War of the Feathers – Part 5

X

It was too much to hope that the Xellcarrians would have let them have the rest of the afternoon, Evander lamented. Then again, there was more desperation behind them than General Aedion had let on.

On the horizon, like a gently rising tide, rose gleaming lines of platinum coloured armour, marching into position.

With Kellen in the far-right tower, equipped with Chimera Paws, Evander was hopeful the right flank would be light in casualties. Oscar was with his shield troop by the portcullis on the north wall, should it be breached.

“Fiadh, when they’re in range, loose. Don’t wait for my command!” Evander shouted down the wall to his right. The Summiteer acknowledged with a thumbs-up. “Everyone else, loose when the enemy is in range, and Gods be with you. Majkel shook the waters from the sky with the reverberation of his bow. They granted us Their tools, remember that!”

The soldiers on the wall cheered and filled the air with the clattering of personal weapons against armour.

Looking back at the advancing mass, still far out of arrow range, Evander scowled at the sight of something… Then from between the enemy ranks came streams of lithe, blonde streaks.

“Attack cats!” Evander shouted. This changed things. “Take them down before they reach the wall!” He raised his own longbow and struggled to keep up with the speed of the beasts.

To his left, Bunny launched several searing flares across the expanse. Their eyes overwhelmed by sheering light, the front ranks of cats came to a tumbling halt, rolling over themselves and moaning in frustration.

Arrows took to the sky, going high, wide, and low, impacting dense furry bodies. Cats wailed hauntingly as they were struck. More attack cats behind them, unaffected by the flares, raced on. Each of the creatures bounded over and past their fallen and the bodies of dead Xellcarrian soldiers. Nothing – bar the impact of an arrow – could slow them. These beasts wove about any corpse, or staggering ally, with preternatural reactions and timing.  

“Get the Drunkards,” Evander said to Juliet. They drew the beige and green feathered arrows from their quivers, nocked them and together launched them into the horde. Evander sent his arrow off to the left, striking a cat in the flank causing it to skid, carving a wake of dirt through the ground. Juliet’s shot went to the right, punching into the ribs of another cat and spinning it around and onto its back.

Around each of the wounded beasts, within a radius of almost one hundred yards, the charging cats began tumbling over their own paws or staggering feebly to one side. Baleful moans, and confused hisses filled the air.

With many of the cats in range of the ground archers, Fiadh had the masses bellow begin loosing. Their arcs covered one hundred to two hundred yards, marking out a kill zone perpetually filled with raining arrows. Many of the inebriated cats were beaten into the ground, killed quickly by the barrages.

Yet, the effect of the Drunkards did not last nearly as long as Evander would have wanted. Many of the beasts recovered, and many more behind them came charging – a few hundred at least.

As the first beasts hit the base of the wall, the Men-at-Arms in distance began their charge. The cats were there to tie up the archers, and other wall defenders on the north. Evander envisioned them flanking right. “Fiadh! Concentrate on the infantry!” He shouted. The girl acknowledged with a nod. “Everyone on the wall, don’t let a single cat up here!” Now it was going to get bloody, and messy.

Leaning over the edge of wall Evander could see the gleaming fangs, sharp predatory eyes and the sleek metal gauntlets designed to protect their gutting climbing claws. With the same effortlessness in covering the flat field, the cats bounded up the wall in dizzying blurs, as if defying natural law. These mountain beasts, two metres in length and built like bison, could scale near sheer cliff faces as easily as a human could walk on a flat surface.

Siege soldiers began chucking down rocks, cracking wailing cats’ skulls, and knocking them off the wall. Archers were able to lean over and shot directly down, striking cat after cat, but it was far from enough. Wailing, flesh-rippling hissing, assaulted the defenders first as the mass consumed the base of the northern wall.

A soldier to Evander’s left screamed. He turned to see the defender clutching his face, blood running between his fingers. The cat, half over the wall sunk its fangs into his shoulder and pulled him from the wall. Another soldier was quicker, and with a poleaxe carved it into a cat’s shoulder, only for jet claws to lash through his chest. The soldier staggered back crying out through a bloody cloud.

