Seeing the sheer number of approaching enemy, Hugh knew he and the twenty fighters with him were not going to hold the ground for long. The enemy was simply too many.
The riders started to crowd at the passageway created by the dragon, so many that Hugh couldn’t keep count.
“Grolle has come,” he called to his men.
Gripping his blade tightly in both hands, he ran into the throng.
Alan cautiously weaved his way through the streets, moving from the eastern tower towards the break in the northern wall. Behind was a line of almost thirty men. They had encountered several hooded warriors that had managed to enter the village earlier in the night by climbing the wall.
Now, the enemy was being hunted.
Shooting his hand up, a signal to halt, Alan observed two Night Demons slinking in the shadows. They were using the cover of darkness as they made their way towards the Great Hall.
The men pressed themselves against the walls of nearby buildings to conceal themselves in the darkness.
Two fingers were extended upon his hand, signalling to the soldiers behind him that he saw two enemy warriors. He then made a fist.
Two archers silently sidled up to him. He indicated to a section of shadow by a small cottage. The archers peered to the darkness, barely able to make out the two shapes.
Then the shadows moved.
The archers instantly and quietly loaded their bows, and pulled back on the stings, which creaked softly as the tension increased.
The Night Demons must have heard it. Both hoods turned towards the direction of the men.
Worried = the dark warriors would flee, Alan pointed to the enemy soldiers, a signal to fire.
Both archers let the shafts loose. Both found their targets, deep in the throats of the cloaked figures.
Falling to the ground with a thud, the hooded warriors writhed in pain. There were no screams or cries. The two archers’ impeccable aim had seen to that.
Alan signalled a swordsman to finish the job. As one of the soldiers pierced the fallen Night Demons with his blade, Alan continued along the winding street towards the noise of battle.
He paused to consider whether the hunt should continue, or if he and his men should assist at the breach. It wasn’t a difficult decision to make.
“Let’s go,” he ordered.
Running towards the sound of swords clashing, Alan pulled his blade from its sheath. He heard horses screaming, men calling and dogs barking.
Upon arriving at the scene, he saw riders bursting through the rupture in the wall only to be met by a ragtag group of men. At their forefront stood Hugh Clarke, swinging his sword wildly at Night Demon and steed alike.
Running between the chargers’ legs, snapping at their hooves, were six savage hounds. Alan moved his eyes across the debris where he saw charred bodies of his village men. Amongst them lay the freshly killed bodies of cloaked figures.
It would appear that Hugh and his men were having some small successes. But the numbers of enemy chargers entering through the ruptured wall also informed him that they were vastly outnumbered.
“Coming in,” Alan shouted over the din of battle.
The men behind him repeated the call in chorus, assuring that their allies heard them.
“Hurry up and get in here, then,” shouted one of the swordsmen near Hugh.
Charging hard, Alan and his men lifted their blades and engaged the enemy.
“Some got through, Alan,” Hugh called as he plunged his blade into the ribs of an enemy warrior. “There were just too many.”
“How many?” he asked as he slashed his blade across a steed’s chest. The horse fell hard and the rider fell upon one of the charred remains of a man. Two of Hugh’s dogs were instantly upon the fallen figure, burying their muzzles into its fleshy torso.
Turning from the scene, Alan was confronted with another mounted steed heading straight for him.
“I’m not sure,” Hugh answered as he slid his blade across the chest of a Night Demon. “Perhaps five on horseback.”
An arrow shot through the air and hit the charging rider in the side of the head before it reached Alan.
“There will be more before the night is over,” he called back. The rider fell at his feet. He stabbed his blade into its chest, just to be sure.
“I know,” Hugh replied.
The southern fields continued to burn, sending plumes of smoke and ash into the sky. Richard could only assume that the intense heat from the dragon fire had scorched the earth in that area so deep that life would cease to exist in the plantations for some time to come.
Turning his back upon the orchards, he observed the mayhem unfolding inside the village walls. Dust and smoke still sat thickly above to the two breached areas of the defensive barrier.
The sound of combat rang across the rooftops towards him. The battle was now inside Woodmyst.
The men around him had given up on watching the forest to the west and the region to the south.
The plantations were lost.
The enemy was entering the town.
There was no need for any attack to occur in their sector. Such an act would be overkill and unnecessary.
Panning across the faces of the men about him, Richard saw mixed reactions upon all of them.
Some wanted to stay, and secretly, a part of him did too.
Here, upon the southern section of the wall, they had been left alone. There had been no attacks and sight of the Night Demons. The dragons’ attack was distant and far from them. The noise of battle was on the far side of the village and not posing as a threat to them.
They were safe here, for the time being.
Eventually, however, the enemy would make its way towards them and they would be discovered. Their options would be to either flee or fight.
The fear in a number of his men’s eyes displayed the desire to flee. But having an enemy with dragons that could fly and breathe fire, fleeing would prove fruitless.
