered. As leader of all the Garrisons, he would be giving orders. He had already discussed with the General what was expected of his groups when he departed. She and the Captain would be with their respected regiments, what was remained of them anyways. They took casualties in their attack, they didn’t have an exact count right now, but it wasn’t good. His vanguard, which joined the battle late, had only taken three. Adding Damon back in meant they were down two, that wasn’t bad. But most of the guard behind him were reporting losses of ten men or better. That was one-fifth of their regulars gone, which was heavy casualties in a defensive fight.
The gates opened and smoke curled through them, wafting the sweet sickening scent of burning flesh to their nostrils. The outside was lit with an eerie red glow that gave it the appearance of the pictures that the necromancers showed of the Planes of Chaos. The vanguard drew their wicked curved short swords as one and moved out into the fire lit half darkness of night. The rest would run directly for the gates. Each group had what was left of their volatile fire cask, a liquid made by the ingeniousness of alchemist in their creative labs. They would roll it down the narrow back allies and finish lighting the outer sections on fire and then, lock the city gates on the way out.
The vanguard was to rescue the prisoners and make their way to the docks. They each carried a flask of the fiery liquid cradled on their belt. When they got there, they would set all the boats on fire but one and take that one onto the lake. It would be dangerous, especially at night but the other group would light a signal fire to guide the others to shore safely. The Grim went with the main group to protect them from sorcery. The vanguard was on their own.
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