“Looks like you made a friend!” shouted Bull.
“Most definitely!”
The men rested, mostly sitting about the small walls that surrounded the artillery lines. It was not long before Neumann’s forces assembled in good order. Markus watched as the Karsians ran back and forth along the walls and the breach, preparing for the defence. The calls to march rang out from Neumann’s columns, many thousands of men springing into action.
The knights sat all morning, watching the fight before them. Neumann’s men fought for hours over the walls, their numbers ever dwindling, and their morale with it. Markus could already see the troops beginning to falter, many staggering away injured, others simply because they had lost the will to fight. Markus stood up on the gun wall, his men sat around him, he held the Banner of Leonzal in his hands, its sheath still hiding its identity.
“Look how our countrymen’s blood is spilled! The barbarians are laughing at us. Will you stand for it?” he shouted.
“No!” the men shouted back.
“I have been waiting outside these walls for long enough, I will not stand to see our brothers’ blood being spilled so, will you follow me to hell and beyond?”
The men cheered in ecstasy, they had longed to join the fight, now more eager than ever. Markus pulled off the sheath of the banner he carried and unravelled the worn and battered flag, thrusting it into the air. Whispers rang out across the troops, a new excitement and surprise among them.
“This is the Banner of Leonzal, carried through the breach of Zwetsee so long ago! I promised the keeper of this great banner that I would raise it over this city! Now will you march with me, to victory, to glory, and for Werstria!”
The men leapt to their feet in excitement, they roared with enthusiasm.
“Follow me, and let us make this land the Kingdom of their blood!”
Markus looked to his knights, already clenching their weapons with an eager readiness. He picked up his greatsword and slung the flagpole through the d-ring of the sword, allowing him to carry both in his hands.
“Form up!” shouted Durer.
“Forward!” Markus shouted.
Over a thousand men in Markus’ command eagerly leapt into a march towards the walls. They marched north, towards where Neumann’s men had assembled that morning and where the Count and the other Lords watched the progress of the battle. Count Kohler watched in amazement at the size of Markus’ loyal followers marching towards him.
“Look at what he has done to the men of Werstria!” shouted Lord Eisler.
“They are a magnificent sight, are they not?” shouted Kohler.
The Count looked back at the siege and could see Neumann’s men faltering. Markus was right all along and he knew it, who was he to stand in the way of a great man’s destiny.
“By God, that standard?” said Cranach.
“It is the Banner of Leonzal!” replied Kohler.
Markus kept on marching. Leading his men straight past the Lords and onwards, past the wounded men who stumbled back towards the camp. The Lords looked in awe at the banner as it passed them, their spines tingling at the very sight of it.
“Go on, Markus, take your Red Devils on and become the man you were born to be!” Kohler ordered.
Markus smiled as he continued onwards. Finally they were starting to appreciate his worth, now he had just to back up his reputation. Looking ahead, he could see that most of Neumann’s forces had broken and were shambling back from the assault, bloodied or mentally beaten. Many of them stopped at the scarlet horde, admiring the banner famed across their Kingdom.
“Come on, men, let’s show these bastards what we are made of, give them Cold Steel!” shouted Markus.
Many of Neumann’s men began to turn, and join Markus’ forces that seemed unstoppable. They marched on with no fear. They were within feet of the craggy ramp to the wall when Markus turned to his men. He pulled the banner out from the side ring of his sword and handed it to the first Leonzal man he could see.
“Carry this with honour, and follow me!”
He quickly turned and ran at the breach, his sword firmly grasped in both hands along its long grip. Most of the men at the front of the column were of the Salbein Knights, each armed and equipped as a Lord. They rushed up the debris to the opening. Markus could see that the Karsians before him were weary from battle. He charged at the first, hacking with all his might. The orc defender lifted his axe shaft to parry the strike but the mighty sword cut through, carving deeply into his throat.
