As part of his training, Gawain valSteedian had received a thorough education, including quite a few lessons on military strategy. Many hours had been spent by various tutors, including Damian III himself, on tactics, from the importance of cavalry to the role of artillery. He had had to read quite a few books on historical battles, and write about how some had ended in victories, and why others ended in crushing defeats.
Few knights received such an advanced training. Indeed, most focused on learning how to use a couple of weapons -typically the spear and the sword-, how to ride a horse, and that was mostly it; the majority of them were in fact illiterate. But then, few knights joined the Order of the Silver Steed, and took an oath to defend the Emperor with their lives. This responsibility, or rather this honor, came with a lot of demands.
Safe to say, Gawain had become well-versed in the military history of Varda. And that was in addition to what he had been taught about war in his original world. Furthermore, he had himself witnessed a few military engagements ever since the beginning of the Second Southern War, although he had not actually participated in any -so far. Most were rather small, and even the biggest had not involved more than four or five thousands men on both sides.
But what he was looking at right then was, by far, the biggest military engagement he had ever seen. In fact, it was the biggest military engagement of the entire war. No less than seven armies had been raised on both sides, for a grand total of over twenty thousand people; they included footsoldiers, skirmishers, archers, cavalry -both light and heavy-, magis, and artillery.
The scale was one thing, but then there was also the complexity of that engagement. In spite of the aforementioned education, Gawain had trouble making sense of the maps detailing the tactics that would be followed by the various units; he just about understood the overall strategy. The Emperor had come up with much of it, and it had been refined by his generals and several lords over the course of many long meetings. It took several maps and quite a lot of figurines to detail all of the plan, covering nearly the entire table of Fort Doras’ dining room. The table was made out of dark wood, so dark its varnish barely reflected the light of the candles affixed on the castle’s stone walls.
It would have been an understatement to say that there had been some disagreements over said strategy, especially its key part. It was too complex, some said. It was too much of a gamble, others asserted. Gawain still remembered the contained frustration in the Emperor’s voice as he argued against the dissenting opinions. Damian III rarely expressed anger, and only seldom raised his voice out of ire, but he had done both a few times during these meetings. The young knight certainly understood why: after three years of conflict, during which several lords, chief among them Evrart Brannon, had reproached the restraint of his mainly defensive strategy, and all but demanded more offensives, they now criticized their liege for suggesting such an offensive tactic.
Granted, the grand plan was indeed quite ambitious, and a lot would be invested in it. But if it worked, and Gawain truly believed the Emperor could make it work, it would be the most decisive victory of the entire conflict. Divine willing, it might even mean the end of the conflict.
Unfortunately, it seemed those lords -and even a few generals- couldn’t see that. And Duke Evrart no doubt encouraged that attitude behind the scenes.
Another issue they had with the grand plan was its involvement of foreign elements along with the Imperial armies. Namely, the Inquisition and the Rebellion. The former’s presence was already hard to stomach for some, owing to the institution’s… complicated reputation, but the latter’s elicited comments that bordered on insubordination among nobles and commoners alike. What! Those barbaric beasts would be allowed to fight side by side with Imperial soldiers? After what they had done to those villages to the north? To Polran Keep? Unacceptable. What if, in their thirst for flesh, they turned against the Imperials?
Thankfully, no one had tried to defy the Emperor’s orders on that one. It did help that the Hellhounds would fight in their own units, and not actually mix with the Imperials.
Gawain looked at the maps again, studying the placements of the figurines representing the armies. He picked one of them up, the one representing a Demon’s head wearing a crown, with a small red and yellow flag planted in it. It will work, he told himself. The Emperor knows what he’s doing.
Almost exactly at the same moment as he thought of his liege, the man himself entered the room. Gawain hurriedly put the figurine back where it was, and saluted his liege. He was wearing his traveler’s outfit, with thick black boots, rider’s gloves, and a green cape. A page was following him, carrying his sword in its scabbard. Gawain believed his name was Wiltan; he was something like thirteen or fourteen years old, and had entered the Emperor’s service a couple of years ago; he would soon become a squire, no doubt. He was rather short: the sword he carried was almost as long as he was tall.
“Good day, my liege,” Gawain said. “Is everything ready?”
“Yes. Please follow us.”
They went down the stairs, then left the castle through a side door that led directly to the stables. It was still early in the morning, and there was almost no one in the inner courtyard. They went to the third stall on the right. Behind the small wooden gate was Greymoon, one of the Emperor’s horses, a tall destrier with pale grey hair, recognizable by the wavy scar that ran down his snout. Tending to him was Petey, another of Damian III’s pages. He was a couple of inches taller than Wiltan despite being two years younger. He had large facial features: a large nose, thick eyebrows, two eyes that seemed too big for his face, and a square chin. The boy was a Southerner, the third son of one of the marquesses -Gawain forgot which one-, and had been part of the Emperor’s entourage since the beginning of the war.
“I’ve saddled Greymoon, my liege,” Petey said.
“Good. Gawain, you understand what I’m asking of you. Once again, I will not hold it against you if you decide you cannot do this.”
“I have not changed my mind, my liege,” Gawain said confidently. “It is my duty as your sworn knight.”
“Very well, then. Put on the armor. Wiltan, help him.”
The suit of armor had been brought in a chest, and stored near Greymoon’s stall. With the older page’s help, Gawain removed part of his clothes and began putting on the steel pieces. It was lighter than his usual suit of armor, and less restrictive of his movements, especially around the joints. A strange sensation overcame him as he put on the tabard, especially as he looked down and saw the black horse on a green field on his chest, and the dark grey crown above that sigil. He felt like he was truly becoming someone else.
It was not a perfect fit. The Emperor was a couple of inches taller than him, and his shoulders were a bit broader.
“It will do,” Damian III said. “Remember to keep the helmet whenever you’re with someone, even your brothers of the Silver Steed, and speak only when necessary.”
“Yes, my liege.”
A scabbard was put on his belt, and his sword sheathed in it. Gawain also added a pouch on his right side, containing some food, his old dog tags, and the magazine Jackson had given him. He no longer had his side arm, but still kept the ammunition as some sort of good luck charm. Taking a deep breath, he climbed on Greymoon.
“Once again, you’ll be meeting with Sir Luken and the rest at the Blue Bridge,” the Emperor said. “Then, you will head due west to Badel Plains. General Hendrik Wikk will greet you there.”
“I’ll remember, my liege.”
Damian nodded. “Good luck to you, Gawain.”
With a move of the reins, Gawain left the stable. He made sure to be seen by both of the guards at the gatehouse as he passed by. Good. Now, one of them is going to discreetly leave his post and go use one of the birds to send a message. Fort Doras was located on top of a ridge, overlooking the village of Doras, built along a river known as the Old Vek. Several bridges ran over the river. The one south of Doras was known as the Blue Bridge; Gawain had no idea why: it was a stone and wood bridge that was greyish brown in color. As planned, Luken Rainworth was waiting there, trying to hide his yawns with a gloved hand. With him was a small troop of horse riders, including a few knights.
“Good morning, my liege,” Sir Luken said as he saw Gawain approaching. The knight was aware of the impersonation, of course, and Gawain couldn’t help but find a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “Shall we go at once?”
Gawain responded with a mimic of Damian III’s signature sharp nods.
Located a few summer hours west of Doras, the place known as Badel Plains was one of the most nondescript places Gawain had ever travelled to. It was a simple valley, not particularly deep or remarkable by its shape, covered in high grass with a few trees here and there. A fort had been built on a steep hill near the valley’s center. Said fort was also pretty nondescript: it was basically just a large, square block with four towers, encircled by a stone wall. Before the First Southern War, there was also a small village there, as well as large fields of turnips and cabbages. The place, built on a dried-out swamp, was never very populated or prosperous, and once the Hexacracy destroyed its wooden houses to the last plank, it was abandoned and never rebuilt. All that was left was the fort, lording over hundreds of acres of abandoned fields. Even since the Empire had taken it, efforts had been made to rebuild it after over three decades of disrepair, but even after two years the work was still not complete. It currently housed a garrison of about two hundred and fifty soldiers, but could accommodate twice that number -though without much comfort.
The fort’s current commander, General Hendrik Wikk, appeared at the gates to welcome Gawain and his troops. The general was a short man in his late forties, with a shaved head and two sunken eyes, who had served in the Imperial army his entire life. Gawain quickly saluted him, then let Sir Luken do all of the talking, claiming he needed to rest from the journey.