Suddenly Evander was face to face with one of the lions, and without thought had his dagger up under its chin. A coarse bark of meaty, deathly air washed over him. With his other fist – bow still gripped – he punched the lion in the nose, then withdrew the dagger and shoulder barged it, course, prickly fur stabbing into his face. The beast fell back and disappeared.

To either side of him, along the northern wall, soldiers hacked, hammered, and slashed against a chorus of otherworldly moans and hisses. Spurts of blood, vividly lit by the bright afternoon and rolling with whisps of steam, surged into the air, as throats were ripped out, or skulls crushed by unfathomably powerful bite forces. Maytoni fell back off the wall, dead or dying.

Below, line sergeants were howling at their archers to keep up the rate of arrows, to ignore the dead, and the wailing from the nearly dead on the ground.

On his left Evander caught sight of a manticore soldier hefting one lion above his head with both hands. The Maytoni’s own blonde mane matched that of the attacking cat, his or her – it was almost impossible to tell with manticore – own manicured mane a contrast against the wild bristling mantle of the beast. They effortlessly tossed the howling beast back over the wall, took up their poleaxe and swung at the next animal attempting to mount a balustrade.

Another maw, fangs bared through a dreadful hiss came at Evander. Amber eyes held an unyielding hatred as the snarl only grew. Evander threw a punch at the beast, forcing a howl which shook his nerve. The lion’s head reeled back, its skull-splitting fangs glistening with saliva, their length accentuated against the open sky. The beast’s claws scrabbled for purchase. Evander followed up with another punch through numb knuckles, pushing it from the wall.

To his right he caught Fiadh swiping her dagger up into the throat of a cat as it leapt upon her shoulders. Utilising its momentum, she hoisted the beast over her shoulder and launched it behind her off the wall. The sight sparked inspiration within Evander, and he found himself laughing. “We’ll make garments of them yet, Maytoni!” He howled. “Who wants a coat for their paramour!” Soldiers along the wall cheered in response as they grappled with flesh-ripping talons, and armouring piercing fangs, and hacked and slashed manically.

Another cat burst up from between balustrades, and in his mania, Evander instinctively headbutted it. Vision swimming in sandy and dark colours, he brought his dagger about and thrust it into the beast’s throat, turning a ghastly wail into a gurgling moan. Grasping clumps of the coarse mane, he hauled the beast with burning arm muscles off the wall, and out of the way. Several of his fingernails were torn off from the effort.

For all the determination of the defenders to keep the cats out of the fort, the Xellcarrian attack plan was still working in their favour. Thousands of Men-at-Arms charged toward the wall, and to the right of the fort. The archers on the ground loosed volley after volley over the wall and into the designated kill zone covering a length of two hundred yards and a range of a hundred yards, dropping hundreds, but not enough as they began to flank right.

Only now did Evander realise he was dripping with blood, lion’s blood, and it reeked with a sour, metallic tang. Several soldiers were vomiting, and Evander was close to joining them.

“Gods damn lions,” Juliet said panting, running bloodied hands through her hair, only making the gore streaks worse.

As the soldiers came charging through the waves of arrows, the last of the cats leapt away from the wall to make way for them.

To their right, Kellen still alive in his tower, had begun launching the Chimera Paws into the flank attack. Evander and Juliet leaned over the balustrades, hands on humid, blood slick rock and slate, to see. Plumes of wild white, searing orange, and vivid yellow began to run diagonally through the wide enemy ranks, though hardly enough to bring the advance to a standstill. The flank attack was hundreds wide, and each arrows toxic effect only covered a few dozen yards. Within the centres of the advancing lines, strangled wails of anguish were loosed as a couple of hundred soldiers combusted in their armour, and flames enveloped dozens more. Greater numbers crumpled as the sulphuric toxicity released into the air melted throats, mouths, and lungs. As a result, the attack split into two lanes, around the fallen. This gave the archers along the far north and east walls easy pickings, and they didn’t hesitate to take full advantage, loosing arrow after arrow into the ranks. It was a massacre. Bodies piled up into a gleaming metal wall, shields useless as they were penetrated by the dragon-blood enhanced arrows.

