The Walls of Woodmyst

by Robert E Kreig

  “Come on,” he bellowed into the darkness. “Is that the best you can do, you bastards?”

  Hugh moved to the guardrail overlooking the village. Below the wall and the tower were numerous cloaked figures running through the streets. Several soldiers were in combat with the invaders.

  From his vantage, Hugh saw a few cloaked figures lying lifeless in the streets. Some armed soldiers pursued those who were running further into the village. Others continued to engage with the warriors near the wall.

  “Bring more,” the tower guard coaxed towards the grove. “Bring us your best.”

  The archers continued to hold as many of the encroaching enemy back as they could. With every ounce of strength they had, they fought and defended against the onslaught. It seemed, to Hugh, that it was in vain. Peril was upon them as more and more hooded warriors advanced upon the wall and climbed into the village.

  “I’ll take you all on,” shouted the tower guard. His voice was losing its strength. “I’ll kill every single one of y—”

  The sudden silence deafened Hugh.

  He turned to see the tower guard stuck with a black arrow through the neck.

  The shaft had penetrated the throat and stuck out at the base of his skull.

  The guard turned slowly to face his commander. A slither of blood slid down the front of the guard’s tunic as he hissed one word.

  “Bastards.”

  He fell face first to the floor, forcing the arrow further into the wound.

  Now Hugh was alone on the tower.

  He wondered again, how long he had left to live.

  “Get those bastards,” shouted the stable master, pointing along a crooked street to three Night Demons running away from him, further towards the centre of town.

  The horseman was dressed in old leather armour and brandished a dull sword. His men had mocked him for not keeping his blade sharpened, claiming that it wouldn’t be able to cut butter. He threatened to prove its use by slicing their manhood, to which they fell silent and let him be.

  Since then, his blade had met two of the cloaked warriors and left them to bleed out in the streets by the western wall. Other enemy soldiers slipped by during the scuffle, so now he and a few of the stable hands gave chase.

  “This way, Francis,” one of the armoured stable hands called. “They’re heading for the Great Hall.”

  “Of course they are,” called the big man. “That’s where everybody is.”

  “We should’ve saddled some horses,” another hand puffed as he struggled to keep up.

  The cloaked figures were too fast. They ran like men but not at the same speed. The stable master was inclined to agree with the stable hand.

  “We can’t go back for them now,” he replied. “If the Night Demons get inside the Great Hall, the women and children will die.”

  The group of men ran as fast as they could towards the centre of the village. They saw the steep roof of the Great Hall above the peaks of the surrounding buildings.

  The men halted once they rounded the corner and saw the giant building completely. Three cloaked warriors stood at the base of the steps leading up to the Great Hall’s doors.

  “Stop,” the stable master called. “You need to defeat us before you get to try for those doors.”

  The three Night Demons revealed long curved blades from beneath their cloaks. The six stable workers ran at their enemy, shouting as they closed the distance.

  Standing their ground, the hooded warriors waited for their foes to come to them. Within moments, the clanging of swords rang through the empty street in front of the Great Hall.

  “The battle has moved to just outside these doors,” called an elderly lady near the grand fireplace.

  Frederick, the elder, moved to her and placed a reassuring hand on her arm.

  “It was bound to happen,” he said. “But do not fear. These doors are strong and our soldiers are out there doing their best to defend us.”

  He helped her back to her bed where she sat and looked to the others in the room with fear filled eyes.

  Catherine’s thoughts turned to her son who was out there alone. She hoped and prayed for his safety but feared the worst.

  If the combat had made it this far into the town, then surely it must be raging around him right now.

  Sybil tightened her embracing arms about Catherine’s shoulders. She too worried for the safety of all loved ones outside in the thick of battle.

  The sound of swordplay filled the auditorium. Some of the children started to cry as mothers desperately attempted to calm them by rocking them in their arms. The mothers, however, had no one to help them to overcome their fears.

  Hearts raced as the clanging grew louder and louder in their heads. Their breathing became faster and faster as their anxieties gained control.

  A chorus of screams ensued when a loud thud shook the doors.

  The stable master was pressed firmly against the large timber entrance to the Great Hall. His sword crossed his body, preventing the Night Demon from slicing his neck open.

  With all of its weight, the enemy soldier pushed against the burly man. The bulky horseman could smell the foul breath of the hooded figure and tried to hold his own.

  “What do you eat?” he asked as he pushed back with all of his might. “Dragon dung?”

  The hooded warrior fell backwards and tumbled down the steps. The stable master almost fell after it, except that he managed to correct his balance before he toppled over.

  Immediately, he gave chase down the steps and slashed at the Night Demon while it attempted to lift itself from the ground.

  The blade sank into the warrior’s back with a loud crack, sending it to the ground where it lay unmoving.

  The two other dark figures were still engaged with his men. One of the stable hands was sitting with his back against a wall to the side of the street with his entrails streaming across his lap.

  “Francis,” called one of the other hands. “Help, please.”

