“Send a runner,” he ordered. “Tell them we see it too.”
One of the tower guards moved to the village side edge of the tower and shouted down to soldiers beneath, “Send a runner to the north-eastern tower and inform them that we see one torch light in the grove.”
The sound of the alarm brought restlessness to the archers on the nearby walls. Murmuring began and fear crept in.
“Steady men,” Hugh called encouragingly. “It’s just a torch.”
Inside, he felt his heart bursting through his chest.
The sound of a man running along the damp street resonated to the top of the tower as the runner sped towards the east.
Hugh felt knots forming in his stomach. The sudden urge to throw up gripped him. He fought the impulse off and gripped the guardrail.
“Stop that infernal racket,” Peter shouted over the clamour.
The tower guard lowered the hammer and stepped back from the chime.
“From now on, we send runners to herald the news,” Peter ordered. “My ears can’t take much more of this.”
“Agreed,” said Alan as he stared towards the solitary torch flickering in the grove.
“What?” Peter wriggled a finger in his ear.
“I said I agree with you,” Alan replied a little louder.
“Mm.” Peter moved to beside his friend and scanned the grove for any other movement. He believed the single torch was a ruse. The enemy, in his mind, was assembling elsewhere for an attack.
Alan wasn’t so sure. The invaders had used this method on the previous night. Each time they revealed themselves had been different than the preceding time. He believed tonight something new would be done. Something unexpected.
“Where are they?”
“Why are you in such a hurry to see them?” Alan asked.
“I hate all this waiting,” Peter admitted. “They hide, we seek. They light some torches, we soil our trousers. Why not just come out and fight?”
Alan looked sideways at the other. “You really want them to come at us head on?”
“At least we will see them coming,” Peter replied.
“What about the dragon?”
Peter stared silently at the flaming torch in the grove for a moment, considering Alan’s words. Fighting an enemy upon the ground was feasible. He understood ground battle. Defending against an enemy that used the sky was new to him. He truly did not have an answer to his friend’s question.
A long silence passed as the two men kept their eyes peeled for movement amongst the trees. Peter slowly moved his eyes along the grove towards the hill in the east.
Another torch flickered in the trees where the ground began to rise.
He wondered how long it had been there. Certainly, they would have seen it before when they had first noticed the lone torch not far from where they stood. One of the first things he had done afterwards was to scan the horizon for more lights. That was right before the guard started striking the chime almost deafening him in the process.
“There,” he said. “Another torch.”
All eyes moved towards the hill to see the spectacle. As they did, a vast number of torches burst to life within the grove.
“Didn’t we see this strategy already?” asked the tower guard.
“Perhaps they have only three that they keep using again and again,” Peter suggested.
Alan kept his eyes on the grove. His disposition was set on edge. Hairs on the back of his neck stood rigidly and a cold shiver moved down his spine.
Intuition told him something bad was about to happen.
“Archers ready,” he shouted.
Peter buckled at the knees and crouched behind the tower’s fortification. The tower guard instinctively followed suit as the archers loaded arrows onto their bows.
“Archers ready,” the order was repeated down the line of both the eastern and northern walls.
“What do you see?” Peter asked. “What is it?”
“Torches in the woods,” Alan replied.
Peter thought his friend must have been losing his mind. They had all seen the torches in the woods. To call for archers seemed a little premature and illogical at the least. It was no use firing off your ammunition unless you could actually see your enemy.
Yet, here was Alan, about to do just that.
“Prepare to fire,” Alan bellowed.
The archers nearby pulled back upon their bowstrings, creaking loudly as the tension increased.
The order was again repeated along the walls.
“Hold,” Alan called, standing tall upon the tower, exposed to the enemy.
“Alan, get down here,” Peter ordered.
“Hold,” he called again, ignoring his friend.
Movement in the trees directly north of the tower caught his attention.
One of the flickering torches moved towards him, moving left and right as it rounded the trunks of trees and ducked under low branches.
It emerged from the tree line and into the open ground between the grove and the wall. Holding the torch high and facing towards Alan was a dark hooded figure.
It dropped the torch to the ground, reached beneath its long tattered cloak and brandished a curved sword.
A great guttural roar belched from beneath its hood, resonating along the wall in all directions.
The call was echoed in thunderous unison as hundreds of hooded warriors burst from the grove wielding swords of their own. Their torches were left upon the ground in the trees.
“Fire,” Alan commanded.
Arrows filled the air, streaking towards the hostile mass. Many bolts found targets, sending numerous attackers to the ground before the battle had truly begun.
But the first volley barely made a dent in the enemy. Scores and scores of them ran swiftly for the wall; more swiftly than any man could run.
Alan kept his eyes on the first hooded figure that continued to stand near the tree line of the grove. The warrior held his hand up, signalling for someone to hold their ground.
Realising the signal wasn’t for the encroaching force Alan surmised there were others still in hiding. He scanned the grove quickly and could see only the dying torches discarded by the attacking warriors.