Despite the stalling of the flank attack, Evander had his own problems as the horde advancing on the north wall clambered over their dead and ran through the dread-rain of arrows.

He was about to shout orders when a soldier to his right dropped. Instinctively Evander moved into the cover by one of the balustrades. As he did, he watched Juliet fall, a hand over her face. He moved across, boots clapping against a thin slick of blood, on hunches to grab her. She pulled her hand away from her face, glaring at the blood rolling over the dirt and grime. Along the left side of her face was gash wide enough to revel glints of bone.

Several more soldiers fell, sharp whisps dominating the air around them.

“I just got slapped down by a Xellcarrian,” Juliet managed to growl. Yet as she did so the wound stretching down from her cheekbone to her jaw yawned further with each word.

“Don’t talk, you’re making the wound worse,” Evander replied taking hold of the side of her head, to try and close as much of the gnarled slash as he could.

Juliet pulled a cloth from a pouch on her belt and pressed it to the wound, eyes flaring in response to the burst of raw pain. The white material lapped blood eagerly, diffusing to a wine red.

Looking around, Evander could see the siege soldiers and archers all ducking beneath the covering wall or standing behind the balustrades. No one dared peek out as the sharp noises continued to dart over the wall.

Crossbows, Evander realised miserably, with an underscoring frustration.

“How pathetic,” Juliet muttered through gritted teeth. “I wanted a fierce battle scar; I get one from a poxy crossbower!”

“Don’t worry, I’ll tell everyone it was a bow-knight,” Evander panted. He tied the cloth around Juliet’s head. “But for now just shut up would you.”

She responded by sticking her tongue out at him, and it was enough to make Evander grin.

“Get ready!” He roared, feeling a constricting frustration in his chest at being pinned down. He rose slightly, peeking past the chipped and blood-spattered balustrade to see the countless Xellcarrians within a hundred yards of the wall. The dead had increased substantially, yet this did nothing to deter the assaulters. More continued to fall from the arrow volleys launched out of the northern field, but any who made it within a hundred yards of the fort were safe from the barrage.

From the left tower Bunny had clearly been launching more Drunkards, working along the advancing line of Xellcarrians. Soldiers staggered as if a quake shot through the ground beneath them. They fell to their knees, or toppled backwards, and struggled to get back to their feet as their world tilted back and forth.

“Archers! Loose!” Evander cried. He forced the thought of crossbows out of his mind and lead by example, being the first to pull out of cover. He sent an arrow into one solider unaffected by Bunny’s volleys. Another sharp whisp close to his face stalled him in nocking another arrow, but he ignored it and continued to target the oncoming attackers.

The archers around him moved to take up positions again. Several more were immediately punched backwards, bolts protruding from necks and chests. Siege soldiers began to clear the walkway by rolling the dead off of the wall. Unceremonious as it was, they did not have the time to carry the bodies down the lanes of steep steps. Line sergeants within the field continued to roar orders to ignore the dead and keep shooting.

“Our arrows are the bitter tears of Garmaff, who took the few arrows of our ancestors and multiplied them ten-fold in the sky!” One line sergeant cried.

She wasn’t alone, as others were shouting various tales and proverbs from the holy writs too.

Faidh was still there, further down the right side of the wall. She loosed her own toxic arrows into the enemy – now only twenty yards from the wall and impossible to miss. Even blindfolded, an archer’s arrow was guaranteed to hit someone. Once her arrow punched deep into the chest of an enemy, the barbs of the cobra-pheasant flights sprang outward from the impact, finding their way through the gaps in the armour of surrounding soldiers, piercing linen and even silk to fell many.

Moving over the dead and dying, the Xellcarrians made it to the base of the wall. Maytoni siege soldiers set about hurling rocks down at them. Sheilds came up in response, powerful clangs and reverberations bouncing back up the wall sounding out the ineffectiveness of the projectiles. Other siege soldiers began pouring pitch down the wall before setting light to it. Along the whole length of the north wall rivulets of flame poured down like magma flows, pooling atop the Xellcarrian shields.

