Kenden wrenched his blood-drenched blade out of an attacker's neck, spilling his lifeblood over the already slick crimson stone. Without slowing, he charged another that cleared the battlements, carving through the brute's midsection and spilling his entrails before he could even stand straight.
Kenden's muscles ached unbearably with every swing, thrust and parry. Sweat drenched every part of his body and dripped into his eyes, stinging them bitterly, but he had not the time to wipe them away. One false move or drop in defense and he would be as dead as the hundred enemies that had fallen by his blade that day. With every passing minute that he fought, he tired a little more. A score of wounds riddled his body, several were deep enough to be serious, but he had no time to think of that.
Kenden could see the defenders were losing ground, as they were forced back near the other side of the wall and now nearly as many enemies lined the wall as defenders. If they could not turn the tides soon, Mandrake would be lost.
*****
"Sir, sir!" a blood-soaked soldier cried out as he ran across the northern battlements to Furlac. The fighting was much less over here and the enemy had not come close to gaining a foothold against the defenders.
Furlac slashed his sword down, cleaving an enemy warrior's skull near in half as his head came over the battlements. "What is it?"
"We are losing the western wall, Sir; we will not be able to hold them back much longer."
Furlac stepped back from his crimson-soaked area on the northern wall and wiped the thick grimy sweat from his brow. He looked down both lengths of the wall, fighting was thick the entire length down, no fighters here could be spared to help reinforce the west side. He cursed. He knew once they had run out of boulders to fire into the enemy that this would happen.
"Soldier!" Furlac bellowed to the messenger. The soldier slashed his sword down twice dispatching a duo of enemy warriors breeching the wall before he turned to regard Mandrake's advisor.
"Yes, sir?"
"Do you know where Lazay is?" Furlac asked.
"I believe he went to the infirmary to rest and regain his strength."
"Good, I need you to go to the engineers manning the catapults, tell them to load them up with whatever they can find that will kill, anything! We need that reprieve at least!" Furlac ordered.
"Lazay! Where is he?" Furlac barked, bursting through the makeshift hospital doors and grabbed the nearest man. "Where is Lazay!"
"Over there!" The surgeon pointed off to the far corner where sheets had been hung up to add some form of privacy.
Furlac released the bloodstained man and ran across the room to where the man had pointed. The stone floor had sand all over it, to help soak up the blood and allow walking without slipping.
"Lazay, Lazay!" Furlac hollered, pulling the sheet aside.
The Wizard lay on a small wooden cot. He looked weak and weary; his once thin age lines were now deep and gloomy turning his once soft and bright demeanor, ominous. He looked as if he has doubled in age since last Furlac had seen him.
Lazay's eyes pulled open. "What? What is it?"
"We need you old friend and whatever powers you can possibly muster. We are losing the western wall. It is only a matter of time; it may already be too late," Furlac explained, regret starting to pain him at the sight of his friend.
Lazay pulled himself upright, his feet planted uneasily on the gritty floor. He took a large swallow of lukewarm water from the mug by his bed. "I will do what I can," he said as he stood, his knees almost buckled under his skinny frame, but Furlac was there to support him. "I just fear it will not be enough."
*****
"Are ye sure lad?" the engineer replied, his right eyebrow cocked high in wonder.
"Furlac said anything that could be loaded into the catapults that would inflict casualties upon the enemy!" The soldier repeated loudly over the sound of battle above. "We need to slow the enemy down however we can; every moment that passes is another inch on that wall we lose."
The Captain understood that reasoning with firm determination. "Every one of ya's get going and grab anything you can, anything that can kill, anything that has a good weight to it!" he barked out to his score of men. "Now get moving ya sheep shaggers!"
Within moments, several men had already returned with ammunition for the large weapons. Blacksmith's anvils, sledgehammer heads, heavy chairs, and many other random finds were loaded into the catapults large buckets.
