David Dalglish - The Old Ways

“They’ll hold,” one said to him as he stood at his side.

“If not, then we will,” Jerico said, and he smiled a smile he knew they all needed to see.

Screams filled the air. Glancing up, he saw the men on the walls pouring boiling oil on the attackers. Others shoved stones through murder holes, the sharp rocks plentiful because of the caves. Arthur’s archers were few, but they loosed arrow after arrow while ducking behind the ramparts when Sebastian’s men returned fire. More oil, and for a brief moment, the slamming against the gates stopped.

Jerico dared to hope. Perhaps something had broken the wheels of the battering ram, or Sebastian’s general had lost his taste for bloodshed facing such casualties. It was a false hope, and he knew it, but the respite from that constant hammering was still welcome. He took a step forward, and looked to the men when the battering ram resumed its work, despite the oil, the arrows, and the killing stones.

“The archway is tight,” he told them. “Two men abreast, that is all they can send. When it breaks, I’ll be there. My shield will block the way, and unlike wood, unlike stone, I will not break. Stand with me, at my side. Let our enemies see no fear, see no doubt. Let them see a wall of swords!”

Silence greeted him, but he saw the resolve hardening in their eyes. As he turned to the gate, he heard a single sarcastic clap from Jerek upon the walls.

“Good show,” he shouted. “Hope you meant it, because they’re coming through!”

Jerico felt his own terror crawl up his throat, and he choked it down.

“Play the hero,” he whispered.

The thickest of the boards snapped, one half twisting and falling free to the ground. The gates flung open violently upon the next smash, revealing the carnage on the other side. Dead men lay slumped, arrows in their bodies. Others were horribly burned by oil, flesh charred and bubbling. Some were still alive, moaning softly or shaking. So many dead, maybe fifty, maybe a hundred, but it didn’t matter. The gates had fallen.

Time to play the hero.

“With me!” he cried, rushing forward as Sebastian’s men poured into the archway. Jerico’s shield led the way, and it shone with a vicious light. He threw all his weight into the charge, his head ducked low and his legs pumping. A handful of men made it out of the archway as his charge met them, smashing aside one as if he were a child. Jerico’s mace swung, punching through chainmail to crack ribs and puncture lungs, and then he spun, striking down a third trying to rush past him.

Without thinking, he pushed his shield forward in the air, though nothing pressed against it. A sound filled the courtyard, like that of a thunderclap. The closest attackers jolted backward as if struck. Their weapons flailing, their feet out of position, Jerico rushed ahead, the flanged edges of his mace tearing flesh and splattering blood across the stone archway. He stopped just before it, so the men above could continue to hurl their stones and fire their arrows.

For a moment it seemed that time slowed, and there was a pause in the attacks as the next wave of men prepared. Behind him, the rest of Arthur’s soldiers cut down Sebastian’s men, who were scattered and few. They took up positions beside him, and they cheered at the victory. Jerico breathed in heavily, knowing it was just a start.

But the delay in the attack wasn’t a figment of his imagination, or a quirk of battle. He heard shouting, and from what he could see through the gate, the attackers were redirecting men away from the castle.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Jerek peered through the defenses, then spun, a grin on his face.

“It’s Kaide!”

Whatever effect the bandit leader had, it wasn’t enough. Jerico tried not to think of what he’d say if he met the man. Odds were high neither would live, and he found that comforting enough. The next wave of men gathered, shields raised to protect them from Arthur’s arrows. They were nearly a hundred in number, fresh in strength, and with many reinforcements.

But Jerico stood against them, and as they charged, he lifted his shield high and cried out the name of Ashhur.

T hey’d crept among the hills, avoiding the road as much as possible. They were only a hundred, without armor or significant training. But Sandra knew her brother would steal every bit of advantage he could find. Their scouts had alerted them to the start of a frontal assault on the castle, and within minutes they were out and ready. A hundred men, plus Sandra, traveling with an unnerving silence.

“Their leaders will be in the back, watching the siege,” Kaide had told them as they exited the camp. “If we’re lucky, we’ll smash their skulls in before they know we’re there. Might even get Greg, too, if we’re lucky. And Bellok has a fine surprise for them, as well.”

The men had cheered, the last bit of noise, really, before heading out. Bellok was their wizard, his power minor compared to those trained and belonging to the Council of Mages. But Bellok had aided them before, at the Green Gulch, and the way he grumbled, they all thought he had another trick up his long sleeves.

All of them held their weapons ready, and Sandra was no exception. Kaide, realizing she would not stay away from the combat, had given her a spear, the tip freshly sharpened.

“It isn’t an easy thing, killing,” he’d told her, handing it over.

“I’ve seen people die,” she said in return. “And with Jerico, I also killed. Don’t lecture me.”

Now she walked amid their meager army of rebels, bandits, farmers, and criminals. But they moved silently, and toward an army unaware of their approach.

“Stay with me,” Adam said, keeping his deep voice low so it was no louder than the general sound of their movement.

“Fuck that,” Griff said, sliding up beside her. “You’ll be safer with me.”

“I’ll stay with you both,” she said, smiling to hide her nervousness. “And I’ll stab anyone who tries at your backs. Sound like a plan?”

The twins grinned at her.

“The little Goldflint’s got some teeth,” Adam said, and they both laughed far, far too loud.

They crossed the final hill to see the army encampment at the bottom. Before Kaide could give the order to charge, a cry went up from a distant hill. A combination of fear and swearing went through the army as they realized they’d been spotted by a scout.

“Charge!” Kaide screamed. “Surprise is lost, so hit them now or die!”

He turned to the wizard. “Bellok!”

Bellok lifted his arms, and as the bandit army charged downhill, the wizard cast the strongest spell he could muster. He was no expert at fire, could not conjure boulders of ice or arrows of shadow, but he could manipulate time. Sandra felt a strange tingling in her skin, and then realized the whole world had come to a standstill. It did not last for long, maybe a heartbeat. Sebastian’s men turned, trying to shift aside lines and pull in troops from the castle to guard their rear flank, but they did so as if moving through molasses. With each passing moment they moved faster, closer to their original speed, but that brief delay was all that mattered.

Sandra followed Adam and Griff, both wielding enormous clubs. The spell was just starting to end when they met resistance, the soldiers moving far too slow to avoid their attacks. Two clubs smashed either side of a man’s head, and Sandra felt shock at how his face crumpled and blood shot from his mouth. Only sheer momentum kept her moving, and when Adam hit another hard enough in the stomach to double him over, Sandra thrust her spear through the exposed gap at his shoulder. The tip pierced below his neck and into his lungs. His limbs flailed as he died. Sandra pulled, trying to free it, as Kaide’s men blasted through tents and leapt against disorganized lines.