“We have heard news from our… guests,” commander Prowse said, his thick, black mustache quivering at the last word. “They are on their way and should be arriving by tomorrow.”
Gawain nodded, his thoughts drifting to Jackson. Hearing that he had managed to fight off his curse was like a boulder off his chest after weeks of anxiety. Yet now, as he was about to meet with his old friend again, he was starting to feel anxious again. The incoming battle was one reason, but there was another. This meeting was another chance to convince Jackson and his people to join the Empire; in fact, it was perhaps Gawain’s last chance. If he failed, if an agreement couldn’t be found…
With this in mind, he ended up spending most of the night thinking of the best way to persuade his friend. It wouldn’t be easy. Jackson had always been as stubborn as a mule. On top of that, it was clear how attached he had become to those creatures and their cause. He had especially become attached to their chieftain, Alizana; Gawain could tell from the way his friend looked at her. Ah, Jackson. After all these times you were told to be less carefree, you had to do so now? Under these circumstances? He shook his head. Yes, the whole thing was a bad idea, and it would end badly. But how could he make Jackson see that?…
Jackson Pulver and his troop arrived the next day, soon after the zenith. Gawain saw them from a window. They were thirty-eight in total, all on horses. Seeing them dismount in the courtyard, one of the soldiers joked that it was not a troop, but rather a traveling circus. It was indeed a very eclectic assembly: Humans, Demons, Hellhounds, Orcs, and even a Goblin. It mixed old and young, men and women, tall and small… Gawain even noticed a tattooed Human woman he ascertained to be a magi -probably a sorceress. The chieftain jumped off her horse, with surprising agility considering her size. Gawain sent someone to greet her and Jackson, and lead them inside the castle, to the dining room. Luken stood guard in front of the door to make sure no one would enter unannounced. Both Jackson and Alizana were evidently surprised to see Gawain. Jackson got over his surprise quickly. cracked a smile, and went to hug him. Alizana, however, crossed her arms and frowned.
“We were told we would meet with the Emperor,” she said.
“I know. Sorry about that,” Gawain said. “We needed you to believe the Emperor was here. Actually, we needed everyone to believe that.”
“Why? What’s going on?” Jackson asked.
“Like we told you in that letter, the Emperor has come up with a plan. We think we can get an important victory against Elyonn’s Gold and Crimson Legions. In fact, if all goes very well, we may have a shot at Elyonn himself.”
He had blurted out the last part, unable to control his excitement.
“Wait, for real?” Jackson said. “I mean, we knew something big was going on, but… You mean, you’re actually going to take out Elyonn?”
“Well, like I said, if all goes well. But even if we can’t, we can still take out many of his legionnaires. Make the Archcommander lose face, and take out many of his most veteran troops.”
“Okay, so what’s the plan?” Alizana said. Gawain noticed she had used the word “okay” in English; it had no real equivalent in Imperial. She even had a hint of an American accent in her pronunciation. Three guesses where she got that from. “Part of it is making Elyonn believe Damian is here, in this castle in the middle of nowhere. Then what? Elyonn shows up in person to kill him?”
“That’s the gist of it, yes. He split his forces into three armies to keep the Imperial armies occupied, and ensure that they can’t easily reinforce each other. He sent his biggest army to the Steelfort, to make it look like that’s his real target.”
“Except you know he knows the Emperor is here,” Jackson said. “Well, he thinks he knows that, because you let him know that.” He blinked. “Eh. Probably not the best way to put it, but you get what I’m trying to say.”
“I do, and yes, that’s right. Basically, what we did is create a fake letter announcing the Emperor’s presence in Badel Plains. Then, we made sure Elyonn’s forces would intercept that letter. Also, we have found one of his spies among our soldiers, here, in the South. So when I left to come here, I made sure to wear the Emperor’s armor and to ride his horse.”
“And you also made us come here to reinforce that deception,” Alizana said.
“Yes. It gives the Emperor’s presence here a justification: he came here to parlay with representatives of the Southern Alliance. And because you don’t fully trust him, he didn’t bring an army with him, and neither did you. That also explains his choice of an isolated location.”
“So the Emperor isn’t coming. This was all just a ruse.”
Jackson placed his hand over the Hellhound’s paw.
“I’m sorry we had to deceive you, but we had to really sell it, you know?” Gawain said. “And… Unfortunately, we have reason to believe there are spies among your people.”
“What? Who?” Jackson said.
“We don’t know for sure. All we know is it’s probably not one of your chieftains or your officers, because they don’t seem to know a lot about your tactics or your ambushes.”
“How could you possibly know we have a spy to begin with?” Alizana said. Her expression darkened. “Unless…”
“Actually, this wasn’t all just a ruse,” Gawain hurriedly said. “The Emperor is coming.”
“He is?” Jackson said.
“Yes, that’s part of the plan. Elyonn thinks my liege’s armies are commanded by Sir Roone, and going to reinforce the Steelfort, but they’re actually led by the Emperor, and coming here. Also, Elyonn thinks those armies are not enough to face the Legions he brought. What he doesn’t know is we have some reinforcements.”
“Right, our army. But it is still days away. If you had told us anything, we could have gotten more people here, or gotten our army here quicker.”
“Yes, but that would have alerted Elyonn,” Gawain said. “But that’s not what I meant. Safe to say, the Emperor has another ace up his sleeve. The Archcommander will find out when the Emperor’s army arrives soon after him.”
“Soon after?” Alizana repeated. “How soon?”
“Well, like I said, the Emperor has to make it look like he’s going to the Steelfort at first, that way Elyonn will not know something’s up before it’s too late. So he’ll first head there, then change course. If all goes well, his forces should arrive about half a day after Elyonn, as will yours. Then, it’ll be child’s play to attack him from both sides.”
“That plan relies on lots of things going well, it seems,” the Hellhound said.
“It does, yes. The risks are high, but so is the reward.”
“Can we handle an assault?” she asked. “If Elyonn truly believes Damian is hidden in this fort, he won’t just lay siege to it, especially not if reinforcements might arrive later. He will try to storm it, bringing down the walls or breaking open the gates if he must. Are we prepared for that?”
“We are. This place may not look like much, but it has withstood a few attacks before, and has never been taken.”
“It looks like it’s been abandoned for a while,” Jackson said, looking at a cobweb near the ceiling.
“Yeah, it has, but we’ve fixed most of the damage.”
Jackson nodded, and went to take a look around the room.
“You could have informed us of all of this instead of springing it on us,” Alizana said. “We thought we would be discussing tactics, but in fact, they have already been decided without our input.”
“We couldn’t risk telling you any of it. That letter we sent you might have been intercepted too. Look, I get that you feel manipulated. And in a way, you have been manipulated, but only so we could lure Elyonn here. For the first time in the war, we have a shot at him. If our roles were reversed, wouldn’t you take it?”
“I would. But I would not deceive my allies to do so. You realize you are putting our lives in danger?”
“Our lives have been in danger ever since we went to war with the Hexacracy, babe,” Jackson said.
“Are you taking his side on this?” she retorted, incredulous.
Jackson raised his hands in a calming gesture, and opened his mouth to reply something. Before this could turn into a dispute, Gawain sighed and intervened:
“Listen… I assumed you yourself would want to take part in this. Elyonn has hurt your people at least as much as he has hurt the peoples of the Empire. But, strictly speaking, you are not needed here for the plan to succeed. Your presence at Badel Plains was only necessary to make it really look like the Emperor was here. There are still a few days before Elyonn and his forces get here. If… If you wish to leave, you can do so.”
“Really?” Alizana said, arching an eyebrow. “You would let us leave, just like that? Will Damian accept that?”
“You and your people are not our prisoners, chieftain. As to my liege, he will understand. He may be a hard man, but he’s far from unreasonable. He’s honorable, too, one of the most honorable men I’ve ever met.”
The Hellhound made a skeptical noise, then said: “Can you give us a moment, please?”
“Sure. I’ll be in the next room over.”
His bedroom was right on the other side of the dining room’s south wall, and connected by a door. He went there and sat on the bed, glancing at the Emperor’s armor on a post near it. Though the Emperor usually favored practicality over aesthetics, this suit of armor was quite beautiful in its simplicity. Gawain suspected it was not the work of a regular smith or steelworker: more than likely, a magi or two had participated in its creation. It certainly would explain why it was a lot lighter than any of the armors he had worn, despite the thickness of its materials. The armor had been created almost a year before the beginning of the war, and worn several times in battle by its owner, although to memory it never actually saw any action. Unlike the Archcommander and some of his nobles, the Emperor did not lead his battles from the frontline. Wisely so, Gawain thought unlike some who considered it cowardly, as too much depended on him for him to risk his life in such a way.
