Of Blood and Steel

by Seymour Zeynalli

  Arda kept stopping to help the sick people. She tried to help them to their feet, but the people of the city were falling, one by one. Balak pulled Arda away.

  “Try not to touch them, we don’t know what causing it,” he told her.

  As they got closer to the keep, they could see guards preventing people from entering the keep, but Arda and Balak were granted access. They approached the throne room and Lord Anzor was inside. His head was tilted slightly to his left, listening to the whispers of his advisor, when he noticed Arda.

  The Lord sat high up on a royal throne with his velvet cloak ruffled open in the wind, showing smart black breaches, a white silk tunic underneath, and a single bright purple glove on his right hand. He looked older than Balak with every hair turned white on his head, but he looked healthy nonetheless.

  Lord Anzor started to speak in his native tongue and Balak listened cautiously.

  Balak didn’t understand the language fully, but he picked up the words “poison” and “water.” Arda’s concerned look confirmed his suspicion.

  — CHAPTER SIXTEEN —

  The Iron Trap

  The streets quieted down and there was a solemn feeling in the city. People who once chatted to one another now passed in the streets in silence. Noise could be heard outside the walls as soldiers built siege weapons and sharpened their swords. A constant reminder of the inevitable.

  Children sat in the streets outside the keep, looking tired and frail, while their mothers and fathers waited for news. They settled down and conserved their energy, hoping that their lord had a plan.

  Mothers pulled their children closer and tried to comfort them. A young girl with a baby paced back and forth to comfort her screaming infant. A thin, short man surrounded by guards was heading towards the local inn. He was carrying a piece of paper in one hand and a wooden flute, a shvi, in the other. He raised on the wooden stoop and posted the document for everyone to see. He grabbed his shvi and released a loud whistling noise, grabbing everyone’s attention.

  “Until you hear otherwise, we cannot drink the water from the well. We will ration what supplies we have left but you should spread it thin and make it last as long as possible. Although we have a few difficult days ahead, I have news that help is on its way so we must stay calm. Amida calvary will reach the city within a few days.”

  He then proceeded to repeat the same in Amida.

  The mood lifted a little as the people returned to their daily routine. Arda and Balak stood next to each other and watched for a bit before heading to the comfort of Balak’s quarters.

  As they looked out from the window, the gates spread open and the Liverian herald entered the city and headed to the keep.

  “People are growing increasingly hungry. Good thing the calvary is on their way. I wish they could arrive sooner. Time is not on our side,” said Arda.

  “On the contrary.”

  “You think?”

  “I don’t think, I know. They won’t attack until they complete the siege weapons. At least we don’t have to do the same here. But most importantly, the nights are getting colder each passing day. It will snow soon. Maybe then they will retreat.”

  “I hope you are right.”

  The thin man entered Balak’s quarters without knocking.

  “Lord Anzor has negotiated a deal to all citizens and visitors of Iron Gates to safely leave the city. Gather your belongings, you will be provided a safe passage early tomorrow morning.

  “That means you too, Balak.” Arda turned to Balak.

  “It appears so.”

  “Where will you be heading?”

  “I don’t know, yet.”

  The guard swiftly entered Balak’s room, headed towards Arda and bent his knee.

  “My lady,” he began, “I am honoured to be escorting you to Shirak.”

  “The old capital, but why?”

  “Orders of Lord Anzor. We will be leaving first thing in the morning. Please, follow me. We need to pack your belongings.”

  Balak tried not to make eye contact with Arda as she headed towards the door with the guard.

  “Arda, wait . . .” He startled her.

  “Yes, Balak,” she responded.

  “Nothing.”

  “Well, wherever you decide to go, I wish you a safe journey,” Arda said and they went their separate ways.

  * * *

  Balak rose early the next day. The streets outside were still. Soldiers patrolled the streets and Balak listened as they marched by. He put on his clothes and packed his belongings. He still didn’t have much, but he had plenty of coin which he concealed beneath his armor. He knew that once he passed the gates, he would be a free and wealthy man.