The sound of the catapults firing and the speedy shadows that flew overhead again gave the defenders on the wall renewed strength and they began to fight with a bitter vigor. Slowly, they pushed the enemy back, gaining a solid defensive line again.
Furlac half-carried, half-dragged Lazay up the stairs to the battlements, the sight of the catapults firing again speeding his steps. He did not know how long they would be active, but he knew they would slow the enemy down a little, hopefully long enough for Lazay to give them the upper hand again.
"I need to be at the edge of the wall," Lazay muttered weakly.
Furlac knew better than to question the Wizard. "Clear a path to the wall!" he bellowed loudly and the soldiers on the wall picked up their pace seeing Lazay on the wall again. The men pushed forward and made short work of the enemy intruders.
Furlac led the Wizard to the wall, "Now what?"
Lazay swayed slightly, gripping the stone wall. "Stand back." He closed his eyes and deepened his breathing, forcing out the violent sounds of steel on steel, and the grunts, curses, and screams of the wounded and dying. His focus and concentration made him nearly forget his body and its weakened state. His breathing slowed and his entire body began tingling, as he tapped into the deepest part of him, his innate given Gift. He pulled on his inner essence, his very internal fibers, summoning every ounce of potency he could. He could feel his body begin to quake as he forced all his efforts out. He pictured the moat below, covered with wooden planks, ladders, wreckage and bodies. Sensing his will, vicious flames sprung forth all along the moat of the western wall, quickly consuming the timber planks, wooden ladders, and bodies, dead and alive alike.
"He is doing it!" Several cheers went up around the battlements as the hordes of enemy that cascaded over the wall slowed and the defenders quickly dispatched the enemies who were left.
"Lazay, you did it man!" Furlac cried out, relief washing over him, but was short-lived when he heard several thuds and knew the sound to be arrows puncturing through exposed flesh. He looked around to the men near him, looking for the victim of the assault, but saw none. Fear stole his breath and his eyes shot back to Lazay, - several shafts were embedded in his chest and he slumped over the wall and fell.
Lazay knew his Gift was nearly exhausted and yet somehow he continued to release, seemingly calling upon some unknown inner quintessence. He could no longer feel his body nor could he sense the world around him any longer. All he knew was his Gift as it overwhelmed him.
"NO!" Furlac screamed, charging forward trying to catch his friend, but it was too late. Lazay's body plummeted to the chaos below. The corpse of Mandrake's Wizard crashed hard into the flaming wreckage in the moat below, a blistering detonation of inconceivable power erupted. The defenders were thrown back and forced to hide behind the stone wall to avoid injury from the sudden magical epidemic that raged and consumed all around Mandrake's moat, flaring up as if the water was tainted lantern oil.
"What is the update?" Furlac asked the weary man who entered the room, his voice hoarse with grief and exhaustion.
The soldier looked just as somnolent. "The flames still burn fiercely around Mandrake, Sir, holding the enemy at bay."
"Good," Furlac replied, his voice almost cracking from emotion. The fire burned because of some abnormal phenomenon that had taken place with the death of Lazay.
"Yes, Sir," the man said, licking his cracked lips before continuing hesitantly, "but we do have a problem because of it. The gates are burning on all sides, another few hours and there will be nothing lef
t. Also, the intense temperature has heated the stone of the battlements and now it is near impossible to set foot on it. It is only a matter of time before the stone begins to crack."
"Thank you," Furlac said, letting the solider take his leave. "What are we to do now?" Furlac muttered, fear gripping his words.
"We fight, and we win," Kenden replied, as if it was as simple as that.
Furlac looked at his friend dumbfounded for but a second. "I respect your enthusiasm Kenden, but I fear it is not so easy."
"But it is, that easy," Kenden replied matter of fact.
"In less than two days the enemy has destroyed near two thirds of our army, exhausted the catapults to the point we are using furniture as ammunition! Not to mention we are collecting enemy arrows to fire back at them because our own are depleted, and some of those arrows we have gathered are the very arrows that have killed our own soldiers!" Furlac cried out bitterly, as frustration consumed him. "So, where is the easy part?"