As he went to take some water from the pitcher on the nightstand beside the bed, there was a knock on the door. It opened, and Jackson popped his head in.
“Okay, we’re in,” he said.
“Great!” Gawain jumped off the bed, putting his cup of water back down. “Let me show you your rooms.”
“Oh, we don’t need separate rooms.”
The knight’s smile became a little uneasy as he followed him back in the dining room. “Erm, I get that, but… I think it would make people uncomfortable if you two… You know.”
“Yeah?” Jackson huffed. “Well, tough. Let them be uncomfortable.”
Gawain hesitated. This wasn’t a point he truly wanted to argue, and he could tell Jackson wouldn’t budge on it. However, he had been hoping the two of them wouldn’t share a room for two reasons. The first was of course that the soldiers garrisoned here, being all of Imperial culture, would not appreciate such a union -especially as Gawain suspected Jackson would not be subtle about it. The second and more important one was personal: he was hoping to have one or several opportunities to speak to Jackson alone before the battle. As hard as it was to convince him of anything, he would probably be easier to sway one on one.
“Jack, you have to understand: you are on Imperial soil right now. It’s expected that you’ll respect the local customs. I mean, it’s kind of like shouting in church, or cutting your toenails at the dinner table, you know?”
Jackson was about to retort something, when Alizana held his hand and said: “Jack, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not,” he said. “I’m not ashamed of you and there ain’t no one who’s gonna change that. Anyone got a problem with us, it’s on them.”
The Hellhound looked like she was fighting back a smile. Gawain, as for him, suppressed a sigh. No way I can insist on it after he said something like that.
“Just… Try to keep a lid on it while you’re here.”
Thankfully, they did, much to Gawain’s relief. He was in no position to play peacemaker if a dispute erupted, owing to his need to remain isolated and out of sight. He knew it was very unlikely that there was a spy among the garrisoned soldiers of Badel Fort, who might inform Elyonn of the ruse, but the Emperor had still judged it more prudent to play it safe, and Gawain agreed.
Jackson and Alizana sometimes roamed the castle and its courtyard together, but barely even held hands, and never seemed to indulge in public displays of affection. Some rumors were spread nevertheless, but nothing for Gawain to worry about.
It helped that most everyone was focused on preparing the castle for the attack they knew was coming. The surrounding plains were foraged until not a single berry was left, all nearby rocks and boulders were removed or destroyed, and the fortifications were prepared in accordance to the Emperor’s orders. Soldiers were drilled daily, especially the engineers who would use the siege weapons or repair the damage to the walls. Jackson’s party trained as well, the mercenaries sometimes joining the garrisoned soldiers for their drills; Gawain tried to include the Hellhounds too, but the soldiers were very reluctant to train with them, fearing the giant lupine creatures might accidentally maim or kill them.
Speaking of the siege weapons, Gawain sometimes sneaked out at night to go look at them, especially the onagers installed on some of the castle’s towers. The Empire was especially proud of those weapons; in the right hands, they were both accurate and powerful, able to sow chaos within the ranks of an enemy army. They were also proof of how advanced Imperial engineering was: the Hexacracy had no such weapons, and used simple catapults. Their method of construction was kept a secret, and in fact the Imperials would destroy any ballistas that risked being captured. Gawain smiled as he touched one of the siege weapons.
During that time, Gawain tried to meet with Jackson alone, but he was accompanied by Alizana more often than not. He found the opportunity he was looking for on the third night, when he sneaked out at night again to go watch the scorpions placed on the wall’s watchtowers. Jackson was already there, standing near the edge of the wall, a lit lantern placed near him. At first, Gawain thought his old friend was just gazing at the stars above, but as he approached, he realized Jackson was relieving himself. Blushing a little, Gawain waited until he was done to get any closer.
“You’re up late,” he said once Jackson was decent.
“So are you. I just needed to… get some air,” Jackson said.
“Right. Err… Got a minute to talk?”
“Sure, David. What about?”
The knight found it a little odd to be called by that name again, for the first time in a long while. Literally no one else in the world -in this world- knew him as David. In fact, in some ways, he felt like it was no longer his name.
“Well, the future,” he said.
“I usually prefer talking about the present, but go on.”
“Have you thought about the offer the Emperor made you last time?” Gawain asked.
“Oh, that… No, not really. I mean, I talked about it with Liz, but she made it crystal clear she’s not interested.”
“What about you? What do you think?”
“I think she’s got a point: the Empire isn’t much better than the Hexacracy. I doubt Hellhounds would be treated as anything but second-class citizens.”
“The Emperor has offered to make them vassals, Jack. I don’t think you understand what that means. As vassals, they would have rights and privileges the Hexacracy would never grant them. Like the Emperor said, they would be allowed to live however they wish.”
“And with whoever they wish?” Jackson retorted.
Gawain sighed. “Yes, okay, mixed unions are not tolerated in this world. Like I told you, it’s just part of the culture here. It’s not just in the Empire either. But as vassals, you will have the right to… have your own culture and mores. The Emperor will defend that right.”
“So our rights would depend on one man. What about his successor? What if he feels differently about mixed unions? Or about Hellhounds? Or about his subjects doing whatever they want?”
“What an Emperor decrees becomes law,” Gawain said. “An Emperor cannot easily overturn the decision of one of his predecessors.”
“But he can, right? Hell, I’m guessing it happened before.”
The knight scratched his nape.
“Yeah, I thought so,” Jackson said. “Ain’t no such thing as the Constitution in the Empire.”
“There’s no such thing as the Constitution anywhere in this world, Jack,” Gawain said. “Look, yes, maybe some future Emperor might change things and remove your rights. But then again, maybe not. That special charter for the Elves in Bosquro I told you about is still in place. Their Elven tribes still have their own culture and their own language; the only thing that changed is that their tribes have to have a ruler who answers to the Emperor as his vassal. I really think vassalage is your best option.” Gawain took a deep breath, and added: “In fact, I think it’s your only option.”
Jackson observed him for a moment, rubbing the blade of his left hand, a strange expression on his face, then he leaned over the wall and stared at the land, barely visible under the waxing crescent moon.
“I hear what you’re saying,” he said, his voice barely above a mumble.
“But…?” Gawain suggested.
“But it’s not gonna happen.”
The young knight’s lip quivered. “Why not?”
“You know why not,” Jackson said. “My people will never go for it. They don’t want to be ruled by an Archdemon, or an Emperor, or a Prince Merchant, or anyone. They want to rule themselves and that’s it. My people know too damn well what it means to live by someone else’s rules.”
“Jack, you have to realize that won’t be possible. The South will go back to the Empire. If the Hellhounds haven’t chosen to join us by then, their only option will be exile. Or…”
“Or what?”
Gawain remained quiet for a moment, then said: “Please reconsider, Jack. It really is your best option.”
“What reason do my people have to think they’ll be treated better by the Empire than by the Hexacracy?” Before Gawain could answer, he hurriedly added: “Sure, your Emperor can give them autonomy or whatever, but he can’t order people to accept the Hellhounds. They will always be on the fringe of society, and nowhere else.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No? Look me in the eyes and tell me you truly believe my people will ever be accepted in the Empire. Tell me they won’t always be treated like weird monsters that came out of nowhere.”
“Jack…”
“And what about me, Dave? I’m with Alizana. I love her. I want her to have my kids. And I’m not the only one in this situation. Tell me the Imperials approve of that. What is it their Black Book calls it again? “Loathful”? Tell me we’ll be accepted in spite of this. Tell me my kids won’t be rejected by society. Tell me that and I’ll consider Damian’s offer.”
Gawain opened his mouth, then closed it, dodging his friend’s gaze.
Jackson sighed heavily, his shoulders dropping. “I’m sorry, Dave.”
He grabbed his lantern and slowly went away, leaving Gawain standing there, staring at his back, hoping his friend would change his mind and turn back. He was still staring for a while after Jackson was gone. Sighing in turn, he collected his own lantern and went back to bed. He didn’t get much sleep.
Six days later, the scouts reported troop movements to the west. It was just a vanguard, but the bulk of the army likely followed close. With this news, activity intensified in the castle. Gawain organized the last preparations with feverish energy, using Sir Luken as a proxy for his orders. He had another inventory made of all weapons, armors, and missiles; he was satisfied to learn the castle had plenty of everything. One last bout of training took place; the soldiers performed satisfactorily. A scouting party was ordered to report on the enemy troops’ movements and numbers, and another to confirm the Emperor and his forces were on their way.