Many new braziers rose up along the base of the wall, inside of which came the horrified cries of Xellcarrians. Ghastly choking yowling climbed the walls, intermixed with the thick, throat-cutting smoke. Many Xellcarrians dropped their shields on reflex, exposing themselves and those around them. Rocks were pelted down relentlessly, denting in helmets and cracking skulls.

The crossbow bolts ceased, Evander noted. Likely due to the Men-at-Arms having made it to the base of the wall, rather than the curtain of smoke now veiling the defenders. The wide columns of flames reaching down the wall determined the climbing lanes for the Xellcarrians making it easier for the siege infantry to see where the enemy was going to rise from.

Ladders were produced, thick steel reinforced wood, clattering against the top of the wall. Other soldiers had difficulty placing their ladders, with so many dead cats at the base of the wall. Some, in a state of urgency and panic, simply planted them on the corpses of their war cats. When only halfway up the ladder would buckle enough to send it sliding off to one side, through cloying flames and into neighbouring ladders.

Thousands of Xellcarrians crowded the base of the north wall, clattering up the ladders as soon as there was space to do so.

From the wall of light swallowing smoke in front of Evander came a helmeted Xellcarrian. It was a mercy, as Evander couldn’t see the eyes widen in fright as he plunged his dagger into the soldier’s neck. Hands came up to fight the attack, too late. The soldier lost their footing and fell away, a jet of blood spurting over Evander as his dagger was released. Another was on top of the instantly filling the gap, ready for Evander. Their sword swung in wild arcs, forcing sparks from the neighbouring balustrades. Spluttering from the smoke scratching his throat, he forced the face-visor up and plunged his dagger into an eye – noting it was pale blue and bloodshot. Evander shoved the wailing soldier back and off the ladder before the cries rose enough to start him.

A siege-soldier, an ork, pushed in next to Evander with a small cauldron of pitch, the boil of which was growling like a caged predator. The ork poured the skin-stripping oil down the ladder, the next attacking soldier drenched by the bulk of it. Hissing steam a sound like irate snakes, rolled from the armour, and the soldier’s cries rose to a pitch that could have shattered glass. Another siege solider added flame to the pitch and the whole ladder ignited, flailing Xellcarrians enveloped by raging flames. The power of the heat alone forced Evander rolled back to the cover of the balustrade, wincing as the terror-ridden howls followed him.

Despite this, many Xellcarrians made it over the wall to engage the Maytoni in melee combat. Juliet caught the downward swing of a sword with her dagger, before producing another dagger from her belt and plunging it into the neck joint of her attacker’s armour. She threw the enemy aside, turning to engage another.

Evander was about to move to assist, when from the portal of pitch-black smoke and amber tinted light came a large skull, with curved fangs. Before being able to rationalise it, the jawbone came down to split the skull of the ork soldier. The weapon was withdrawn with ease and swatted back the poleaxe of another soldier, before descending to bite through their face.

This jawbone was some obscene axe weapon, though Evander had hardly the time to admire and be horrified by it as it was turned on him. Wreathed in thick ethereal tendrils of pitch-black smoke the warrior swung down at him. Evander brought his dagger up to parry the blow, catching his blade between the teeth of the weapon, and jumped away to the left. The axe pulled away and came at him again from another high arc. He dropped, serrated teeth clattering into the wall, biting chunks out of it. Sharp debris stung Evander’s face and scalp. Through the stinging pain, he swiped his dagger low at the waist-joints of the soldier’s armour. Yet, the attacker was nimble enough to lunge back. The action took Evander off balance, and he stumbled forwards into an oncoming boot as dense as any boulder. He was tossed towards the edge of the wall, onto his right side. There he felt his lungs empty of air, and a ripple of cramps seized his left hip and ribs. Descending out of the plumes of pitch-black smoke pouring over the wall came the bite of the skull axe. Evander managed to roll to his left, pain crippling his left. As the weapon tore a chunk from the walkway, he managed to find his feet. The muscle seizing anguish only incentivised Evander. Pain was progress after all. It made him stronger and gave him something to overcome. He pounced with the deftness of any battle cat, his dagger raised above him. As the Xellcarrian attacker began to bring his axe back up, Evander lunged for the armour’s neck joint. The soldier spun as Evander’s dagger struck, missing the side of the neck and instead slicing into the thick, softer flesh and muscle of the throat.