Bull and Vesart stormed into the Karsian line beside him, the other knights at their side. Bull hit the first orc with the weight of his body, smashing him back. The first line of Karsians was utterly destroyed by the Salbein Knights, getting a foot closer into the city than any Werstrian had managed.
Markus took hold of the leather wrapped ricasso of his sword, shortening his grip on the weapon and increasing its leverage. The sea of Red Devils forced their way through on the flanks, Captain Durer fighting like a lion, spurred on by his new leader. Within ten minutes they had got a foothold in the wall, hacking their way through the uncountable number of orcs. Count Kohler shouted support to them from his position. He ordered every man in the army to arms, recognising Markus’ accomplishment.
“Push! Push them back!” shouted Markus.
The Salbeins pushed and hacked their way forward, the Red Devils at their sides. Musket fire still rained down on them from the battlements above, their armour saving them from a great many injuries. Despite this, three dozen of his men had fallen by the time they had gained a few feet of ground.
To his left he saw Yorlor slump to the ground, a spear protruding from between his spaulder and cuirass, he was fighting to pull it out. Ulrich was knocked down but appeared alive, lying upon a sea of bodies. Markus’ armour was yet again thick with blood, but he knew he must summon as much energy again if he wanted victory.
Thrusting his greatsword through a Karsian’s chest, he released his grip on it and drawing his sword in his right hand and mace in the left, he charged forwards into the Karsian line, punching a gap in the line. Markus opened into a frenzy of strikes with both weapons, which to most looked uncontrolled and wild, but almost every blow landed. In six cuts he had finished three attackers. His men looked on in admiration, spurred on, they forced their way forwards with him. Cries of panic sounded out around them as the orcs on the walls were starting to fear the Red Devils, a few were already beginning to run.
“You hear that? They’re running! They’re running!” Markus called to his people.
It was only a small number of Karsians that had turned tail, but Markus’ cry had underlined it to all who were fighting, causing the Werstrians to fight harder and more of the Karsian’s to run. The orc before Markus turned to run, but he would not let him get away that easily. Markus cut at his hamstring, dropping the beast in a bloody mess, he quickly followed with the mace, putting him out of his misery. He sheathed his sword and pulled his greatsword from the orc’s body that he had left it in. He raised his sword in the air.
“After them! Do not let them shut the the gates!”
The Karsians were retreating to the next layer of the city walls, but in the foray he knew they had a chance of reaching the gates whilst they were still open.
“Run!” he shouted.
The knights took flight, as fast as they could. The men behind them were hacking down many of the enemy as they ran by. Bull swung his axe into the back of an orc’s head as he ran past him, killing him instantly. The fleeing troops ruthlessly cut down, they got within sight of the gatehouse and some of the defenders were still rushing through, not having time to shut the large wooden gates.
As Markus reached the doorway to the gatehouse, the portcullis dropped to the ground before him. He looked through the grate to the enemy who had a line of crossbowmen waiting. Markus flipped the visor of his bascinet down just in time. The bolts soared through the gaps in the portcullis, one slid off Markus’ he
lmet. The men beside him were peppered with bolts, many bouncing off their fine armour, others giving minor wounds. A few of the soldiers behind were not so lucky.
“Bull! Vesart, help me get this open!”
Bull grabbed hold of the portcullis at its base, more of their men quickly helping him. They heaved the door open. The weight was tremendous, only eight men got through before they were forced to drop it to the ground. Now the other side of the defences were Markus, Vesart, Tobias, Captain Durer and four of the Red Devils.
“Follow me!” called Markus.
He ran to the stone steps to his left, knowing he must get to the upper gatehouse and lift the portcullis, or they would never survive. As he reached the first few steps a soldier ran towards him, he struck the man’s kneecap with his mace and barged him out of the way without breaking stride. The Karsian men on the ground were closing in on their position as the eight men stormed up the staircase. Markus turned at the top, there were several hundred of the enemy amassed at the ground. They were all were trying to follow them up the narrow stairway.