Kenden stared hard at Mandrake's advisor, a harsh tint glazing his eyes as he considered the man before he spoke. "We have near four thousand fighting men, pride of family, friends, and home in their hearts. We have breath in our lungs, blood in our veins, and steel in our hands and an enemy at our gates. We cannot run - we cannot hide - all we can do is fight." Kenden replied. "So as I said, we fight, and we win, it is that easy."
The wild Wizard's fire had ignited all around Mandrake, following the path of the moat. The flames had leapt high in the air, thrice as high as any man standing and as hot as the flames of the Keeper's domain. Half a day it had burned wrathfully, fueled by some unyielding essence of Mandrake's noble Wizard after he had perished. Now the flames were subsiding and smoldering on the last remains of wreckage around the moat. Over half the water in the moat had evaporated, but the water that was left was degrees below boiling.
The battlements were too hot to man, so they were now barren. Three out of four of Mandrake's thick, solid gates had burned through, leaving large, charred, gaping holes and diminishing their defenses severely. Only the south gate still stood, though it was damaged greatly and would not hold for long against any attack. It would not be long before the enemy attacked in full and then they would be overwhelmed.
*****
"They are breaking through!" An archer shouted as he aimed for a barbarian who had moved his shield and now taunted those inside by pissing toward the castle. Six arrows found the man's chest as he died in his own waste.
The defenders had squandered no time with the final reprieve they were given by Lazay, and blocked up the massive gateways with wagons and debris to buy them as much time as possible.
The enemy archers fired at will over the walls, or through the holes in the crudely fashioned barriers, into the men who stood inside waiting for them. Wave after wave rained down upon them, as men fell dead or wounded everywhere. They had not been expecting this now, and had little time to react. The barbarians climbed out of the warm moat and through the gateway doors and hacked their way through the blockade. The archers on the still hot walls fired at will, doing their best to kill as many of the swimming savages as they could while their backs were exposed. Soon, the moat ran crimson again and the bloating bodies of the enemy made it hard for the living to swim over.
"Stop their archers, damn it!" the Captain screamed, as he let loose an arrow into the enemy archers, who were persistently unleashing arrows over the walls and into Mandrake's weakening army.
"But Captain, what of the moat?" the soldier beside him bellowed.
The Captain spun on the soldier and grabbed him angrily. "It will not aid us if we are all cut down by arrows, boy! Now kill their archers!"
"Yes, Sir!" The man cried out as the Captain released his grip.
The next arrows launched from the walls hit home in the lines of enemy archers, forcing them back beyond the defenders' range and stopping their own volleys on the battered castle. But that did not stop them from the action - bows were thrown aside and devilish blades were drawn as they sprung forward to swell the charging ranks.
With the ceasing of enemy arrows raining down on them, Mandrake's defenders soon realized how few of them still stood. The enemy had broken through the barriers blocking the gateways.
"We cannot hold them off, Sir!" a young soldier screamed, fighting furiously at the oncoming onslaught of barbarians.
"Yes we can, damn it! We have no other choice!" the General yelled back, as he charged forward swinging madly, cutting through sinew and bone as he went. But within his rage-filled assault, he dropped his defenses and a searing pain shot through his side. His sword fell out of his hands as his strength failed him - he tried for one final roar of defiance before death took him.
Furlac heard the cries and roars from the courtyard below and his heart sank as all hope faded. He had failed to hold his Lord's castle-he had failed to keep those inside the walls safe from the enemy. He had simply, failed. A sudden flash of metal and a searing pain erupted in his left shoulder as an enemy blade scored a hit through his meager parry. Sudden rage exploded through him and he plunged his long sword into his attacker's belly and tore it free. He may have failed, but he was determined to make the attackers bleed every inch they took. "Retreat to the castle!" He bellowed.