Only then did Evander see the face of his attacker: General Casey Aiza, one of the Xellcarrians he had parlayed with early in the day. His skin was strewn with murky strips, as char and ash mixed into sweat, and the eyes, bloodshot from the smoke, were wide, bitter, and determined to keep fighting; the glare of soldier not prepared to die with a mission still to finish.

Evander recalled what Gay had said to him earlier that day… He wasn’t a Xellcarrian. He was the enemy.

Tightening his grip on the dagger, Evander pulled the blade through the general’s throat and shoved the body aside.

Acrid, burning air continued to assault his throat and nose. Wails and screams, desperate, despairing, and hopeless, shrilled high above everything else and dominated the air as if Evander had been thrown into the Chasm itself. Waves of black, smoke rose up from beyond the wall, obscuring the brightness of the day, washing it way, and pushing the atmosphere into a premature dusk.

Evander looked to see Juliet, leaning against a balustrade, blood smeared over her leather armour, and caked into the grime of her face. She looked exhausted, but okay. Thus, he ran along the wall, as the last few Xellcarrians were cut down – one by Faidh, who sent them back into the conflagration below.

A veil of light consuming smoke ran along the whole length of the north wall as if attempting to partition the two warring sides. Evander was at the base of the east tower by the time the smoke thinned enough to let him see into the surrounding fields.

Panting, his side rife with stabbing pain, Evander charged up the steps of the tower to see Kellen loose an arrow down into the enemy.

Staggering next to the ork, Evander could see that finally, on the right flank, the soldiers were fleeing as they saw the collapse of the frontal assault. Maytoni archers on the far right of the north wall and on the eastern wall did not relent, continuing to cut down Xellcarrians with arrows planted into their backs. With the failure to get over the north wall, thousands of Xellcarrians were now stuck in the open with volley after volley of arrows raining down on them from the archers in the north fields.

Xellcarrians tripped over their own dead, whilst brave soldiers tried to pull the wounded away with them. Arrows struck them all, blindly loosed from the north field, shifting the battle into a closing slaughter. Evander wasn’t sure if he should shout for the archers to cease. They had to bleed the Xellcarrians dry. Hundreds of Xellcarrians fell with several arrows sprouting from their backs, many others were crawling over their dead, or on hands and knees disorientated and lost amongst the mounds of bodies. Arrows found them all.

They are the enemy, Evander reminded himself, clenching his jaw.

The Xellcarrian Men-at-Arms, the foundation of their occupying force had been brutally decimated. Thousands upon thousands now dead, studded with bright white feathered arrows, within the fields north of the fort.

Either way, Evander wanted to vomit at the sight, and stench of ripe, coppery, excrement and charred flesh was grasping at his gag reflex. He couldn’t look away from the fields surrounding the upper half of the fort; mounds, piles of dead Xellcarrians, and between these rotting isles were scatterings of more bodies, thousands upon thousands of them. It seemed as if all twenty thousand were out there, sprawled, piled up, and prostrate before the might of the Maytoni archers.

At the base of the north wall crackled and spat a flesh and steel bonfire, as Xellcarrian and lion corpses cooked, filling the air with an obscene charred stench, a mixture of burning flesh, and excrement.

It was Kellen patting Evander on the shoulder which took his gaze from the horror. He realised his eyes were stringing and dried out from the heat and smoke. He blinked rapidly and looked to Kellen.

“That’s two for us,” he grunted as even here the smoke caught in his throat.

All Evander could think to do was press a fist against his friend’s shoulder.

XI

Evander paused to toss up his breakfast by the base of the steps leading up to the lighthouse. Between the constant strain, tension, inadvertently swallowing lion’s blood, sucking in acrid air by the gallon, it was a certainty.