“Archers ready,” Alan called along the lines. The order was repeated as the archers stood to take aim at the closing enemy. Bows were loaded and strings were pulled.
“Fire!”
A volley of projectiles flew through the air.
A number of enemy soldiers fell to the ground as copious arrowheads pierced their flesh.
Stepping over their fallen comrades, the warriors continued to close the gap between themselves and the wall.
Alan saw this was going to result in hand-to-hand combat.
“You had better get ready, Peter,” he advised. “We’re going to fight them head on.”
Chapter Eighteen
“What the blazes is going on over there?” Chief Shelley bellowed.
The sound of many beasts calling from the north boomed over the rooftops to where he stood. His intuition informed him they were under attack.
“Send a runner,” Michael called to the men below. He then addressed the men upon the walls. “Keep your eyes upon your quadrants. We don’t want those bastards sneaking through here.”
All archers kept their eyes fixed upon the expanse beyond their section of the wall. The din from the north ate at their curiosity, but their self-discipline overcame the urge to crane their necks for the chance of a look at what was happening in that direction.
The chief stood rigidly, anxiously awaiting word. He saw the torchlights in the grove blinking out one by one as the flames died. What he couldn’t see was the source of the sound, obscured by the wall.
He wanted to know what was happening.
He needed to know.
“I have to get over there,” he said, heading for the ladder to descend the tower.
“Where are you going?” Michael yelled. A few quick glances fr
om the archers nearby and the tower guards stabbed at him like tiny daggers. You may have overstepped the boundaries this time, Michael.
“I need to be on the north wall,” Chief Shelley replied. “That’s where the attack is.”
“Yes,” Michael agreed. “The attack is upon our northern flank. But what about the attack upon the east and the south?”
“There is no attack here, Michael.”
“How do you know?”
“Look about you,” shouted the village leader, as if stating the obvious.
“Do you even remember what it was like to be in battle?” Michael asked. “Do you even remember what tactical manoeuvres are?”
The chief paused and listened to his friend.
“We need you here, Barnard,” Michael continued. “They could be fortifying their positions on our flanks as we speak. This attack in the north is only part of their offensive. No one exposes their entire force, or their best warriors in one sweeping blow. Never. And you know this.”
Chief Shelley lowered his head bashfully.
He still wanted to be on the northern wall, but Michael was right.
The worst was yet to come.
A great thundering roar from the clouds erupted above them. The beast had returned.
Moving his eyes to the sky, Michael searched for the creature. The dark clouds concealed it from sight, but the deep sound of its wings beating through the air indicated from which direction it approached.
The sound grew louder and louder, filling the hearts and minds of the men upon the wall with dread.
Chief Shelley swore as the clouds opened like a veil, revealing the creature descending through the vapours towards them from the south. An object of considerable size was carried in its talons.
It swooped low outside the southern wall and dropped the object onto the ground. The article landed with a sickening crunch before the creature lifted itself back into the sky.
The archers and the chief trailed the dragon with their eyes as it disappeared into the clouds with a terrifying call. Michael kept his eyes upon the object that had fallen not too far from the wall.
It was a crumpled wagon with its cargo strewn about. Amongst the clutter lay two bodies, a man and a woman. They were twisted and lying awkwardly like discarded rag dolls.
“What is it?” Chief Shelley asked, turning his eyes to the mess outside the wall.
“Lawrence and Elara Verney,” Michael replied.
The chief stared blankly at the bodies lying in the misshapen heap.
Things had just become extremely bad.
But the worst was yet to come.
“Volley,” Hugh shouted to the archers on the north wall. They leant over the battlements and fired at the onslaught of enemy warriors near the base of the wall.
“Volley,” he called to his left where the archers upon the western wall replayed the actions of the men upon the adjacent barrier.
The call appeared to be somewhat in vain.
Several of the warriors were hit and fell into the grass below the men of Woodmyst. Many others had started scrambling up the wall towards them.
Remembering the stroll around the structure with his friends and his dogs, he visualised the many places they had spotted where someone could advance upon the wall and climb to the top. Right now, the enemy was using these very places to their advantage.
“The Night Demons are climbing the walls, my lord,” shouted an archer.
“Prepare for hand-to-hand combat,” Hugh called out as he drew his sword from its sheath.
A scream from farther along the northern wall, somewhere out of view, informed him that the wall had been breached. The sound was followed by the clanging of sword against sword. This was followed by more iron striking iron as more and more of the enemy reached the top of the fortification.
The sound was echoed towards the south. There were breaches in that direction also. Hugh ran to the edge of the tower and looked over the side to the men below.
“The wall has been breached,” he hollered. “Send word to all men to ready for battle.”
Runners started to send word to other sections within the wall. News was spread quickly of more and more areas of the barrier that had enemy soldiers upon it. Soldiers upon the ground moved rapidly to meet them if they ever made it into the village.