  Francis Lytton, the stable master, bolted across the street to the scuffle. Until now, the enemy had been fighting against two stable workers. He wasn’t about to give it a chance to see how it would go against three. So, before it could object, Francis slid his rusty sword into the enemy’s back just below where its ribs would be and aimed upwards into the vital organs.

  The Night Demon’s arms dropped to its sides and the curved sword hit the dirt with a dull clang.

  Pulling the blade from the warrior’s corpse, the stable master ran to the aid of the other men still exchanging blows with a cloaked warrior.

  The remaining Night Demon saw it was outnumbered and that the five men had managed to surround it.

  “Where are you going to go now?” a stable hand asked confidently.

  The warrior lunged at him, causing him to jump back and squeal.

  Francis used the opportunity to plunge his blade deep into the Night Demon’s back. He wrenched his sword from the enemy sending a spray of blood across the ground.

  The figure turned to face its attacker opening itself up to another attack from a stable hand behind it.

  The blade hacked deep into its shoulder, separating the flesh in a great open wound.

  Soon, another blade from another man found its mark. Then another, and another. Pretty soon all five men were chopping the body into pieces in the empty street outside the Great Hall.

  A loud trumpet call sounded from the grove. The onslaught of climbers stopped on the northern wall. The Night Demons withdrew to the tree line of the grove and gathered in a line just in front of the woods. Those still battling upon the wall recoiled and leapt off the side of the wall either into the village or back across to the open ground. All enemy soldiers outside the wall ran to the gathering multitude while those inside continued to fight.

  It was a curious and unexpected manoeuvre from Peter’s perspective. The enemy had the advantage and were, in his mind, winning.

  Why retreat when victory was so c
lose?

  “They’re leaving,” Peter called to his friend on the wall.

  “To go where?”

  “How should I know?” he barked back. “To the royal ball.”

  “I’m coming up,” Alan announced.

  “Hoorah!”

  Within moments, Alan was standing back upon the platform. Before him, across the open ground and in front of the trees was a long line of hooded figures stretching from directly before the north-eastern tower all the way as far as his eyes saw to the west.

  There were still so many of them.

  So what were they waiting for?

  As if to answer, a great roar erupted in the sky above.

  “By the gods,” Peter breathed as he peered skywards.

  A great dragon beat its giant wings as it lowered itself outside the northern wall about halfway between the two towers. Many of the remaining men upon the wall nearby leapt to the ground inside the walls and fled towards the village centre.

  Alan couldn’t blame them. The beast was enormous.

  Its neck and head craned over the battlements as it peered along the wall one way before turning its colossal head to look along the expanse of the structure in the other direction.

  “What do we do now, Alan?” Peter asked with a tremble in his voice.

  Alan simply shook his head and shrugged his shoulders.

  The dragon moved its head towards the sky. The men hoped this meant it was about to take to the air once again.

  Another roar from the sky announced the arrival of the second dragon. Bursting through the clouds from the west, it soared over Woodmyst and over the pasturelands in the east.

  Reaching the space above the eastern hill, it turned sharply and floated back towards the village again. Spreading its wings wide, it caught the air like sails and slowed its descent, pulling up just outside the eastern gate.

  It looked over to the first dragon and called to it with a short, deep guttural noise. The other replied in kind.

  Suddenly, the trumpet cried again.

  Fire spewed from the mouths of the beast, engulfing the wall-walk above the east gate and middle of the northern wall.

  The beasts turned their heads to aim their jets at any man remaining upon the walls near them.

  Alan felt the sting of bile rising in his throat as the screams of men burning alive filled the night air.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chief Shelley fell to his knees, mouth agape. Michael couldn’t tell if he was screaming or not. The deafening noise of the fire spewing from the dragons overwhelmed all other sounds.

  Burning bodies fell, writhing in agony, from the wall to the streets below. A few of them tried to move away, only to fall after a few paces, losing their fight with the flames.

  Giant tongues of fire above the eastern gate lapped the air near the great beast. It swung its head through the flames, unscathed by the heat, and spat a jet of fire towards the fleeing men upon the ground.

  Many were consumed instantly. Others could be heard screaming as their skin and flesh peeled from their bones.

  “We are lost,” the chief blubbered. “We are all lost.”

  “Shut it, Barnard,” Michael barked. He called to the men on the eastern wall, “Find cover. Get off the wall and find cover.” Spinning on his heels he addressed those upon the southern wall within earshot, “You too. Get off the wall and find cover.”

  The men didn’t hesitate. The call was relayed along the walls as Michael placed an arm under the chief’s elbow, hoisting the man to his feet.

  “Move it you fat bastard,” he said to his friend. “It’s only a matter of time before that thing turns its attention upon us.”

  They descended the ladder and returned to the ground.

  “Where do we go?” Chief Shelley asked the other.

  “Back to the Great Hall,” Michael replied. “Where else?”

  As he spoke, a great crash could be heard coming from the direction of the eastern gate.

  “What was that?” called an archer.

  A great cloud of dust billowed into the sky. The eastern gate was gone.

  The beast cried a thunderous roar as it spread its wings, clearing some of the dust cloud to reveal its majesty. It stood tall above the debris, as if proud of its handiwork.

