There I
was. Waiting. In the first large courtyard of Hungate Castle. This courtyard was the closest one
to the Badlands, which is where the enemy loomed.
Just outside our castle walls there was an army only distinguishable by the
terrorising war-horns and the echoing drums from beyond. Trying to intimidate
us. I stood proudly at the top of a column of soldiers; my soldiers; my
garrison; I was in charge of roughly fifty men that held a sword in their right
hands and a shield in their left. They looked so scared. Dressed in
predominantly metal armour, but with flashes of red cloth from underneath they
obeyed my every command without hesitation. Looking around I see identical
columns of troops standing adjacent to mine, there’s at least twenty, all
standing, waiting. Every single soldier had one word rattling through their
mind like an unwanted pest scraping on the inside of their worried skull:
Defend.
It was
tense when the officer rode up on a large brown stallion; the officers’ name
was Sir Pasco. Wiping sweat off of his brow with his gauntlet he boomed,
“The King
has issued the order, do whatever necessary to defend your homes! Do whatever
necessary to defend your family! And do
whatever necessary to defend your King!” to which every swordsman, archer and spearman
exclaimed dedicated cheers, including me. “King Rulf has made a mistake by
trespassing within our lands with his weak army!” continued Sir Pasco. “They
will not be alive to make that mistake again! May the Gods prove this battle,
short, easy and casualties a few. Best of luck my brave men!” He ended his
speech and rode off back in the direction he came from, wading through loud
cheers and war cries.
I turned to
my men, gave them a long and trustful stare then shouted, “Onto the walls!” and
with a point of my gleaming blade lead my fifty-few up a narrow staircase onto
the first defensive barrier between us and the enemy. On the stone wall stood archers,
each at their own crenel overlooking the fearsome Badlands. I stopped and shouted, “Take
position along the wall and fend off any ladders that you encounter. Any enemy
that makes it onto the wall, kill them!” I strode over to the crenel as an
archer moved one step to the left and saluted me. Looking out was a sight I
would never forget, an uncountable number of men stood about eight hundred
metres from our castle walls, each garbed in a dirty green colour with cheap
chain mail torso’s, sword in one hand, shield in another. Among the army were
various contraptions including catapults, trebuchets, battering rams and
ballistae that would tear down the walls we were stood on like it was scissors
going through paper. The archer gave me a worried look when I patted him on the
shoulder and wished him luck. Further along the wall I spotted one of our own
ballista sitting upon a formidable looking square-shaped tower, it was
basically a giant crossbow that sat and fired giant bolts over a great
distance. Not far until the enemy will be
in range for them to impale the dogs. I thought.
Giving my
sturdy men a reassuring glance I sat and waited for a mere seventeen minutes
before the enemy drums stopped, the war-horns creased and the emanating sound
of ugly shrieking exploded from eight hundred meters away and drowned any
possible sound from escaping anyone’s lips, every green dressed soldier ran at
the feeble walls crying one single word and holding the note until it formed an
uniformed scream: Attack.
>G
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