The archers fought hard, but were inefficient swordsmen; so much so that some had not bothered to carry a blade, thus becoming the first victims of the Night Demons.
Swords clashed and blood was spilt on both sides. The dead and dying bodies of the enemy were thrown back over the wall in hope to knock some of the advancing climbers back to the ground.
Turning towards the ladder, Hugh was tempted to descend the tower in order to climb the wall where he intended to face the enemy. Sudden movement in the corner of his eye caused him to turn.
Climbing over the guardrail, a hooded figure lifted itself upon the platform and drew its sword. The tower guard turned in time to parry the enemy’s blow with his own blade. Hugh couldn’t leave now.
He lifted his sword and stabbed at the demon. With a simple swing of its weapon, Hugh found himself half spun around and facing the wrong way.
The Night Demon was terribly strong and he realised he had underestimated its power. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.
The tower guard slashed downward, over and over. The invader blocked and parried each strike effortlessly with one hand. Hugh lifted his sword and attacked from the side.
The curved sword met his and held the blow in mid strike. The tower guard saw this as an opportunity and brought his sword down again.
A dagger came flashing out from beneath the cloak and slid deep into the tower guard’s throat.
The guard’s eyes grew wide, shocked at what just happened. He moved his eyes to Hugh who wore an expression of disbelief.
It was so fast.
So fast.
With a final twist, the dagger was withdrawn, spilling blood down the front of the tower guard’s uniform.
Hugh felt sudden rage fill his every being.
He swung and hacked over and over, changing his angle of attack with each strike.
The demon blocked and parried each blow, but Hugh was unpredictable. A few strikes got incredibly close to the warrior.
Backing up towards the edge of the wall, the invader was running out of ground. Its confidence dwindled as Hugh continued to attack.
At last, his sword dug into the enemy soldier’s shoulder. The curved sword fell to the floor with a loud clang.
Recoiling his sword, Hugh didn’t wait for that dagger to appear again, so he struck once more. The blade sliced into the demon’s flesh a mere inch to the side of the first cut.
The hooded figure roared, sounding like a wounded pig squealing in agony.
Hugh pulled his sword from the demon and used his boot to push him over the guard rail and off the tower.
The warrior fell to the ground where it hit with a stomach-turning thud.
Hugh looked down the side of the tower to where his enemy’s body lay. It rested at an awkward angle, unmoving. His eyes then shifted to two more hooded figures climbing the wall towards him.
Chapter Nineteen
Cradling Linet, Catherine Warde hummed soothingly to calm her daughter’s nerves. The quiver in her voice had worsened as the night progressed. She rocked gently as she sat on the edge of the bed hoping the movement may help Linet fall to sleep.
Gripping her mother’s clothing with one hand, Linet stared wide-eyed up to Catherine’s face as she sucked her thumb; something she hadn’t done since she was first learning to walk.
Catherine moved her eyes down to meet those of her daughter. The fear in them must have been apparent as Linet tightened her grip, pinching the flesh on her mother’s waist beneath the blouse.
The distant sound of clashing steel made its way into the Great Hall as the fighting outside intensified. The runners had informed the elders, who were inside the
auditorium with the villagers, that the battle was confined to the walls for the time being. Ground troops were ready to defend the streets if need be. For now, the archers and tower guards were keeping the Night Demons at bay.
Catherine kept looking to Sybil Shelley, who shared her concerns and fears. Their husbands were in the towers, exposed to the onslaught they heard.
Prayers had been offered to the gods. Songs of triumph had been sung. The elders gave words of encouragement as they moved about the room.
Still, there was a sense of hopelessness amongst the women and old men of Woodmyst. No matter where Catherine looked, she saw defeat and fear in everyone’s eyes. Even in the eyes of the elders.
Tomas, however, didn’t show such emotion or sense of downfall. He stood, listening intently at the sound. From his position, standing by the grand fireplace, he presumed the battle was concentrated to the northern region of the wall.
His thoughts weren’t for his father and his wellbeing during battle. If Alan Warde were to fall, it would be because that was his fate according to the gods. He also didn’t share the concerns of his mother about the safety of his sister and himself. They were in the Great Hall, which was built to withstand the worst of the winter storms that swept in from the mountains with intense violence and was barred shut from the inside by a great beam across the doors.
The stables, however, were not built as sturdily and they were easily accessible. There were no beams across the doors, or locks to keep intruders out. So, Tomas listened to calculate how close the battle was getting towards the horses. In his mind, he pictured the mare acting skittishly, needing the hand and soft words to ease her fears.
“Tomas,” Catherine called gently. “Come.”
He held a hand up, wait.
Cocking his head, hoping to catch the faint jingles of blades striking one another, Tomas ignored his mother’s summons. He lowered his face to peer into the hearth where the flames danced upon glowing embers.
A sudden scream from one of the horses caused his heart to jerk.
Fearing his mare was being hurt, he turned to face Catherine. Her countenance fell even more when she saw the look on his face.
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