Morgan Rice - A Vow of Glory

But there came another volley, right back.

The battle intensified, and arrows sailed through the air in every direction, the Empire taking heavier casualties as most of the Silesians were spared, able to take cover behind the thick stone walls. But as the battle continued, more and more Silesians got killed as they fired. There were perhaps a dozen Silesian soldiers dead, compared to the hundreds of Empire—but the Silesians had fewer men to spare.

It was all happening so quickly, Gwen could barely process it. It had gone from absolutely nothing, from days of calm, of endless waiting, to a sudden, ferocious battle.

The Empire rolled the battering ram towards the gate once again, denting it further and shaking the ground as they struck it with a crash.

Kendrick stepped forward, rallying the Silver.

“CAULDRONS!” he screamed.

Kendrick rushed forward, Atme by his side, along with a dozen Silver, and together they hoisted a huge iron cauldron over the edge of the wall. Moments later, boiling tar came gushing over the edge, pouring down on the soldiers manning the battering ram. In perfect unison, a dozen Silver leaned over with their bows, arrows aflame, and fired.

Screaming erupted as the soldiers caught fire—stopping them just before they had time to ram the gate again.

But within moments, dozens more troops simply pushed the flaming soldiers out of the way and took up the battering rams themselves.

Gwen was struck with a hopeless feeling. The number of Empire troops seemed limitless, and no matter how many they killed, it seemed futile. For every hundred that died, two hundred more appeared. All the while, the horizon just continued to flood with them, as far as the eye could see, row after row, division after division, cramming together like a million worker ants. The death of several hundred Empire didn’t even put a dent in their forces.

Yet on the Silesian side, every single death had an impact. By any measure they were fighting tremendously well, holding off a huge army with a fraction of the men—yet still, they felt every loss—and Gwen saw their ranks beginning to thin, their munitions beginning to dwindle.

It was obvious that Andronicus had no regard for life, that he would just keep sending men to their deaths without another thought. It even seemed as if that were his strategy—to just keep offering up as many of his own men as he could, until the Silesians ran out of arrows, tar, spears. Eventually, they would. Fighting against any other commander would have given the Silesians a chance; but against Andronicus, against a man who didn’t even care about his own people, what chance was there? Gwen wondered. Was he that merciless to sacrifice so many thousands of his own people without a second thought?

As Gwen watched soldier after soldier fall to their deaths below, she realized that he was.

Before she could finish the thought, she caught a glimpse of something sailing at her out of the corner of her eye, and this time, she ducked in time. Inches over her head their sailed a huge, flaming boulder. It soared through the air, over the parapets, and landed inside the city. It landed deep in the ground, like a flaming comet, and impacted with such force that it shook the ground. After it landed it continued to roll, stopping only when it smashed into a stone wall in a burst of fire and flame.

Dozens of these flaming boulders suddenly soared through the air, one shattering the stone wall close to her head. Gwen, on her hands and knees, peaked through a slit to see that a row of catapults had been rolled forward, and dozens of soldiers were arming them with boulders, setting them aflame with some sort of liquid, cranking back the ropes until taught, then slicing to let it go.

The ground and walls shook all around her as these boulders flew through the air like arrows; scream rose up, and dozens of her men died.

“FIRE ON THE CATAPULTS!” Gwen shouted. “Aim for the men manning them!”

Her orders were shouted and repeated up and down the ranks, all along the parapets, and all the archers turned their attention from the troops manning the battering rams to those manning the catapults. A hail of arrows shifted towards them, wounding and killing most of the soldiers.

But the move must have been anticipated by Andronicus’s men, because as soon as Gwen’s archers stood and fired, exposed, they were fired upon themselves, dozens of spears hurling through the air and impaling them, Gwen was horrified to see. Their screams rose up, and their bodies toppled over the edge, crashing down below.

“I want to join!” yelled a voice. “I want to join the fighting!”

Gwendolyn turned and was shocked to see her brother Godfrey approaching, breathing hard, slightly overweight, huffing and puffing in his cloth armor, his face red from exertion, his eyes wide with fear.

“Get down!” she screamed, and Steffen yanked him down just in time, as a spear soared over his head.

“I want to fight!” he cried. “Please! Give me a position!”

Gwendolyn looked at Kendrick, who nodded back.

“You can join my men,” Kendrick said. “Have you ever fired a bow?”

“Of course!” Godfrey said. “Father had us all take lessons.”

“But do you remember?” Kendrick pressed.

Godfrey stared back, wide-eyed, trembling.

“I think so,” he said.

“Take this,” Kendrick said, reaching over and handing him a spare bow and quiver. “And take up a position along this wall, with the archers. Stay low and don’t expose yourself. Await my command!”

Godfrey did as he was told, hurrying over and taking up a position, kneeling down with shaking hands as he took an arrow from the quiver and loaded the bow. He was so nervous that he, fumbling, dropped the quiver, and his arrows all spilled out.

But then he regained himself, loaded an arrow, and stuck his head up for a moment over the stone wall. An arrow sailed by, just missing it, and he knelt back down, trembling.

“I told you to stay down!” Kendrick yelled.

“I’m sorry,” Godfrey said. He looked as if he were about to cry.

“Don’t give into your fear,” Kendrick commanded. “Take a deep breath. Stay low to the ground, always.”

Godfrey shut his eyes and breathed deeply, several times.

“ARCHERS!” Kendrick yelled. “FIRE!”

Godfrey opened his eyes, took aim through a slit in the wall, pulled the bow back with shaking hands, and fired. He watched through the slit in the wall.

His face fell as he realized that he missed.

But he placed another arrow on the bow, his hands a bit more steady this time, and took a knee, took careful aim, and fired.

“I got him!” he screamed in triumph. “I can’t believe it! I really got him!”

Gwen was thrilled to see Godfrey out of the alehouse, fighting by their side. She was so proud of him.

On her other side, not far off, was her new brother-in-law, Bronson, who had been fighting nobly with the others, even with one hand, finding a way to fire arrow after arrow at Andronicus’ men, and taking out many of them. Luanda was somewhere tucked safely inside the lower city, which she expected her to be.

All that was missing, she pained to think, was Thor.

Suddenly there came an unfamiliar noise, a loud creaking, and Gwen craned her neck and peeked through the slits of the stone wall to see what it was. Her heart fell.

Scores of Empire soldiers parted ways to make way as dozens of men pushed forward carts in the mud, on top of which were piled tall, wooden ladders. There must have been a hundred of them, and they heaved the carts closer and closer to the outer wall.

“TORCHES!” Kendrick screamed.

All up and down the parapets, soldiers and their attendants lit their torches.