“Eighteen hundred, maybe two thousands,” he muttered to himself as he read the first party’s report the next morning.
“Is that bad?” Jackson said, munching on the chicken drumstick he was having for breakfast.
Around the table, two servants were bringing plates of food and filling cups with water.
“It’s more than we expected. The Emperor’s army numbers a little more than twelve hundred people. We may have to do a sortie to assist them unless your people get there right on time.”
“A sortie? When we’re outnumbered almost ten to one?” Alizana said. She was having pork chops, which she ate with her bare paws without so much as the help of a knife, much to the amusement and the disgust of the servants.
“Maybe. The troops the Emperor is bringing are his most veteran soldiers, but, with the numbers on his side, Elyonn might try for a pincer movement. If so, we’ll have to break it.”
“First, let’s focus on holding the walls,” she said.
The following day, time seemed to slow to a crawl. The preparations were done, there was nothing else to do but wait. Gawain gave everyone the day off to rest and recuperate; only a handful of soldiers stood watch on top of the walls and in the towers. Many went to the castle’s small temple, to pray for the Divine’s protection and deposit an offering, usually consisting of wood carvings. Others, worried they might get sick on the big day, went to visit the makeshift hospital that had been established on the castle’s ground floor by a few soldiers who had some knowledge in herbology as well as the mercenary sorcerer (Gawain had learned her name was Enita).
And so everyone at Badel Fort waited. The watchers became noticeably more antsy as hours went by. One of them almost gave the alarm in the early afternoon, believing he had seen troops on the horizon. However, it turned out to have been just five or six riders, who simply strode past the valley with no hurry; deserters or bandits, Sir Luken suggested. Other than that, Badel Plains remained empty through the day.
Gawain liked to think he was a patient man, but having to wait an entire day in his room was difficult. Thankfully, Sir Luken and later Jackson came to visit him, helping to kill time and relax his nerves by talking and playing several card games. Jackson and Gawain had not really talked since that night on the wall, and there was still some awkwardness, some tension between the two friends. Gawain wanted to resume their conversation, even though Jackson clearly thought it was over, but didn’t know what else to say. The words just wouldn’t come. Should I just tell him what will happen if they don’t bend the knee? he wondered as he and Jackson played a round of loads of spice. No… I don’t want to put a gun to his head. And he can probably guess anyway.
It wouldn’t come to that, would it? It couldn’t. Jackson would change his mind, surely. Swallow his pride, and do what is best for him and the Hellhounds. What is best for everyone. If Gawain could just find the right words, he-
Somewhere outside, a bell rang, soon followed by a clamor in the courtyard. Gawain ran to the window to confirm what he already knew: the enemy had arrived. He put on his armor with Jackson’s help, then helped him put on his, and both nearly ran up the stairs. In the courtyard, soldiers were running left and right, grabbing their weapons and heading to their post at speed. Officers were barking orders. The Hellhounds and the mercenaries came out of the barracks.
As they arrived on top of the castle, Gawain and Jackson were treated to a dreary spectacle: a large army, marching from the west, pouring into the valley. Even though he expected it, seeing all of those Legionnaires moving to surround the castle still sent a cold chill down Gawain’s spine.
Soon, the Legionnaires worked to establish camps, complete with baileys and towers. The lack of wood in the valley -most of the trees had been cut down by the garrison of Badel Fort specifically for this- delayed their construction, but only so much: they had brought building materials with them, and scouts were sent off to gather more. They worked with impressive speed and efficiency all through the night. When the sun rose above the valley again, lighting up a thick cover of clouds, four camps had been built, roughly at the four cardinal points; they had all naturally been built out of artillery range. Gawain had heard the reputation of the Legionnaires when it came to erecting camps or building siege weapons; supposedly, they were as gifted with a shovel or a hatchet as they were with a spear or a sword.
“There’s definitely two thousands of them out there,” Jackson said as he, Gawain, and Sir Luken went back to the top of the castle in the morning, in full suits of armor.
“You counted them?” Gawain said.
“Err, yeah. Yeah, I did.”
Gawain frowned. Did Jackson just lie? Well, it wasn’t important now. The calculation, whether they were his or not, was probably correct.
“Okay, so they’re here,” Jackson said. “Now what?”
“Well, now we prepare for an attack, and we continue to wait,” Gawain said.
“Waiting while there’s an army getting ready to kill us,” his friend sighed.
“It’s a strange feeling, isn’t it?” The young knight chuckled. “If it makes it easier for you, think that with every moment we spend waiting, our reinforcements get closer.”
Jackson nodded. “Half a day, you said?”
“Maybe less, if the Emperor orders a forced march.”
“Right. Plus, the Legionnaires have worked overnight,” Jackson said. “They’ll probably be resting before-”
The end of his sentence was covered by the sound of a horn, blown atop the westernmost enemy camp’s watchtower. The sound was echoed by three more horns in the other camps. Then, more noises arose from the camps in a gloomy commotion: foot stomping, metal clinging, and voices shouting. The armies of Elyonn were assembling for battle.
“Maybe they had different soldiers working the night shift and the day shift,” Jackson grumbled.
Gawain turned to Sir Luken and tasked him with defending the northern wall. His brother knight had a dashing smile, then went to his post. The man is never quite as happy as when he’s off to kill someone, Gawain thought. The young knight hurried down the stairs a minute after him, accompanied by Jackson. Gawain went to meet with the officers in the command room located on the second floor. The three officers were already assembled, discussing tactics. All agreed the western side took priority, as it was where the gatehouse was located. The enemy would of course attack from all sides, to try and take the walls, but most of their forces would be engaged on the gatehouse. Gawain listened without participating; though he was, in his quality as the Emperor’s knight, technically those officers’ superior, he preferred to defer entirely to them, owing to their experience. As they talked, Gawain saw Jackson cross the command room to go to the castle’s front door.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“You heard them: we need to focus on the western wall,” Jackson said.
“The officers don’t take part in the battle. We have to stay here and coordinate the garrison’s efforts.”
“That’s fine, you do that.”
“Now, hold on there!” Gawain ran to grab him by the shoulder. Lower, he said: “Please don’t put your life on the line. We need you in here, to command your people. If you… If you die, I- that won’t help anyone but the Hexacracy.”
“Don’t worry, Dave. I’m hard to kill.”
He tried to free his shoulder, but Gawain strengthened his grip. “Damn it, Jack! There’s no reason for you to go out there.”
“Actually, there’s thirty-seven reasons for me to go out there,” Jackson retorted. “And each and every one of those reasons agreed to come here and risk death because I asked them to. Hell, they’d all do the same for me. Also…” He leaned towards Gawain, and, with his trademark boyish grin, whispered: “I’m fucking one of those reasons. So… You get it.”
He gave Gawain’s arm a friendly punch, then turned on his heels and ran out. The knight hesitated a moment. Damnit, Jack. He sighed, gave the three officers an apologetic look, grabbed his shield, put on his helmet, and went after his friend.
Two lines of barricades had been built in the courtyard, behind the gatehouse. Up on the walls, the massed soldiers were standing ready for the attack. Among them, archers were readying their bows and arrows. Up on the towers, the engineers were preparing their weapons, their minds probably filled with calculations. As to the servants, pages, and other squires, they had been tasked with everything else that needed to be done: bringing supplies, carrying away the wounded, repairing any damage, dousing fires, or heating the oil that would be either used on the onagres’ projectiles or dropped on enemy soldiers from the wall. Gawain had seen that oil being used during a siege before; he quivered as he remembered that man, a knight of the Hexacracy, screaming shrilly as he thrashed in blind pain, his entire suit of armor smoking as if he was being cooked alive. Yes, that weapon was effective without a doubt. Unfortunately, it was also quite expensive: Badel Fort had just enough to fill six cauldrons.
Jackson was already on top of the western section of the wall, next to the gatehouse where the Emperor’s standard was floating defiantly. Half of his Hellhounds had taken post here as well. When Gawain joined him, Jackson was trading comments with one of the mercenaries that had accompanied him, a burly, bearded Human looking to be in his -very- late thirties or early forties.
“That’s a nice battering ram,” the man said. “Notice how they covered the canopy with animal hides? They soaked them in water to protect it from fire.”
