Tale of Four

Pushing a man back, Oliver lifted a shield to block a mace and heard the wood snap under the weight. Kissing his teeth, he pushed the attacker back and stabbed his sword deep into the man’s gut before stepping back and cutting the straps of his shield, letting it fall. The defenders didn’t break, even as the walls were littered with Valley soldiers and the gate threatened to blow. Rather, they became more intense, throwing their lives with greater fervour to slow the assault down.

Those uninjured formed a tight formation, buying time for the wounded to fall back off the wall. Those wounded and unable to retreat would madly swing. If they didn’t have the strength to do that, they would charge at a man and use their body to try to throw them off the wall before being cut down. Some men tripped over the bodies that lay across the wall, becoming easy targets for anyone who saw.

In his momentary distraction, being overwhelmed by the carnage of the siege, a sword shot out, cutting across his chest, slicing the plate armour and catching on the chainmail underneath. His head exploded with pain, as tiredness and heat ate away at him. A firm hand rested on his shoulder, and with it, he slipped back behind the front line as a Valley soilder took his place. With that moment, he ripped the pouch of water off his belt and stuck it under his helmet, greedily drowning himself, resisting the urge to throw up.

Seeing it all, he couldn’t understand it. The ferocity with which the desert defended the fort, the willingness to die in a siege in which they were vastly outnumbered. It was nothing he had ever seen in the Flatlands. The idea of surrendering seemed foreign to them, and because of it, valley men died in droves just to gain an inch of the wall. Those who did break and retreat down the walls didn’t do so out of fear or cowardice, but to reposition for the next stage.

Looking across the wall, at the section where the main assault was coming from, he saw a carnage multiple times worse than his own section. Blood slipped through the cracks in the wall, flowing down it, dyeing the yellow walls in blood, bodies falling alongside it as men cared not for their fallen, just trying to make the ground more stable. Yet in all of it, the furious defence and unrelenting assault, he could see the Valley slowly gaining more ground, paying for each gain with blood.

Oliver snapped out of his watch and put an arm on a man’s shoulder, seeing he was tired and threw himself back into combat. The valley soilder tried to switch out, but as he stepped back, a sword stabbed through his stomach. Without thinking, Oliver pushed the man forward, into the desert soilder who had just killed him. The man screamed and fell with the boy, and quickly became another floorboard to be trampled on, his cries lost in the battle. Blocking a strike, Oliver pushed the attack back and skillfully wielded his blade to block a second approaching attack.

From his side, a sword slashed downward, cutting across the attacker’s face, leaving a deep gash along his face, chopping the tip of his nose off. The man screamed, and with the opening, Oliver finished the kill, kicking his body back, nearly falling as he did.

From below, an eruption of wood echoed throughout the fort as the gates flew open, revealing the burning ram surrounded by bodies. Yet none of the Valley soilder paid attention to the heat or the fallen, rushing in to meet the shield wall that awaited them.

"THE GATE HAS FALLEN!" Oliver and numerous others screamed out. Using the second wind the minor victory caused, the desert warriors atop the walls were pushed back. Their fanatic desire to die for the fort cracked under the news. Pushing forward, he stabbed deep into another desert soilder, and pushing their body away, he was met with a mace to his chest.

"UHG!" The wind flew out of his body, making him curl over. A valley warrior, seeing a potential break in the line, yanked Oliver back, throwing him into the crowd behind, uncaring for his well-being or safety, only wishing to fill the gap.

Oliver tried to breathe, each breath sending a sharp pain through his body. His chest felt like it was on fire, and reaching around, he touched one of his lower ribs, screaming as he did, able to tell it was broken. Stabbing his sword into the ground, the pain destroyed any other instinct he may have had and forced him to reach into his other pouch. Pulling out every single herb he had to numb the pain, he threw them in his mouth and ground his teeth, shakily breathing, trying his best not to take any deep breaths.

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Jeremy stared ahead, only his breath echoing around his helmet as he watched the bloodshed raging around him after climbing the ladder. He wanted to step forward and not block the path, but his feet wouldn’t move. From behind, another climbed the ladder and pushed Jeremy, making him trip over a body. Catching himself at the last moment, he looked to his right and saw numerous bodies all twisted in inhumane directions, their limbs and muscles crushed under the weight of people who stepped over them.

Choking back the vomit, he forced himself to stand and look around. Doing nothing would get him killed, but charging in would be the same. A nervous chuckle escaped his lips as he picked his sword back up. Tightly holding it, he looked around, unsure of what to do.

’I shouldn’t be here. Why did I come?’

Asking himself, he ground his teeth and saw an opening in the lines as the desert was pushed back once again. His breathing got quicker as he stared at it. "AHHHH!" It culminated in a scream from the depths of his soul. It was a voice out of place in the siege, his high-pitched voice cracking as he did, but it created a chorus as other valley men cried out a war cry of their own, to lift the spirits of other men.

Jeremy charged in. All the lessons, all his skills were made obsolete as he threw himself towards the front when a space opened up and madly swung, aiming at nothing, just hoping to make the space before him free of enemies that could kill him. Across the wall, the cry was carried as the valley soldiers pushed the desert back once again, finally reaching the steps that led down to the courtyard. Jeremy continued to swing, unsure of what else to do, not knowing his blade was covered in blood, not seeing the attacks coming for him, blocked by men around.

A firm hand touched his shoulder and pushed Jeremy back, a much larger man taking his place. Taking deep breaths, another Valley soldier grabbed his shoulder and spun him around, throwing a heavy punch across his face. He nearly fell but was held up by the man.

"FOCUS! YOU WILL KILL OUR MEN LIKE THAT!" Spit flew across his helmet along with the scream. It could hardly be heard over the battle, but Jeremy heard every word clearly. The man didn’t stay around, taking the place of another who was tired. Jeremey looked down at his hands, at his sword, at the bodies and shook, sniffing, forcing back tears that came with the punch.

’Focus. Focus. Where is Oliver? FOCUS!’

Looking back at the battle, Jeremy saw another place open as a man fell to a desert sword and jumped into place, knowing each gap had to be filled by the closest available man. Holding his sword, he didn’t madly swing, the punch and all good reminded him. Rather, he took a purely defensive stance, lifting his shield when an attack came, and blocking it, nearly falling under the weight. Stabbing out once the sword was pulled back, he took a defensive stance once more, only moving when the men around him stepped forward.

Inch by inch, he walked forward, his footsteps squelching whenever he did. The desert warriors slowly panicked, seeing that another line was being pushed into them, and they broke, running down the steps, before they were encircled. Valley men didn’t stop their attack, chasing them. Those who did grabbed whatever was nearby, be it dropped weapons, shields, armour, or bodies and chucked them down at the retreating men, hoping to make at least one fall.

Jeremey stared ahead as men rushed past. Looking around the fort, he saw the defensive walls fall, the desert retreating deeper. Across the courtyard, a flood of men ran, some caught up and forced into a melee. Along the walls, the final stragglers were caught, butchered, desperately trying to kill someone before they fell. Any tactics or formations had been lost with defeat so close, what was left were men who killed becuase it was all they could do.

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