“Vesart and Tobias with me, the rest of you, hold this position!”
He knew it was a lot to ask of the men, but at least in the bottleneck position they could fight even numbers at a time. They ran on up the next flight of stairs and found the guards in the gatehouse room, desperately trying to prepare burning oil to pour down onto his men. They turned in shock at the sight of the three knights.
Vesart leapt forward with his sword and shield, and knocked the first one into the far wall, thrusting his sword through the orc’s chest as he pinned him against the stone. A second beast charged at Markus, hammering a strong strike towards his head. Markus parried with his greatsword in two hands above his head and kicked to the man’s groin. As the man keeled over, he smashed his knee into the Karsian’s face with his poleyn, the metal crushing his face. Markus threw his weapons to the ground and took hold of the wheel that lifted the portcullis.
“Help me!”
The two other men got on the large wheel and put all the force they could muster into it. The wheel began to turn. They could hear the chains grind on the pulleys as the huge iron entrance lifted. Seconds later the battle cries of his men rang out and were shortly followed by the clash of steel. They locked the wheel into position.
“Get back to Durer!”
They quickly picked up their weapons and ran back down the stairs towards their comrades. They were still fighting hard, but one was dead, another lying wounded on the floor. As Markus approached one of the Karsians kicked Durer to the ground, and was preparing to deal a deadly blow with his axe.
Markus pushed his lead arm forwards, pointing the three barrelled gun at the man and hit the trigger of the wheel lock. All three barrels ignited, two of the rounds hit the orc in the chest, the third striking one of his soldiers beside him. Markus did not stop for a second. He leapt immediately over Durer and launched into the Karsians with his mace.
Down the steps, behind his opponents, Markus could already see many of the Karsian soldiers turning either to fight their incoming forces, or to run. Bull charged in beside him and smashed an orc off his feet, sending him tumbling down the stairway, knocking over many of his countrymen. Without waiting for them to recover, Bull and Vesart ran down the stairway, hacking their way through the disorientated defenders.
A sea of red coats passed in front of them at the base of the stairway, flooding into the city, the Banner of Leonzal at their front. Markus ran to the bottom of the steps to see his men spreading out and fighting the remaining Karsians. His Red Devils hacked down the fleeing Karsians in the hundreds, giving no mercy at all.
He stopped and looked up at the castle keep before him, the last remaining holdout of the Karsians in the city, the gates firmly shut. Vesart walked up and stood beside him, looking up at the final fortress. Before he could think for a moment as to how to overcome the final keep, an uncomfortably familiar shriek rang out around the valley. It was same evil scream that they had heard over Ternen and had hoped to never hear again.
Over two thousand Werstrian men had already flooded into the city and all turned in shock and fright to peer at this new evil. Seconds later a huge dark winged beast soared in from over the vast walls. Its wings bowed and body lowered as it descended to the ground between the castle walls. Screams rang out from the soldiers as it smashed to the ground and slid across the floor, crushing dozens of men in the process.
Before anyone could react the beast’s mighty jaw opened and fire poured out, engulfing many of the men. Chilling cries of agony rang out as countless brave soldiers were killed or badly wounded.
“Markus, the sword!” shouted Bull.
He lifted the sword into his hand. It was magnificent! The blade glowed red, pulsating, until bursting into flames. The beast before him was rampaging though the Werstrian soldiers. It was a terrifying thought, knowing that he had to face the Dragon. He dropped his mace and took and flaming greatsword in two hands.
Bull lifted his shield in his left hand and axe in the other, the two men rushed across the open ground towards the foul creature. Within seconds it turned its attention to the flaming sword approaching. Its jaws widened and flame burst from its mouth, but they were parted before the sword, saving the two men from injury.