Standing to fight would result in imminent death. But it would be a brave death and he didn’t want to be known for cowardice.
The faces of the other men surrounding him upon the wall informed him of a desire to climb down from the wall and enter the fray.
Some of them had family in the Great Hall and it was obvious that the giant structure was the endgame for the Night Demons. He didn’t have family of his own, but he understood their yearning to be with their loved ones.
Again, facing the enemy in the streets of Woodmyst would certainly result in death. Cowardice, however, would not enter into the equation. Surely, the gods would look favourably upon them if they confronted their fears head on.
So, Richard made a decision.
“Men,” he called, “there is no need for us to defend this wall any longer. The enemy has breached our defences in the north and east. They have now entered our village. I believe they intend to harm your families who are refuged within the Great Hall. I intend to stop as many of them as I can. Join me, or not. You decide.”
He descended the tower ladder and walked briskly towards the centre of town.
Before long, there was a throng of men following him.
The night had revealed a strong enemy that outnumbered them immensely.
One by one they brandished their blades as they marched.
They were scared.
They were brave.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Michael pulled the men up on the southern side of the East Bridge. He peered across the river to the large cloud of dust above the rubble of the eastern gate. A flickering orange glow was projected against it, caused by the fires that burned beneath.
“What are you doing?” Chief Shelley called.
“I think we should split up,” Michael replied.
The chief looked puzzled. He turned to the faces of the men nearby to see if they could make sense of his friend’s words. Each of them shared his expression of confusion.
“Are you mad?”
“Yes,” Chief Shelley agreed. “So let’s go and kill some of them.”
“The Great Hall remains practically unprotected,” Michael continued.
The chief moved his eyes towards the town centre and then back to the glowing dust cloud.
“Right,” he nodded.
“I think you should take some men and protect the Great Hall,” suggested Michael.
“What?” Chief Shelley quickly turned his head left and right, glancing in the directions of both the breach and the giant building in the centre of the village. “Why don’t you go to the Great Hall and I go to the wall?”
Michael looked directly into his friend’s eyes and placed his hands upon the chief’s shoulders.
“I don’t have a wife and children, Barnard,” he replied. “You take the men who do, and I’ll take those who don’t. Go to the Great Hall where your families are. Protect them with everything you have. We’ll try and hold them off for as long as we can.”
Chief Shelley touched his forehead against Michael’s brow. “You’re a good friend, Michael.”
The men separated, the chief taking the married men while the single warriors remained with the other. Michael quickly counted the two parties. It appeared there were more with families than without.
As a result, some forty or so men left with the chief, leaving Michael with a little fewer than twenty.
It would have to do.
“To battle, I guess.” He smiled to the men in his charge.
They crossed the bridge at full pace and wound their way towards the eastern gate.
The Night Demons raced their steeds around the north-eastern corner of the wall, passing beneath the tower and heading towards the breach where the eastern gate once stood. Awaiting them there were thirteen men with Peter at the helm.
They had already slain fifteen of the enemy riders, but knew there were more to come for them. The men at the eastern gate, as with those at the northern breach, prevented the enemy from a full assault within the walls. Peter, however, knew they wouldn’t be able to hold them off for long.
More than twenty men were lying dead around him, victims of dark arrows and curved blades. He needed more men to help him hold the breach.
The horses suddenly appeared on the glow of the fire that still burnt upon the fallen debris.
Swinging his sword, Peter connected with the lead charger. The beast screamed and the rider fell. As quickly as he could, Peter jumped to the side, pressing himself against the inside surface of the wall next to the breach.
Other riders flooded through the gap, riding over their fallen comrade, trampling the cloaked figure into the rubble.
The other men attacked ferociously.
“We hold them here,” Peter called as he joined the fight.
His men hacked and slashed wildly. They were untrained and not particularly skilled. But they were focussed. They were intent on killing as many of the invaders as they could.
Thirteen became twelve, then eleven as the conflict persisted.
A number of enemy riders managed to break through the blockade and disappeared into the village. Peter looked after them and counted five, but knew he could not pursue. He turned back to the onslaught of riders and slashed wildly.
Several Night Demons fell from their horses where they met the Woodmyst blades. Upon seeing this, a number of the riders dismounted and engaged the men upon the ground.
Occupied with hand-to-hand combat, the men were unable to focus their attention upon the encroaching chargers who slipped through the breach and into the village without resistance.
Peter cried out in frustration as he blocked and parried blows from a hooded warrior. His family were in the Great Hall and something inside of him knew the riders were intent on getting there.
He fought with every ounce of strength he had. There was no way he would simply allow his family to fall victim to the Night Demons.
The riders needed to be stopped. But now they simply rode through the gap, as if invited.
His heart sank as the sensation of defeat filled his spirit.