All of the Summiteers were present for a debrief and action plan.

“Faidh, could you take a hold of Juliet’s jaw here,” Kellen asked, leaning over Juliet as he assessed what to do with her wound. “Careful, she bites.”

“Why do you need someone to clamp by mouth shut?” Juliet grated out careful not to widen the gash running down the side of her face.

“The Gods already gave you a mouth that speaks for many. You don’t need another one,” Bunny quipped with a smirk, and a shared fist-bump with Ignatius.

Juliet fired off a hand gesture towards them.

As Fiadh took a firm hold of Juliet’s jaw, fixing it shut, Kellen answered. “I need your jaw immobilised, for this-”

Juliet’s eyes flared as bright as the light source above them all as Kellen poured a cleansing liquid over the wound. Trembling wrists told of Faidh’s effort to keep Juliet from howling, and her eyes told of many an elaborate profanity unspoken.

“If anyone has anything they want to say, you’re not going to have another chance,” Ignatius added.

Evander smirked as he collapsed upon the hard, coarse stone steps.

“Is it getting too much for you, Summiteer?” Dedrick’s condescending, hateful tone rang out as he came down the steps.

Evander knew the slight was directed at him. He spat and then rose, straightening and stretching his wailing back muscles. Evander glared, like feral, wounded animal at Dedrick, the general’s appearance gleaming, spotless, tidy.

Behind the general, the blue in the sky was dampening with indigo as night approached, and the lighthouse’s gleaming rocky surface was waning towards a smoother black.

“Finally come out from under your desk, you vermin’s quim!” Evander snarled, marching forward, stabbing a finger – missing a nail – at the general. That stringent, cruel, helplessness deep in Evander’s mind began to breech the surface his mind – likely envigored by the recent carnage. The sudden, almost crippling anxiety began to drain the little strength he had in his limbs, as it danced gleefully with the wrathful fire pressing up from his gut into his chest.

Faidh made a maneuverer close to his right, in the form of support. Evander wasn’t prepared to slay the feckless general here in the open. Rather, as the sputtering man was working on a response, Evander headbutted him instead.

The violent outburst shot his melancholy through with jagged adrenal bursts, forcing it to reel back into the fringes of his mind.

Dedrick staggered back, his feet catching on the stone steps, and went down arms flailing. Ignatius jumped in front of Evander, and hand pressed into the soured blood caking the leather armour over his chest, pushing him back. Kellen stopped his work, holding a fine needle with attached thread leading out from the wound in Juliet’s face.

“Sergeant Penrose!” A voice called from behind them. Oscar was marching towards them, with several of his impressive looking shield group on his flanks.

Evander turned to meet him, doing his best to steady the dizziness swirling around in the front of his head. He gave a quick look to Juliet. “Whilst my head was still numb, I thought why not,” he said. “Gods. Did I headbutt a lion?” He was sure he was frowning, in spite of his whole brow having been numb all evening.

“You did,” Juliet grinded out.

“That was reckless, it could have easily got its jaws around my head… I’ll not do that again,” Evander replied. “Oscar, what can I do for you?”

“Other than get me and soldiers a solid scrap at some point?” The knight chuckled. He looked to the sad sight that was the general picking himself up. “The soldiers are asking if they can eat the dead?”

“What now?”

“The dead lions, that is. We’re not sure where the Xellcarrians stand on that,” Oscar clarified. “Nobody I know wishes to add to the sacrilege already committed,” he then added loud enough for Dedrick to hear.

“Allegedly committed, Glace,” Dedrick gurgled through his bloodied face, and fist, as he clutched at a broken nose. “Our Prince committed no crime. That is the point of this war. Don’t debase yourself to these miscreants.” He waved a hand around the Summiteers standing to either side of him.

“Oh… Well, then. Evander, given the alleged slaying of an alleged celestial, allegedly within the alleged sea boarder by the alleged prince, the soldiers are wondering what treatment the slain lions should be receiving.” The sarcasm could have stonewalled a charging minotaur.