The Dragon in a furious rage rushed towards them, swiping towards Markus with its claw. He ducked under the huge talon and leapt up the other side, but was too slow to strike. He ran forward and cut against the body of the beast, its skin was thick scaly armour, like steel.
Markus tried to thrust into the body but before he could the creature withdrew and lunged at him with its huge and revolting mouth. He cut against the jaw, causing it to recoil in pain, but it quickly came back. The beast kicked with its leg at Markus, the strike hitting his armour square on and launching him high into the air. He landed on one of the tall ramparts, knocking him immediately unconscious.
Bull charged at the beast in anger, hacking at its body with his axe, it made to strike him but he skilfully ducked and weaved between strikes. The Dragon tried to stamp on the proud fighter with all its force, but he voided the landing and slammed the back spike of his axe into the beast’s foot. It gave out a high-pitched screech and struck him with its paw, knocking him across the courtyard and flat against a wall, he collapsed to the ground.
Markus began to come to his senses as if in a dream, he could feel his brother with him. As his eyes opened he knew he would kill the dragon and avenge his brother. His body ached with excruciating pain from the landing, though his fine armour has saved his body from being broken. He stood up on the wall and looked out at the terrifying progress of the fight. The few Werstrian men who tried to fight the beast were being slaughtered, whilst many more piled through the bottleneck of the gate.
Only Vesart and the remaining knights stood in the courtyard ready to fight, ready to face their end for the good of the cause. Markus could not believe what he was seeing. He would not see the only friends he had in the world butchered, not when they were so close to victory.
He looked down at the greatsword resting on the wall, the blade still glowing. He picked up the vast weapon, flames erupting again from the blade as he took it in his hands. He immediately rushed forward, reaching a running pace. The Dragon cocked back its head, ready to breathe flame. As it did so, Markus sprinted along the wall and leapt from the battlement. It was a long jump, but the decent and speed allowed him to just make it.
He landed hard on the beast, its body recoiling from the impact. He quickly got to his feet and ran along its neck to where the rider sat. The Karsian tried to turn to defend himself but it was too late, Markus swung a huge horizontal strike, severing the orc’s head, its body tumbling off to the castle floor.
Without any further hesitation, Markus lifted the flaming sword above his head in both hands, the blade pointing downwards, he drove the blade deep into the back of the neck. The Dragon thrashed around with the impact and threw
him off. Markus landed hard on the ground and rolled over the bodies of crushed and burnt soldiers. He got back up on one knee to watch the wounded beast.
The Dragon stood upright and with a tall stretch and screech, finally collapsed lifelessly to the dirt, another body to join the bloody courtyard. Markus hauled himself to his feet, not believing that he was still able to stand. He rushed over to Bull who was just coming to, the rest of the knights quickly joined them.
Werstrian soldiers once more began to flood back into the courtyard, as much to see the body of the fell beast as in triumph of their victory. Markus, Vesart, Bull and Alix looked up at the castle keep. The orcs upon the walls looked down in fear at the defeat of their monster, but were no more inclined to open the gates.
“Got any great ideas?” asked Vesart.
“I am not waiting any longer. We raise our banner over the city today!”
“How? We have no siege equipment left!”
Captain Durer walked up alongside the men, blood trickled down his face, but he was glad to be still standing. He looked out at the castle, and then to Markus.
“There is another way into the keep.”
“Go on,” said Markus.
“There is a secret passage used by the Lords, it runs from the keep to the easterly tower of the middle wall.”
“How do you know this?”
“Many years ago I worked as a guard for the Lord of Lienzberg, I moved to Ambstern due to my marriage,” he replied.
Markus slapped him on the back with a grin.
“My man, you have certainly proven your worth.”
Markus looked to the gate, Yorlor staggered through, blood dripping from his armour, but his sword still in his hand, he was looking for a fight.
“Yorlor!”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“Yorlor, we have a way into the keep, I am leaving you in charge here, be sure the men tend to your wound.”
Kingdom of Fire Page 18