Indeed, a battering ram was being pushed out of the western camp towards the castle’s gates, accompanied by a small detachment of perhaps three hundred men. It was one large log capped with what seemed to be a piece of iron or steel, mounted on six wheels and topped by a thick triangular roof. The Legionnaires had also built two or three dozen siege ladders, each looking to be about twenty-five feet tall, and several mantlets mounted on wheels. Three more detachments, each counting between one and two hundred Legionnaires, were sent from the other camps, set to attack the castle from the east, the north, and the south simultaneously. One Hellhound slinger tossed a Molotov cocktail at the ram, striking true from a good distance, but the flames barely took hold before they went away.
“Shit. If we can’t burn that thing, how do we deal with it?” Jackson said.
“You can attack a problem from more than one side, Greenleaf,” the older mercenary said.
“What’s that mean?”
“You’ll see,” a woman answered.
Gawain looked at her. It was Enita, the mercenary sorceress.
“Shouldn’t you be in the hospital?” Gawain inquired.
“There are no wounded as of yet, sir,” she said. “Can you have some oil brought to the gatehouse?”
“The oil? It’s not hot yet.”
“It doesn’t need to be.”
He frowned at her, wondering what she had in mind, then turned to a soldier and ordered him to have one of the cauldrons brought up now. The soldier frowned in turn, glanced at the woman, then whispered to the knight:
“Are you sure about her, my Emperor? She’s a sorceress. Should she have even been allowed in the castle?”
Gawain sighed. Mistrust towards sorcerers was common in Imperial culture. Quite a few stories were told, in both low and high society, about such practitioners of magic, all of which ended badly. Gawain didn’t believe they were all true, but knew that a few of them definitely were. He compared the use of magic without proper training to unlicensed gun owners in the other world: sure, not all of them ended up causing lethal accidents, but enough of them did that it justified the negative perception of them.
Nevertheless, this was a time for practicalities.
“That sorceress is on our side,” he told the soldier. “Would you turn away an ally at this time?”
The soldier silently accepted the argument, possibly because he didn’t want to argue with a superior officer.
By the time the oil was brought, using a system of pulleys and ropes, the battering ram had travelled over half the distance towards the gatehouse. The three other detachments had covered even more distance; the one assailing the northern wall was already moving to raise their ladders, under the cover of their archers. The defenders on the parapet were responding with their own archers, and were readying their spears to push back the ladders. Atop the towers, the engineers let loose several projectiles from their onagers and scorpions. The Legionnaires’ mantlets proved effective against the latter, but the former were able to destroy several of the wheeled walls. Unfortunately, both soon had to stop their fire: the attackers were now too close to the walls, and in addition Gawain and the officers had instructed the engineers to be parsimonious in the use of their weapons; they only had a limited quantity of projectiles, and there would no doubt be other assaults.
“All right,” Enita said as the cauldron was carried to her. “Pour it on the ground before the gate.”
“What?” someone blurted out.
“Do as she says,” Gawain said.
Two soldiers shrugged to each other, then hoisted the cauldron up, tipping it over the wall. The barely tepid oil went to form a pool before the gates, darkening the dirt path that led to it. The sorceress raised a hand and closed her hand; the soldiers around her recoiled as if she was about to explode.
“Shields up!” Gawain yelled out as archers below prepared their arrows. “Archers at the ready!”
He used his own shield to protect Enita, since no one else dared to approach her.
The eight Legionnaires pushing the battering ram had either not noticed the oil being poured in the tumult, or they didn’t care, and continued on their way. A volley of arrows rained down on the defenders. Gawain flinched when he felt one of the missiles strike into the steel of his shield. He heard a pained shout to his right; one of the soldiers had received a lucky arrow in the ankle. The defending archers responded with a volley of their own.
The battering ram continued to advance, the Legionnaires indifferent to the arrows that struck the canopy. Their detachment launched their assault as well, carrying five ladders to the wall next to the gatehouse. Gawain ordered the men to get ready, but focus on the ram. It was now thirty feet away from the gates. Twenty feet… Ten feet… Zero. The massive, iron-capped ram was pulled back, stretching its ropes like the lathes of a crossbow. The ram was released, striking the gate with a large BOOM that Gawain felt in his bones. The Legionnaires pulled the ram again, and-
It happened so fast Gawain’s eyes didn’t register it right away. There was a flash, followed by an explosion of flames, soon hidden by a screen of dark grey smoke. The Legionnaires screamed and coughed. One of them ran off, ripping off parts of his armor that had caught on fire. An archer on the wall fired an arrow, striking him in the neck. The others made a temeritous attempt to use the ram anyway, braving the danger. They only managed to hit the door once more before an officer ordered them to pull the siege weapon back in an effort to save it from the flames. In vain: minutes later, the supports weakened, and the canopy collapsed, knocking or possibly killing another of the Legionnaires. The six survivors fell back, trying to dodge arrows as they did.
Undeterred, the rest of their detachment still moved to take the gatehouse with their ladders. Four of the five were already being raised, one of the carriers of the fifth one having been killed by a scorpion’s missile. The Legionnaires were evidently not green in matters of siege warfare: they knew how to move the mantlets efficiently for maximum protection, how to raise the ladders quickly, and how to climb those even quicker. The defenders were raining arrows, spears, and rocks upon them, slowing their climb as much as possible; a young spearman even threw a bucket of refuse. Several Legionnaires lost their grip and fell, or died, but many held on.
All the while, long-handled spears were used to try and push back the ladders, but the soldiers on them made them too heavy to move. Four Hellhounds had more luck with one of the ladders, their considerable strength combined proving sufficient to topple it in spite of the dozen of Legionnaires holding on to it. The ladder fell down with its climbers, narrowly missing several Legionnaires on the ground. One of the climbers, the one nearest the top, fell head first and didn’t get back up; his iron helmet could not protect his neck.
The climbing Legionnaires, for the most part, had to be fought hand to hand. It didn’t help that the ladders had been raised distantly enough from each other that the defenders had to stretch their ranks to meet the assailants. Imperials and mercenaries fought hard, and the Hellhounds fought harder still. Gawain watched these creatures battle with awe, and a dose of fear. He was especially impressed when one of them grabbed a big brick that had gotten loose from the wall, and threw it single-handedly at one of the Legionnaires that had almost reached the parapet. Despite the protection of his shield, the throw was powerful enough to make him drop down the wall.
Two soldiers were standing between Gawain and the enemy, giving him the odd impression to be standing in line for death. That impression was reinforced when the first soldier fell, his helmet bashed by a Legionnaire’s flanged mace. As the soldier behind him stepped up, Gawain heard another Legionnaire shout a few sentences. Looking at him, the knight realized the man was pointing at him. Gawain had only ever learned two or three words in Hellian, but he could guess what the Legionnaire was saying: “I found the Emperor! The Emperor is here!”. Not many heard him over the sounds of battle, but a few of his fellows turned their heads, then refocused their attacks with renewed energy.
The second soldier fell after trading a few blows with not one, but two Legionnaires, one of whom he managed to wound. Without a second of delay, the two Legionnaires screamed something in their language, and attacked the man they thought was the Emperor. Gawain barely had time to raise his shield as both attacked simultaneously. Thankfully, the two Legionnaires didn’t coordinate their attacks, and had little room to maneuver. Having been trained to fight while outnumbered by using the enemy’s numbers against them, Gawain placed himself in such a way that his two opponents’ movements would hinder each other, then attacked them again and again, forcing them on the defensive.
The wounded one didn’t last long. At one point, his comrade-at-arms accidentally tripped him when their legs crossed, exposing his flank. Gawain quickly took advantage and struck with the point of his sword, piercing through his chainmail and digging into the flesh. That second wound proved too much for the Legionnaire to bear, and he dropped his sword with a wheezing grunt. The other Legionnaire pushed him aside without hesitation, and tried to retake the offensive against Gawain. The knight blocked with his shield, which he then used to bash him. The counterattack was blocked in turn, but it offered Gawain an opportunity to slash at his enemy’s head with his sword, removing the Legionnaire’s helmet. The uncovered Demon bared his teeth with anger, and moved to attack again. Then, there was a fleshy sound, and his eyes opened wide. Blood dripped from the back of his neck. He dropped to the ground, dead before he had realized what happened.
Standing behind him, his eyes sparking through the slit of his helmet, was Jackson, holding a small ax with a bloodied edge. Gawain quickly nodded his thanks, then went back to fight the nearest opponent.