He pictured his family falling prey to the curved blade of the enemy. Anger and rage suddenly filled his senses and he pushed the warrior back with his sword.
The Night Demon stumbled slightly before swinging the blade overhead towards Peter. In one swift motion, Peter blocked with his sword and pulled his dagger from his belt, plunging it deep into the chest of his foe.
With a twist of the blade, Peter retracted his knife and let the warrior fall to the ground. He replaced the dagger back upon his belt as he bolted onto the mound, swinging his sword from right to left in order to connect with the neck of a passing steed.
With a quick spin, the blade was withdrawn and swung left to right. The horse continued to fall, lowering its rider to just the right height for Peter to land his blade into the warrior’s back.
“We number eight,” a swordsman announced as he took his place by Peter’s side.
“Coming in,” a familiar voice called from behind them.
Twenty men suddenly emerged from the shadows of the street, Michael in the lead.
“Not any more,” Peter replied to the swordsman beside him.
More riders appeared in the breach as the soldiers arrived upon the mound.
“Some made it through,” Peter announced. “I think they’re heading for the Great Hall.”
“Barnard has taken forty men to defend the Great Hall,” Michael replied as he slashed at a passing steed. The rider was flung to the ground hard. Before it could rise back to its feet, a swordsman plunged his blade into the fallen warrior’s head.
“Do you think we can win?” Peter asked.
“No,” Michael replied, “but we can make them second guess the reason why they tried to take us down. Perhaps we can scare them away.”
Peter chuckled as he swung his blade again.
The Night Demon riders raced through the streets of Woodmyst. Their current course would lead them directly to the steps outside of the Great Hall. Holding their curved swords high, they called with loud hoots and shouts through the streets to any of their comrades who had managed to infiltrate the walls and make their way towards the village centre.
Several answered from the shadows and continued to make their way towards the large building in the middle of town.
The riders found more warriors upon steeds as they wound their way through the thin back streets of Woodmyst. Gradually, their numbers grew with eleven upon steeds and twenty on foot.
Before long, the large building was within view. The riders pulled their horses to a halt a little ways down the street from the steps leading up the giant doors.
Standing upon the steps were Francis Lytton and his three remaining workers brandishing swords stained with the blood of Night Demons.
The stable master scrutinised the invaders carefully. The cloaked figures, both upon steed and foot peered back at the men from beneath their dark hoods.
“Quite a few of them,” said one of the hands softly to the hefty horseman. “Aren’t there, Francis?”
“Is that all you got?” Francis called.
One of the riders charged forward, directing his steed straight for the stable master. Raising his sword over his head, the horseman flung his weapon towards the oncoming warrior.
The blade turned in the air and buried itself deep into the steed’s forehead, right between the eyes.
The horse fell and the rider tumbled across the street, landing in a heap at the base of the stairs. One of the stable hands quickly slid his blade into the cloaked figure as the stable master ripped his sword from the animal’s head.
“Good shot, Francis,” said another hand.
“I was aiming for the rider,” Francis informed the man. “Poor horse didn’t need that.”
Suddenly, the other Night Demons bolted towards t
he men upon the stairs.
“Here we go,” a hand announced.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The noise of clanging steel urged Chief Shelley to increase his pace. He led the men across the Centre Bridge and onto the street that led directly to the steps of the Great Hall.
As they ran along the road towards the building, he saw a small group of men fighting a large number of enemy warriors. He increased his pace as much as he could. His men kept pace behind him.
He witnessed a curved blade take the head from one of the brave men near the steps. Suddenly afraid his band of men wouldn’t get to the fight before the remaining soldiers in the fray were taken, he hollered to the ones behind him. “Go, go. Don’t wait for me. Take those bastards down.”
A number of his men bolted past him and towards the conflict. By the time he joined them, they had already engaged and taken out three of the Night Demons.
Chief Shelley, still running, swung his sword towards a hooded figure dismounting a steed. The blade cut through the enemy soldier’s shoulder and dropped him to the ground.
Blood oozed from the wound, pooling onto the ground near the body. He hadn’t seen blood during battle since the days of the Realm War. His stomach tightened and his knees felt weak.
“Wake up, Chief,” called Francis Lytton from his side.
Chief Shelley turned just in time to see another hooded warrior running at him from his left.
The chief pointed the tip of his blade towards the advancing soldier and used his legs to help him run the blade deep into the chest of the enemy.
The curved blade dropped onto the street moments before its owner fell next to it.
Chief Shelley turned to face the thick of the battle. Before him were forty of his village men overpowering the band of enemy warriors.
“Save the horses if you can,” called the stable master as he pulled a rider from his charge, stabbing his sword into the invader’s chest with one hand.
The chief jogged into the fight and hacked his way through two of the Night Demons to sidle up to the large man.
The Walls of Woodmyst Page 18