  Suddenly, the burning section of the northern wall collapsed as the other dragon pushed itself through the barrier. It was as if the wall was made of nothing but paper. First it was there and now it was gone.

  The trumpet blew a long call from the grove.

  A thunderous roar of many voices boomed across the open ground towards the tower where both Alan and Peter stood. As they watched, many hooded warriors upon steeds emerged from the tree line.

  Too many to count.

  Beating their wings and sending great gusts of air in all directions, the two dragons took to the sky again.

  Peering along the wall in both directions, Alan didn’t see many men upon the wall. There most definitely weren’t enough to defend against what was coming.

  “Get to ground,” he bellowed. “Get to ground.”

  “What are you doing?” Peter grabbed him by the arm.

  Alan stared at him blankly, “What do you mean?”

  “We can’t abandon our post.”

  “Wake up, Peter,” Alan replied. “We have no post. We have lost. All we can do now is defend our families until we have no breath left.” He pointed to the riders outside, “This is their second wave and we have no fortitude to defend with. We fight them head on. Down there on the ground.”

  He stood upon the platform as Alan started down the ladder. His friend had a point. There were two huge gaps in the wall for the enemy to enter the village through. There numbers vastly surpassed those of the remaining soldiers of Woodmyst. No one was left to defend the wall, or what was left of it.

  The fight was going to be on the ground.

  He moved towards the ladder as the trumpet call was given again.

  Hundreds of hoof falls rumbled through the earth as the mounted warriors advanced upon the village.

  Hugh was on the street, running for the section of the northern wall that had been destroyed by one of the giant beasts circling in the air above Woodmyst. He assumed they were waiting for their next command.

  In the meantime, a throng of hooded riders charged towards the tumbled section of the wall, intent upon entering the village. Leading a large band of men, archers from the wall and soldiers upon the ground, Hugh sprinted towards the dust cloud that rose above the rooftops of nearby structures.

  He had ordered all men near the tower to climb off the wall with him, believing that holding the defensive structure was pointless. With the destruction that the fire-breathing monsters had produced upon two sections of the wall, the enemy would concentrate their attention to those positions.

  Making a rash decision, Hugh quickly gathered as many men as he could before racing to his house to loose his dogs from their kennels. Knowing the animals to be loyal, he knew they would join him in battle but freeing them gave them opportunity to flee to safety.

  Presently, his six hounds ran alongside of him. Their faces fixed forward as they bolted along the street with the twenty swordsmen and archers in tow.

  An incredible thunderous roar of many voices resonated along the street towards them as they ran. Hugh ignored it, pushing fear away and choosing anger as his driving force.

  They rounded a bend in the road and the scene before them looked like a nightmare. Not only was the wall here fallen and destroyed, several houses and buildings nearby had been turned into rubble also.

  Dust and smoke rose from the debris in numerous places. Flames still lapped at what tinder they could feast upon. Partly covered bodies, scorched and burnt beyond recognition were laced amongst the stone and timber.

  Beyond all of this came the terrible sound of a deafening war cry. The voices didn’t sound anything like men.

  Pausing near the pile of rubble, Hugh grippe
d his sword in both hands. He quickly looked to those around him.

  His dogs bared their teeth, growling and hackles standing on end. The men were a mixed bunch. Some shared his emotion, scowling and ready for a fight. Others appeared whiter than usual and ready to run.

  “Don’t fear them,” Hugh shouted as he turned his face towards the darkness beyond the dust and flames. “They’re just the Night Demons. If you want to fear something, fear the gods and what honour they will bestow upon you for cowardice. Especially Grolle. That bastard is having his fun tonight. Let’s not disappoint him.”

  The first of the riders burst through the dust, charging directly for Hugh. The dogman held his ground as the steed rapidly closed the ground between them. He tightened his grip on his sword as the hooded warrior raised his curved sword high.

  The mount drew to arms’ reach.

  The warrior swung his blade towards Hugh.

  The man ducked and chopped at the steed’s legs with his sword as if it were an axe to a tree.

  Blood sprayed as the forelegs of the charger were separated from the animal’s body. The beast fell headfirst into the ground sending the rider flying from the saddle and into the streets.

  With a quick glance to the hounds, Hugh silently instructed his pets to complete the task.

  Instantly, the six dogs charged the hooded warrior, as it lay sprawled upon the street. Growls and snapping could be heard as the sickening sound of flesh tearing apart caused the anxious soldiers nearby to feel knots grow in their stomachs.

  Their nausea would need to wait as several riders suddenly appeared upon the heap, speeding towards the men of Woodmyst.

  Hugh gave a great shout and ran towards the invaders. He slashed and hacked with his heavy blade, not caring if he hit rider or steed.

  “Kill them all,” he cried.

  The archers rapidly loaded their bows and fired at the approaching horde beyond the wall as the swordsmen dealt with those who had managed to get through.

  The dogs packed together and spooked several horses as they entered through the gap in the wall. The horses rose upon the back legs, kicking wildly with their fore limbs. A few of their riders fell to the ground where the hounds met them with snapping teeth and a painful death.