The battle turned into a blur of blood and steel for Gawain after that, as adrenaline and later fatigue began to cloud his mind. The garrison managed to contain the assailants on the wall, who, refusing to back down, were eventually all killed. Two more ladders were pushed down before more Legionnaires could climb on, and the last one was burned by the sorceress, who used her powers to spread the flames from the still-burning remains of the battering ram. Eventually, as the sun passed the zenith behind the clouds, the enemy cancelled the assault, and retreated.
Some of the defenders shouted in relief and in victory, but they were soon covered by the screams and the moans from the wounded. Gawain felt that familiar disorienting emptiness when the adrenaline wears off, complete with the antsy sensations in his arms and legs. He blinked, then glanced around. Dozens of corpses littered the parapet on top and around the gatehouse, their blood staining the stones. Shaking himself off his post-battle trance, Gawain gave orders to bring the wounded on their side to the clinic, and for the sorceress to take care of them. As to the wounded Hexacrats, they were given a quick death, then tossed over the wall. A few of the defenders intended to give some of them “a bit of retribution” for their fallen comrades, but Gawain intervened. The moral arguments against torture had little sway, but he eventually convinced them by suggesting they save their forces for the next assault.
For another assault was coming, and probably sooner rather than later. Elyonn had only engaged a small portion of his forces, and barely a third of it had died, according to the officers’ estimates. In comparison, the defenders had lost a bigger portion of their manpower: thirty-seven soldiers in total, plus two too wounded to bear arms again. The latter number was originally eight, but the sorceress proved quite skilled in the healing arts. Alas, even the most gifted Archmage couldn’t have done much for someone who had lost a hand to an axe, or an eye to a lucky arrow. Gawain himself had been hurt. He hadn’t noticed in the heat of battle, but one of the Legionnaires had taken advantage of the Emperor’s armor’s vulnerability at the elbow to inflict a small wound. Happily, healing that proved child’s play to the sorceress.
The damage to the castle itself was minimal, thankfully. The gates had only suffered one single blow from the battering ram, and a few stones had been lost on the walls, but nothing else. Even the Emperor’s standard on the gatehouse was intact. It was almost certain Elyonn was making a deliberate effort to capture the castle as undamaged as possible, so he could use it against the incoming reinforcements.
“This was no real assault,” one of the officers asserted as they and Gawain met in the command room. “The Archcommander was just prodding, testing our mettle. I wager he’ll commit most if not all of his forces to the next attack. Himself included. We know he never shies from a good fight, and far be it from him to let one of his men kill the Emperor.” He chuckled. “Mayhaps one of us will chance to win the boon before our Emperor even arrives.”
The Emperor had promised land and title to whoever killed the Archdemon. Gawain already had a title, but while he considered one day acquiring some land to eventually retire on -and to leave his future children a legacy-, he had no intention to fight Elyonn head-on unless he was given no other choice. After the brief meeting was over, he went to check on Jackson. His friend was unhurt, as was Alizana. Only one Hellhound had died in the assault, to three determined Legionnaires who she had just managed to kill in return before her wounds did her in.
More supplies were brought to the wall and the towers. Quivers were refilled, lost or damaged weapons were replaced, and provisions of food and water were brought. Gawain ate his meal -salted pork, roasted mushrooms, some boiled vegetables- without much appetite, mostly because he didn’t want to fight on an empty stomach later on.
Then, it was back to waiting. Gawain and the officers allowed the soldiers to have some wine to boost morale. It also helped with the nerves, Gawain judged as he sipped some local white wine, while observing two of the enemy camps from atop the castle. He could see some intense activity from here. There was no doubt about it: the next assault would be the real one. And it was coming fast.
Something dripped on Gawain’s helmet. He raised his head. Great. Looks like we’ll be fighting in the rain. His jaw clenched when he realized this would also mean that the Emperor’s armies would likely be delayed. Just a few more hours, he told himself. We can hold on for a few hours.
Almost by rote, the tips of his fingers joined before him, and he mentally recited a prayer. To his surprise, he did not recite the Shema, but the White Beseeching, the prayer described in the White Book and which followers of the Divine must speak on their hour of dire need. Gawain had read the Divine Church’s scriptures quite a few times, but until then he had not realized they had left such an impression on him. Committing to this, he got down on one knee, and placed his joined hands against his forehead. He wasn’t sure whether he truly believed in that deity the Imperials named the Divine, but, after all, why not? In a world where fire could be created ex nihilo and the dead could rise from their graves, who could say an almighty deity transcending matter and mortality couldn’t exist? Maybe different worlds had different gods. Maybe this Divine was the same god his father used to pray to.
The rain grew worse, and Gawain went back inside. Judging by the thickness of the dark clouds above, the weather was not likely to let up until at least the evening.
Gawain went to look for Jackson. A page told him his friend had locked himself in his bedroom with the chieftain of the Hellhounds, and had not been seen in a while. Noises could be heard from beyond his door, lifting any doubts as to what precisely was transpiring on the other side. Sighing, the knight decided to knock anyway. He mentally counted to seventy before the door opened, revealing an underdressed and disheveled Jackson.
“Hey. Err, mind coming back in, like, an hour?”
“I do, actually. The enemy could attack us any minute now,” Gawain said.
“All right, fair enough.”
The door closed. Gawain leaned against a wall and waited some more. After maybe five or ten minutes, Jackson and Alizana came out, the latter wearing her armor of leather and hide, the former at least decent.
“Is there any way I can convince you to stay in the keep, this time?” Gawain asked.
“Nope. But this time, you can do that if you want. I’ll be like: “If you want the Emperor, you’ll have to go through me!” or something.”
He laughed; Gawain didn’t.
“Fine. But if I order us to fall back, you had better do just that.”
“I’ll make sure he does,” Alizana said.
Before anything else could be said, the alarm rang again, its ominous sound echoing in the castle’s hallways through the windows. Gawain and Alizana hurriedly helped Jackson put back his suit of armor, then ran out. A lieutenant hailed Gawain as they entered the courtyard.
“My Emperor! They’re coming for the gatehouse again. Hundreds of them, this time. One of the watchers says Elyonn is among them!”
“What about the walls?” Gawain said, keeping his tone low like his liege’s.
“Aye, it looks like they’ll be trying the south and north sides again, my Emperor. Nothing on the east side, though. The rain has made the ground too muddy there, it seems.”
Thank God for small miracles, Gawain said. He commanded the lieutenant to bring the defenders on the east wall to the gatehouse, leaving only a skeleton crew to man the watchtowers just in case. Then, he went to join his friend on the parapet above the gate. The soldiers reacted positively to his presence; if the Emperor chose to join the fight rather than hide in the keep, then surely there was hope for victory.
Beyond the wall, Gawain saw a large army marching towards the gate. There was no siege engine this time, not even a ladder. Instead, the Legionnaires were grouped in a tight formation, their shields raised before them in a perfectly lined-up wall. Their advance was steadfast, even as a hail of arrows washed over them. The scorpios and the onagers let loose upon them as well, and took out some of their numbers, but the fallen soldiers were quickly replaced, leaving no breach in the wall of shields that could be exploited. It was hard to gauge their numbers, but there was no doubt they outnumbered the defenders at least five to one, and probably more.
Two ranks of archers following the massed Legionnaires let loose several waves of arrows in return, and mostly hit rock or steel. Gawain ordered half of the soldiers on the parapet to join their comrades holding the barricades down in the courtyard.
The Legionnaires were at the gates in a matter of minutes. Once again, barely any rock or spear managed to pierce through the roof of shields they had raised above their heads. Even the boiling oil poured over them didn’t break them; a few were burned terribly, judging by their screams, but they didn’t so much as break rank before they fell. Enita tried again to set the oil ablaze, but found to her surprise she was unable to create so much as a spark.
“They have magical protection,” she said. “A powerful one, as well.”
Elyonn would not have attacked in person otherwise, Gawain thought.
A terrible sound shook the gatehouse, as if a giant had knocked on the wooden gates; Gawain felt it in his bones. Another shock followed soon, its sound even louder and more startling than the one before. Do they have another ram? Gawain thought. He had seen nothing of the sort.
“It’s him! It’s Elyonn!” a soldier leaning over the wall shouted. “He’s attacking the gates!”
A third powerful shock punctuated his sentence; this time, the deafening noise was accompanied by something sounding eerily like wood cracking. The Imperial soldiers atop the gatehouse tried focusing their attacks on the Archcommander, almost depleting their missiles as they did. In vain: the Legionnaires’ defense could not be broken. Some of Elyonn’s men even took an arrow or a spear to protect their leader. Another cauldron of boiling oil was poured, to no avail: four legionnaires were wounded and soon died, but Elyonn himself didn’t pay any mind to the hot liquid that had splashed his left flank, as if it had turned to tepid water on contact.