  Balak took the last sip of his ale and headed onto the street and into the hustle and bustle. He bore witness to families running back and forth, gathering their belongings. Men and teens armoured up to defend the castle. Some of the older men opted to stay as well. He passed a woman with her children. The children cried as they held their grandparents for the last time. In the corner of his eye, he saw one family that didn’t have much to carry. It was an old lady with her young boy covered in mud and dirt. Balak approached them slowly and offered them his coin. The old lady thanked Balak when suddenly two more beggars appeared in front of him asking for money. Some beggars were kind, asking if Balak could spare a few coins to buy some medicine and food. Others were hostile, nearly grabbing the silver straight out of Balak’s hands. Soon he was surrounded by beggars and his patience was tested until he snapped, caught one beggar grabbing his coins, and lifted the man by his throat. Everyone looked at Balak in shock and quickly dispersed. Having a little breathing room, Balak calmed down, put the man down, and let him go with the coins he took. He then climbed up on the curtain wall and watched civilians leaving the castle. The crowd of people were passing though the enemy camp seemingly without being bothered. Balak heard someone approach on his left and turned his head to witness Lord Anzor heading directly at him.

  “Your majesty,” Balak said as he lowered his head.

  “So, you are the man who assured the safety of my niece.” He spoke in a common tongue.

  “Yes, you could say that.”

  “You must be proud of your accomplishments. Your name will be fixed on the mountains.”

  “Only they will be wrong; I did it for a coin.”

  “You mean the coin you gave away? I saw what you did earlier today.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You don’t have to hide behind lies. I didn’t expect such generosity from a . . .”

  “. . . barbarian?”

  “I was going to say Karbadian. People frequently confuse generosity for weakness. My father kept dogs around when my brother and I were just kids. I always liked animals so I quickly grew attached to my newfound friend. Rolan, I called him. What a nice companion he was. We used to play from sunrise till sundown. I don’t recall how but I remember he got lost somewhere in the forest one time. By the time we found him, he was dirty, feral, and hungry. I was just a naïve little boy and rushed to give Rolan some food. He took a bite of the meat and my hand along with it.”

  Lord Anzor pulled his glove off and exposed a large, beaten chunk of his hand to Balak.

  “It healed over the years but the scar remained. I learned a valuable lesson that day. Being in charge means making harsh decisions. Food in one hand and a whip in the other. This is the line we have to balance every day, be it a king or a peasant.” He finished and began heading back to the armory.

  “Lord Anzor, what did you do to the dog?” asked Balak while Anzor was still in his sights.

  The lord turned.

  “I kept him,” he answered.

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to replace it?”

  “It would but you can’t replace the people, you have to learn to work with what you are given.”

  * * *

  Later that day, Balak was in the armory where the only source of light
was coming through the arrow slits. He watched old and young men dressing up in armour. Some were made of steel and a few of leather.

  “You dropped this,” said a voice to a nearby boy.

  The boy lifted his head and saw Lord Anzor in all his royal glory. He accepted the sword and bowed his head.

  “Thank you, my Lord.”

  “What’s your name, child?” asked Anzor.

  “Garen. Garen Ozanian,” mumbled the child.

  “Are you afraid, Garen?”

  “No, my Lord.” The child responded with uncertainty and lowered his head.

  Lord Anzor kneeled and put an arm on the child’s left shoulder.

  “It is natural to be afraid. Bravery is not defined by the lack of fear. Bravery is when you are afraid and still push forward.”

  Just then, Arda was passing through the armory when she was shocked to see Balak.

  “Balak? I didn’t know you were staying.”

  “I didn’t know either.”

  “Well, I am glad to see you standing up to protect all these people.”

  “I am not doing it for all of them . . . only for two.”

  Arda smiled and hugged Balak.

  “I will be right beside you,” she told him.