The last few soldiers limped through the thick, oak castle doors to join the remaining few who had managed to escape. Furlac watched as the last few men, who sacrificed their lives were cut down as the castle doors were shut and barred.
A heavy guilt lingered in the air. An unspoken shame glistened in the eyes of every man in the room at the final screams of their fathers, brothers, and friends from outside.
Furlac slumped against the doors, his mind blank, and his heart heavy with humiliation. He looked up at the survivors, so few in number - most suffering from injuries, many who would die because of them before the enemy could finish them.
General Kenden knew the mood had to change if they were to make a worthy final stand. "Get up now!" he hissed to Furlac, who looked up at him as a child would an angry father.
"It is done - we have lost," Furlac muttered, only loud enough for Kenden to hear. "It is over."
"Get up!" Kenden ordered firmly, offering his hand, "and lead us to an honorable death," he added, words softening.
Furlac looked hard into the General's eyes, not a hint of blame could be found there. He took the General's arm and was pulled to his feet. "Thank you my friend, I do not know what overcame me," Furlac whispered.
Furlac's eyes washed over what was left of Mandrake's defeated army. Many of these men, he knew their names, their families, their hopes and ambitions. Others, he merely recognized and those are the ones who pained him the most - he would never know more of them.
Less than a thousand fighting men were left - all were exhausted and bloody. Behind them was the infirmary, where a several scores or more dead, dying or wounded men laid moaning in agony.
The sound of an axe cracking into the thick doors behind him stirred Furlac from his thoughts and he realized all eyes were on him, waiting for his command. Waiting for him to lead them - to their death.
"These doors will not hold them out forever - chances are they are already finding other ways in. Our best choice is to make our final stand in the upper hallways where the woman and children are being kept. The hallways are narrow and they can only attack from two sides, we should be able to hold them,…" his voice cracked, "for a while."
Several axes hacked into the doors with angry crunches, starting several long cracks and splitters in the thick wood. "We must hurry - we will not have long!" Furlac called, making his way for the staircase.
"Furlac!" General Kenden called out. Furlac stopped in mid-step up the staircase and turned to regard the General.
"The badly wounded will be of no use to you and will just slow you down. I will stay here with them. We will buy you as much time as we can."
Furlac's voice caught in his throat and before he could say any
thing, the tip of an axe pierced through the wooden doors of the hall.
"Now, go!" Kenden barked at him.
Kenden looked over the remaining men. Many of the severely wounded filtered into the group from the makeshift infirmary behind them. Grief stabbed his heart, as he knew all these men would be butchered corpses in but moments.
"Sir, I just want you to know that it was an honor to serve under your command," one of the men said as he limped over to him and saluted as best he could. Half the man's hand had been chopped off and thick blood oozed through the bandages.
The General could not help but be overcome with pride. They were all great men and had fought better than anyone could have ever asked for. Even in their last moments, they stood tall and if any of them feared what was to come, it did not show.
"Never, in the history of this world, has there been a group of braver men, and never could a General be more proud of the men who served under him," the General roared with respect, tears stinging his eyes.
The doors groaned in protest as the enemy hammered into them with all their weight. Large gaps in the doors had been hacked through and the sound of the hungry enemy was deafening.
"I never could have hand-picked a better group to die by my side!" the General yelled to them over the screams of savages at the doors. "I am proud to die alongside you. I will see you all in the afterlife as we dine in the great halls of the Creator," he cried out, drawing his sword and turning to face the breaching doors.
Furlac ordered his men to grab anything, from chairs to tables, in the hallways and rooms that they passed by on their way to where the women and children were being kept. Fear coursed through his veins like never before. He knew they would not be able to hold off the enemy for long, and so did every man who was with him.
"Block both sides of the hallway with whatever you find," he ordered once they had reached their destination. He had just over six-hundred men left with him now. The rest had stayed with General Kenden. He ordered men into the rooms with the women and children and rallied whoever was willing to fight.
The False Prince (Fall Of A King Book 1) Page 24