BOOOOM. This time, the sound that followed was that of cracked wood without the shadow of a doubt. Damn it, Gawain thought.
“Lieutenant, hold the gatehouse with the archers no matter what,” he ordered.
Then, he tapped Jackson’s shoulder, and told him and Alizana to follow. Drawing his sword, he went to join the soldiers down at the barricades. Several wooden beams and loaded crates had been placed against the gates to reinforce them. Gawain watched them shake with every hit. Cracks appeared in the gates, and chunks of wood dropped. A particularly strong hit dislodged a beam; two soldiers went to replace it, but another beam cracked and fell down before they could. A sergeant ordered them to stop their efforts and get back to the barricades. Moments later, one of the gates broke down.
With a roar, Legionnaires poured through the breach, climbing over the crates. The first line of defenders, hidden behind a barricade of wood and dirt built in a U, raised their shields and lowered their spears, and braced themselves. The contact was violent. Gawain couldn’t see it from the second line of defense, but he heard it. The Legionnaires had hurtled at the defenders right in front of the gates, weapons first, and slammed into their shields. Elyonn was not in the first lines, and in fact could no longer be seen in the mass of his warriors. Some of the defenders faltered under the violence of the impact, but the line held strong, greatly helped by the barricades. Then, the sergeants called for the defenders on the side to move forward, tightening their pincer move and trying to envelop the invaders.
The eventuality that the gates might fall was of course planned in advance by the Imperials. The plan in that case was to encircle the assailants, and either force them to retreat or kill them so that the gates could be retaken, then either repaired or blockaded.
Unfortunately, the Legionnaires proved just as resilient as the Imperials, and managed to block the sides’ advance, preventing them from closing in on them. Above them, the archers and soldiers atop the gatehouse continued to rain missiles at the bulk of the Legionnaires.
As the battle turned into a brawl, the rain turned into a storm, and the dirt of the courtyard turned into mud. The temperature dropped by a few degrees. The standstill continued for quite a while. A few times, the defenders -especially the Hellhounds- managed to push back the Legionnaires, but only by a few feet, and the Legionnaires recovered them soon.
Whenever an Imperial in the first line of defense fell, another from the second line moved up to replace them. Gawain felt more anguished every time that happened. The first line of defense had been built so that the Imperials would be able to contain the Legionnaires in spite of the latter’s superior numbers, but each loss was still badly felt. The Legionnaires had losses as well, though Gawain could not tell how many, nor how many more they could bring. He couldn’t even tell whether the Imperials were inflicting more casualties than they were receiving.
A bolt of lightning flashed through the sky, some distance east of the castle. The sound of thunder followed a few seconds later, barely heard over the rumble of the battle. Every five minutes or so, Gawain nervously glanced at the towers, on top of which the engineers were still busy reloading and firing their weapons. Each time, he hoped to see them raise the flag or hear them sound the alarm to signal the arrival of the Emperor and his forces. He would soon arrive, he told himself. The Emperor would soon arrive, to see his soldiers still holding Badel Fort as per his orders.
Suddenly, there was a dreadful noise, coming from near the first line of defense’s center, which Gawain compared to that of a car colliding into a wall. Two Imperials fell to the ground as if they had been charged by a bull; one of them was sent almost ten feet back. The Archcommander appeared, wielding a steel war hammer with a head the size of an infant in one hand, and a longsword in the other. Gawain gasped as he saw him. He had heard people describing him as a giant of a man, and assumed it was hyperbole. It was not. The Archdemon was taller than even the Hellhounds, with broad shoulders and large limbs. He wore a large suit of silver-colored plate armor, complete with a great helm from the sides of which his long, curled, jet black horns protruded. The chestplate and the pauldrons were covered with strange carvings which Gawain suspected to be related to the Arcanes: they were somewhat similar to those he had observed on some Inquisitors’ properties.
Three Imperial soldiers, including one from the second line, closed in to engage him. The Archdemon reacted faster, striking them before they had even made their move. His hammer crushed the first soldier’s helmet, splashing blood on his armor, while his longsword cut the second’s leg just below the knee; in spite of the chainmail, the wound looked rather deep. Immediately after, both weapons moved again, attacking the third soldier. The longsword deflected away the Imperial’s spear, leaving his flank open for the war hammer to strike, this time with the claw. The third Imperial let out a pained rattle as the sharp end entered his flank, and the strength of the hit very nearly made him fall. The second Imperial, who had fallen to his knee, didn’t have time to get back on his feet when the longsword plunged in his unprotected groin. A pint of blood dripped from him, mixing with the mud below, and he met the ground. Gawain was astounded: all of this had taken perhaps fifteen seconds.
The third Imperial didn’t last much longer. The hammer struck him again, straight to the front of his head, and he died within seconds. Nausea hit Gawain as he saw what was left of the man’s face, half-buried in the mud. The nausea was quickly replaced by dread when the Archdemon turned and saw him. Gawain heard him scream something in Hellian; once again, he didn’t understand the words but the meaning was clear.
Pushing through the breach he had created in the first line, Elyonn ran to the second line, straight at the man he believed to be the Emperor. Three of his Legionnaires followed him into the fray. Behind them, the first line struggled to close the breach, Elyonn’s attack having apparently invigorated the Legionnaires. Gawain took his battle stance, his hand tightening on his sword’s handle. The two soldiers flanking him stepped forward. Unlike their three comrades who had just lost their lives, they didn’t try to attack. They focused their strength on their defense, planting their tower shields in the ground and leaning against them as if they were trying to hold up a wall against a flood.
They held… just. Both of the Archdemon’s weapons struck the shields’ steel with a terrible sound that resonated in Gawain’s stomach, leaving a visible dent. A soldier threw his spear at the Archcommander, but the sharp end seemed to bounce off his armor without leaving the smallest mark. The same thing happened when two archers on top of the gatehouse aimed at him and fired their arrows. From the corner of his eye, the young knight noticed his friend Jackson moving up on his left. In his hand was his service pistol instead of his sword. He took aim, then pulled the trigger. Unfortunately, the Archdemon had gone on the attack again within seconds, slamming his hammer against one of the soldiers’ shields, hard enough to bend steel and throw the man back. The bullet flew past his shoulder, and hit one of the Legionnaires behind him, piercing right through him and coming out of his back with a red mist, and killing him within moments.
Alarmed by the sound of the shot, the Archdemon took notice of Jackson and temporarily lost interest in Gawain. He charged, while Jackson fired again twice. Once again, the Archdemon proved quicker than he looked -quicker than his body mass and the weight of his armor should allow, Gawain decided-, and dodged the first shot, while the second went through the side of his armor, drawing a little blood. Thankfully, this simple wound surprised him and slowed his charge, enough so that Jackson was able to jump back in time and dodge Elyonn’s attack. Gawain was about to run to his friend’s assistance, as did Alizana, until he glanced at the first line of defence again.
The defenders were getting overwhelmed. The Legionnaires’ aggression was now bordering on madness, to the point where they recklessly threw themselves at their enemies, risking their lives to crush them. And, unfortunately, with numbers on their side, the tactic was working. Gawain estimated that the first line was minutes away from crumbling completely. There was only one thing left to do.
“Fall back!” he called out. “Fall back to the keep! To the keep!”
The order was relayed by the sergeants and the lieutenants. The first line retreated first, losing a third of its men as it did, quickly followed by the second line. Several soldiers stayed back to allow their comrades-at-arms to make it safely back to the keep, either by command or by their own will. Everyone ran to the keep, the Legionnaires hot on their heels. The keep’s main doors were closed with seconds to spare, though two soldiers had to be shut out. Gawain heard one of them scream in fear and agony, before he went quiet.
Furniture and planks were brought to block the main doors, and the entrance hall was barricaded. Archers went to take their positions at the top of the keep. Over a dozen people were brought in haste to the clinic, which was already near capacity. A quick count was made: a little under a hundred people had made it back safely to the keep. Gawain isolated himself and took off his helmet to wipe some sweat off his hair. He grabbed a cup of water and emptied it in one gulp.
“What of the soldiers in the gatehouse?” Gawain inquired as he went back to the main room, helmet back in place.
“They have joined Sir Luken,” one of the engineers informed him. “He is still holding the northern wall.”
“Any sign of the reinf-”
“They’re close.”