  “Is that right?”

  “I am ready to fight,” she said as she picked up a bow and struggled to pull the string.

  “Easy now. Be careful with that thing.” Balak gestured towards the bow. “I know you mean well, but being with the child is the best place you can be,” he added.

  “You mean the safest. I can do a lot more than that, you know that.”

  “Yes. Which is why you should stay near her. “You will be her last line of defense.”

  “Do you hear that?” Arda asked

  “Must be coming from the outside.” Balak rushed toward the top of the curtain wall.

  “Is it happening? Is the battle starting?” Arda questioned.

  They both looked into the distance, watching the enemy camp. The citizens were getting killed now as they tried to pass through the camp. Balak and Arda stood on the curtain wall as they heard people getting slaughtered in the distance. The survivors started running back towards the castle. Some had already made it through and headed directly towards the mountains, vanishing in the distance.

  — CHAPTER SEVENTEEN —

  The Battle at Iron Gates

  At dawn, Balak was on the wall when the siege started. He could see the entire battlefield. Lord Anzor stood with his back straight and thin around the waist, armed with a lavish chest plate decorated with the shapes of poppy flowers. Bright and clean gambeson peeked through his armour. His sword handle was engraved with shiny jewels. The strong flat of the sword was engraved with an Amidan phrase, but Balak couldn’t read it. It looked expensive, yet it was still a sword like any other, ready to spill blood. The men stood on top of the curtain wall anticipating the Liverian army.

  They first saw the tips of siege towers. The towers slid along a roadway made of flat wooden planks. The four siege towers moved slow and clunky against the uneven terrain. They were carried by massive oxen in the front and a dozen strong men from behind. The towers looked heavy and it was a miracle they didn’t collapse under their own weight. Then came trebuchets followed by the battering ram. The soldiers lined up before their commander, who apparently gave an arousing speech. The cheering of men was heard all the way to the castle. They were chanting something in Liverian before the trebuchets fired. The men on the walls covered their heads with shields to avoid being hit. Decapitated limbs and heads of the fallen rained down on the castle. Lesser experienced men looked worried and scared. Some looked at Lord Anzor who stood unshaken. He stared into the distance when the Liverian army rushed towards the castle walls.

  The battle had begun.

  As soon as the enemy was close enough, the high commander gave the signal to the trebuchet behind the defense walls to open fire on the enemy. The Liverian army was met by a slew of arrows and were further surprised with several large boulders. The Liverian men were crushed under the rocks.

  The first to reach the wall were the men with ladders. Balak and the men to his right and left threw rocks at them. The ladders reached the curtain walls and enemies began to climb them in hopes of overwhelming the defenses. Balak managed to throw off the ladders, dropping countless men with them to the ground. A few arrows whizzed by Balak and one scratched his left cheek.

  The castle was centuries old, and it was built without talus. The siege towers were still an effective strategic tool that needed to be destroyed.

  “Stop the towers!” the high commander shouted. “Archers, shoot the oxen!” The commander raised his sword and signalled when to fire. Archers stood on top of the enemy siege towers and fired back at the soldiers on the wall. The bloodied oxen writhed on the ground, and the first siege tower stopped in its tracks.

  Balak watched as the second tower began to roll down the hill before hitting a rocky surface and collapsing, killing or injuring anyone who was on top of the tower.

  A large boulder flew over his head, hitting the side of the keep and failing to the ground, crushing men who were under it. Arda was on the third floor of the keep and she could feel the place vibrate. It made her anxious not knowing what was happening outside. She paced the room, thinking of how she could contribute. She tried to peek out of the room, but the guards asked her to stay inside. Arda then saw a small gap between the rocks. She saw men trying to lift an enemy boulder that hit the keep earlier. The soldiers tried to carry it to the castle’s trebuchet and use it as a projectile, but their efforts were futile. Arda grabbed her spear and began to summon the spell. Her eyes glowed as she mimicked lifting the rock. She could feel trying to lift it as if she was there. The men couldn’t believe it but the rock felt lighter. They were able to carry it to the trebuchet and launch it over the defense walls at the enemy. Arda fell on her knees when the rock finally was near the trebuchet. She looked at her shaking hands. Her muscles hurt like fire. She wrapped her arms around her lower back; she felt exhausted. Her skin tone turned pale and there was a sudden sensation to vomit.

