The Chosen - Rise of Cithria Part 1

by Kris Kramer

  Chapter 33

  Malcolm waited anxiously at the foot of the stairs as the tower door – and the tower itself, he thought – shook violently from the ram’s impact. The Anduains pounded the door from the outside, sieging the tower as the first step in an apparent full-scale invasion. Malcolm tried to settle his nerves at the thought of being thrown so abruptly into war. He knew what would happen. He remembered the stories his uncle told him about keep and tower sieges and the bloody room-to-room combat that entailed once the door came down, and he wanted to be ready. He counted the seconds between each strike of the ram, using the monotony of it to keep his mind occupied and calm against the threat of death looming over everyone in the room. Counting was a trick his uncle had taught him as a child, and Malcolm stuck to it as a way to honor him. It helped him focus, whether during sword-training drills, working on his footwork, or any of the other mundane chores his uncle had insisted he perform as part of his training. He'd tried to get his sister, a far more excitable person, to try it herself, but she thought the notion silly. He wondered if she still thought so now.

  “Hold!” Aiden shouted, as he, decnar Alder, four armsmen and two spearmen pushed up against the interior of the door. They’d barricaded it with a thick wooden beam that sat on metal brackets, as well as a shelf full of chain and leather armor pieces, two wooden chairs, and a bench. Malcolm would have helped, but there was no more room at the door, and Aiden had told him to wait here, so he would wait here. He was scared. He could admit that to himself. Who wouldn't be in a situation like this, with an army waiting outside those doors, ready to slaughter everyone inside? But he also felt proud, because he'd discovered in these last few moments that he was more worried about living up to his uncle's expectations than whatever might be on the other side of that door. Despite his inexperience, he would rather fight than run away. And if he was to die today, then at least it would be as a warrior, and not a scared little child playing pretend, which he knew was how everyone thought of him.

  The door shook again, and Malcolm heard a loud crack in the wooden beam. "They're almost in!" Aiden shouted. He backed away from the door and picked up his shield, which had been lying on the ground nearby. "Form a shield wall high up on those stairs! You," Aiden slapped a nearby armsman on the shoulder. "Go up top and tell them to get down here. We need everyone in the stairwell!" The armsman jogged past Malcolm and up the stairs. The rest of the soldiers followed, but they all stopped about halfway up, where the stairs disappeared behind the walls of the second floor above them as they wrapped around the inner wall. They hefted their shields and formed two lines, three men wide, with shields overlapping. This was where they would make their stand.

  Aiden sent Bastion, who’d been sitting at the base of the stairs, up to the second floor with a quick shout and a nudge in the dog’s backside. Then he picked up his spear, also lying on the ground, and handed it to Malcolm. "Here," he said. Malcolm took the wooden shaft, a little underwhelmed by its meager quality. "It's a goblin spear. It's not much to look at, but it's brought me luck so far."

  "What do I do with it?" Malcolm asked, not understanding why he couldn't just use his sword.

  "You stand behind me in the shield wall, and you use that spear to gut anyone who gets close. Keep your shield on your back for now, and hold that thing with two hands. Then just jab it over my shoulder as hard as you can." Aiden held his fists together and made an overhand stabbing motion. "If they get past me, you drop the spear and use your sword instead, because that thing's useless in the front line.”

  Malcolm nodded and followed Aiden up the stairs, then took his place in the line just behind him. Malcolm's uncle had told him about fighting in the shield wall, how the enemies were close enough that you could feel the heat of their breath and smell the sweat on their face. It was the place where warriors were truly born, he'd always said, and Malcolm felt his stomach turn at the thought. The two men on either side of him were close in, shoulder to shoulder, and he felt cramped in the narrow space, but he wouldn't let them down. He held the spear up high and waited for the inevitable battle to come.

  "If you're a palatine, then you've learned your battle chants, right?" Aiden asked, barely glancing back.

  "Yes."

  "Good." Aiden took his place between the two other armsmen in the front line. "Now would be a great time to use them."

  Malcolm nodded. Aiden reminded him of his uncle. They carried themselves with the same authority and they both had a boldness about them that made Malcolm think they were always in control and never afraid. Malcolm had adored his uncle, as had his sister, and losing him had been a blow neither of them had truly recovered from. But even though he was reticent at first to go through with this trip, he felt sure he could serve with a man like Aiden.

  The tower shook again, and this time the pounding was joined by a roar of Anduain voices, followed by a cacophony of screeching and crashing below. From where he stood, Malcolm could only see the area of the bottom floor where the stairs reached the ground. But he knew what had happened as soon as he saw sunlight pour into the bottom of the stairwell. Shadows danced on the ground below them, and Malcolm gripped the wooden spear shaft tightly. The Anduains were in the tower, and he would be face to face with them in seconds.

  Now was the time to make his uncle proud.