Gawain to the person who had answered him -before he could finish his question, even. It was a Demoness, one of the people who had accompanied Jackson and Alizana to the castle. He had seen her before, briefly, but this was the first time he interacted with her. She was a little taller than him, with dark red skin, several tattoos, and braided short hair. The woman was not looking at him, but at the fire that had been lit in the main room’s hearth so that people could dry themselves off after the rain. In fact, she was staring into it, without blinking.
“You’ve seen… him?” Jackson asked her, lowering his voice so that no one else would hear.
“No, my scrying cannot reach him. I have seen his soldiers.”
Ah, a scryer, Gawain thought. That explained a few things -including how she apparently knew Gawain wasn’t the Emperor. He raised his chin at Jackson. Can we trust her? he silently asked. Jackson nodded in return.
“How far away is he?” Gawain asked the scryer.
“An hour march. Possibly less. I sensed a strong fire in the hearts of his men. They are hurrying despite the elements.”
Hearing this birthed an empowering warmth beneath Gawain’s chest, strong enough that he forgot the water soaking his gambeson for a moment. An hour. They had made it through most of the day, they could make it through one single more hour. They could. They would.
Gawain repeated these last words to himself again and again as he heard the Legionnaires attack the keep’s gates. Elyonn is not giving his men any minute to breathe. Nor us. He wants the Emperor dead at all costs. Gawain chuckled without humor. I wonder how he’ll react when he takes off my helmet and finds out that the man he killed wasn’t- He blinked. Where did that thought come from? Gawain had absolutely no intention of letting the Archcommander kill him. The atmosphere of battle had left him feeling morbid, no doubt. In addition, seeing Elyonn kill several of his comrades-at-arms so quickly and efficiently, while shrugging off virtually every attack, certainly had had an effect on him.
He turned to his friend Jackson, who was leaning against a wall with his helmet off, his blonde hair a bigger, sweatier mess than Gawain’s. He was still holding his pistol with both hands; the image of a man in knight armor holding such a weapon was kind of amusing to Gawain. That pistol… Gawain thought. Come to think of it, Jackson had succeeded where others had failed: he had hurt Elyonn. It was a small wound, but it was a wound nevertheless. Gawain took a closer look at the gun. There appeared to be several sigils painted on it in some kind of dark red ink or paint, similar to those Gawain had noticed on Elyonn’s armor. Interesting. Jackson removed the magazine to count the bullets left; he had apparently emptied half his clip already.
Alizana tapped his shoulder, and he put his helmet back on. The doors were about to give in. The two of them hugged, then kissed. Several Imperial soldiers made a prayer, some out loud, some under their breath. Non-combatants were hurriedly sent to the upper floors and told to hole up there.
There was a terrible fracas, and the doors broke off their hinges, in spite of the boards and the two soldiers holding them still. Legionnaires poured in like water in a sinking ship. A deafening pandemonium of screams and roars filled the halls. Gloom took hold of Gawain’s stomach as he saw Elyonn once again take the lead of his men, his longsword slashing into an Imperial’s armor like butter. One hour might be too much after all. He grabbed Jackson by the arm.
“There’s no reason for you two to die here. If you go through the servant’s door in the back, then to the northeast corner of the wall, you’ll find a postern. It’s getting dark out there. With some luck, you might be able to-”
“Forget that, Dave!” Jackson retorted, shaking his arm free. “I’m not leaving you to die here. You’re not gonna kill that bastard without me anyway.”
Alizana shot her lover a look. It seemed she wasn’t as convinced staying was a good idea. All the same, she followed him as he went to meet the first Legionnaires who had made their way through the entrance hall to the main room. Those five warriors had managed to pass through the defenders, but had separated themselves from the rest as they did. As a result, they quickly found themselves surrounded. Jackson and three Imperials pinned them in place, while Alizana and one of her Hellhounds attacked them from both sides, their claws working wonders against their armors. They were dead before they had made more than four steps into the main room.
The small victory brought no comfort to Gawain. In the entrance hall, the fight was once again turning against the defenders. They had been split into two groups, while the Legionnaires, headed by their Archcommander, had formed a salient that was pushing to the main room’s entry. Several valiant Imperials tried to stand in his way, but at most only managed to slow him down. One particularly brave or desperate jumped on his back and tried to stab him in the throat with a dagger. He had managed to remove the Archcommander’s bevor before the latter elbowed him in the face, then shook him off, throwing him to the ground. The Imperial barely had time to get up on his hands and knees before Elyonn finished him off by cutting off his head.
All the while, Gawain saw Jackson, standing about seven feet to his right, aiming his pistol at the Archcommander. Due to the crowding, he was unable to get a good angle. He tried anyway, but only ended up wasting some ammunition.
Another Imperial died, Elyonn’s sword cutting him so deeply he was almost halved. And then, the way to the main room was opened to the Archcommander. He didn’t waste time and ran in, evidently going for Jackson and Gawain and ignoring everyone else in the room. Jackson didn’t waste time either and immediately opened fire again. This time, Elyonn had fewer room to dodge, and only managed to escape two of the four bullets aimed for him. The two others, however, hit him in the left thigh and on the left part of the chest. Unfortunately, that wasn’t enough to stop him: he staggered somewhat, then went back on the attack. There was a clicking sound and a curse; Gawain realized with horror that his friend had run out of bullets -a horror his friend clearly shared. He quickly ran to him, opening his pouch with one hand to-
Something like cold thunder ran through his guts. Literally ran through: he felt it go through his stomach, then his intestines, and finally coming out of his back. An ominous numbness seized his legs, robbing them of any strength, and he went tumbling down. As a metal taste tainted his tongue, he glanced down and saw his blood pooling under him, as well as a large cut in the lower part of his plackart. He barely felt any alarm as he realized the Archdemon had skewered him with his longsword. By rote, he placed one of his hands on the wound. Not much pain, he thought. Shouldn’t there be more pain? All sound was dulled around him; the only one he could hear clearly was some sort of raspy wheeze that he initially thought to be the wind, only to realize it was his breathing. He tried to stand up, but it was as if his legs no longer obeyed his brain. Even his hips remained immobile.
His eyes swiveled up, and he saw Alizana engaged in a fight with Elyonn, along with several Hellhound warriors and Imperial soldiers. The Hellhounds fought fiercely, the Imperials desperately. In spite of having the numbers against him, the Archdemon held his own. Gawain then looked to his right, and saw Jackson, also down on the stone floor, squirming in evident pain. The nasty dent in his chestplate left little doubt as to what happened to it -and to his ribs on the left side. Then, Gawain noticed something else between him and his friend. The pistol.
It laid on its side, about three feet away from Gawain, its chamber pulled back. With a quivering hand, he clutched the magazine in his pouch and retrieved it, accidentally dragging out his dog tags as he did. Then, with an enormous effort and a painful wheeze, he pushed on the floor to flip on his stomach. The hard stones felt like a punch against his gut wound. He placed his elbow before him, then dragged himself on the floor. Then the other elbow. And again. And again. Each move felt as if his life was drained from his body.
Finally, after an eternity of labor, the tips of his fingers touched the gun. His vision had blurred considerably, and he could no longer contain the blood mixed with drool that welled out of his mouth. He heard a shout. A booming voice, the sort that had to belong to a giant. Then, footsteps, stomping the stony floor, headed towards him.
Gawain turned again, flipping on his back. The Archdemon was nearly on him. With every ounce of energy he had left in him, Gawain ejected the empty clip, replaced it, and pulled the chamber. The big blur that was Elyonn raised his war hammer. Gawain pointed the gun roughly in his direction, his arm barely strong enough to lift itself off the ground. He pressed the trigger, again, and again, and again, and again.
Then, all fell silent, safe for the ringing in his ears. Elyonn stood still for a moment, then took a step back. The Archdemon swiveled, spoke something Gawain couldn’t hear, then collapsed.
The young knight took a deep breath, his eyes closing by themselves. The sounds came back, muted as though heard through glass. More footsteps. Voices. Something grabbed him by the shoulders, and lifted his head. Gawain forced his eyes to open. Everything now looked dimmed and distorted. There was someone above him; Gawain could only see his silhouette. It slowly came into focus. Human… Young… Jackson. Gawain sensed his mouth twist into a smile. His friend said something; he saw his lips move, but couldn’t make out the words. He wanted to say something in return, but there was no energy left in his vocal chords. Instead, he held out his fist to him, and opened it, dropping the dog tags it contained in his friend’s hand.
Before long, all was comfortably dark and quiet.
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