  Meanwhile, Balak caught a glimpse of the battering ram rolling onto the battlefield. Several men manned each side and they began rolling it towards the gates. It was enormous.

  “Aim for the battering ram,” the head commander called to his archers. “Set it ablaze!”

  Archers and arbalests lit their arrows and aimed for the battering ram, but their attack had very little effect. Apart from a few arrows piercing its roof, it maintained its momentum. The ram was damped prior, making it more resistant against the defending archers. The walls shook as the ram hit the gates. But the ram was ineffective against the might of the great iron gates.

  “Give those filthy pigs a warm bath!” the head commander ordered.

  The boiling hot oil rushed through the murder holes at the top of the gatehouse. The men below screamed as they were coated in hot oil and when the archers followed with arrows of fire, the screams turned to shrieks and squeals. Balak watched as burnt men dropped to the ground and others rushed up to take their place without hesitation.

  When the oil was gone, soldiers started to boil water and sand to burn their enemies below.

  Trebuchets bombarded the right and left towers of the castle. Boulder after boulder was fired at the weakest points of the tower, in hopes of its collapse.

  The commander dashed along the walls. “Ballistas, take down the trebuchets,” he ordered.

  The ballistas fired hard towards the trebuchets, but more arrows missed than hit. The trebuchets continued to pound at the towers with extreme accuracy. The siege towers kept creeping in and, unlike the battering ram, they were not damp. The arrows reached the third tower and the soldiers quickly tried to put down the fire. They did a fine job at it but they could only do so much. After a few fiery arrows plunged into the top, middle and bottom, the third siege tower finally started to burn. Balak witnessed seve
ral men jumping off the tower, breaking their legs as they landed.

  “We need more arrows!” shouted the head commander. His order was repeated down the chain of command all the way to squires in bailey. They rushed to the curtain’s wall, stumbling and failing, supplying archers and the rest with arrows.

  “Faster, you worthless pieces of shit!” shouted the head commander.

  The fourth and final tower wasn’t slowing down. The tower’s gangplank was already in reach. It dropped and several men rushed out of it. Consisting of mostly volunteers, those men were sure to be dead. But if they survived, they would be handsomely rewarded with various loot and promotions. Balak engaged in hand to hand combat, making sure none of them would achieve their glory.

  The high commander ordered the left towers to grapple the siege tower and push it on its side. They needed to do it fast before the enemy could overwhelm the defences. But the Liverian archers provided cover to their brothers in arms. Balak and the men on both of his sides held shields and pushed against the invading force, trying to buy as much time as they could. He could feel his feet sliding back as the enemy forces kept coming. Gritting his teeth, Balak grabbed a nearby morning star and began hitting enemies on the head over his shield, pushing the enemy forces back. Finally, the allied archers managed to grapple the siege tower and pushed it to its side. The remaining Liverians jumped off of the wall to their deaths. The battle lasted long into the evening as the enemy numbers begin to dwindle.

  Balak could hear the soldiers cheer as the battle ended. He took a deep sigh of relief and leaned on the defence wall. He saw a few men break into tears of joy, hugging, and taunting the remaining Liverians who stood in the distance. But suddenly the castle shook, and the left tower crumbled, collapsing into itself, crashing to the ground and crushing the men on the bottom. A thick dust settled over the city and silence fell on the land. There was a roar and out of the woods, a portion of the Liverian army that had been hidden in the forest charged towards the castle. The faces of the Amidan soldiers looked defeated.