“I’m the command authority here, Glace, so you will address me.”

“Really? When did you arrive, sir? I’ve been here for days and not seen you once.”

Struck silent the general remained frozen in sullenness for a moment. “Impale the vile animal corpses and display along the walls – make sure the Xellcarrians can see them!” He finally ordered.

Oscar then looked to Evander for his answer. “They can eat them. Only griffins, griffins proper, are considered celestials. And it’s what the Xellcarrians would do with their dead battle cats, too. They consider it dishonourable to let any of the animal rot away,” Evander answered, cooly, taking much in the way of relish from undercutting Dedrick. “No trophies, though. Skins, talons, and fangs and such I want collected and given to Ebrill. She’ll keep them safe.”

Oscar smirked. “The soldiers are only interested in a succulent steak, Evey. As am I.”

“As are we. Save one for us, will you?” Kellen jumped in having went back to closing up Juliet’s wound. “One of those buggers damn near took my bake off in that tower.”

“Will do. Other than that, Evey, what would you like to do about the bodies? Theirs, that is. Especially by the base of the wall. They’ll begin to rot soon, and the last thing we need is any diseases getting into the fort.”

“More than there already is,” Ignatius added.

“Good point. Have some soldiers pull the dead away from the base then. What about ours?” Evander continued.

Oscar’s tone dropped into a cold sombreness, “Two thirds of the archers and siege soldiers along the north wall were killed. We risk a considerable gap in the defences now.”

Evander winced at the news and leaned over to spit out the remnants of vomit. “As bad as I thought. Right, Ignatius, get archers from the south wall, a third of their number, only archers, and have them moved to the north wall. When the enemy gets to the base of the wall again, tell them they are to switch to a siege role.”

“Got it,” Ignatius said, grunting as he pulled himself up. He then began to jog towards the south wall.

“It’ll have to do. What about enemy dead?”

Oscar looked back to Evander, his face dropping into something more severe. “We decimated them, Evey. Their Men-at-Arms are all but wiped out. And two hundred war cats, too,” Oscar replied looking back in the direction of the north wall.

“They’ve still ten thousand knights, and three godheads,” Fiadh mused. “And they damn near got over the north wall. What’s our ordinance looking like?” She had approached the pair, placing herself firmly in the conversation and planning.

“And I’ve only got half a dozen Chimera Paws left,” Kellen added.

“And those were the only things slowing down their advance on the flank,” Bunny added, lowly. “You’ll get yer scrap yet, Oscar.”

“If they get over the walls, or through a gate, my shields will hold ‘em tight and in place for the archers, Evey.” Oscar thumped Evander on the shoulder and made to move off.

“All sounds good to me,” blustered Dedrick, waving a hand. “Get to it.”

It was always a confidence boost to see Dedrick treated with the contempt he deserved by others outside of the Summiteers. Though Evander still knew a large enough portion of the soldiers present would see the general as supreme commander here and follow his orders regardless.

“Fiadh, get a report sent to south to Blair Tower. Tell them to be ready for the worst and then get warnings out the towns and villages south of here, telling the people to withdraw.” Evander looked to the girl, a formidable titan in her own right.

“On it,” she replied jogging away.

“You can’t allow the people of this peninsula to flee,” Dedrick hissed. “Are planning to surrender this fort, sergeant? Is that it? Are you finished? Your will to fight sapped by a few cats, and big soldiers? Or is it your love for Xellcarrians? Sick of seeing them slaughtered, are you?”

“Gods, I forgot you were even here,” Kellen said snipping off a line of thread.

“I’ve been on those walls, Dedrick,” Evander cried, finally losing his composure. He marched up to the general again. “We’re the ones hold back the Xellcarrians! How many do you think are dead out there?” He screamed.

Soldiers close by came to a halt and moved in to observe the scene.

“You’re out of line, undermining me in front of so many-”

“What is your grand plan? Tell it to me general? Tell me!” Evander cried, grasping Dedrick by his gorget.

Behind them came the icy, slink of swords and daggers being drawn. Juliet, Kellen, and Bunny moved between the Evander and the gathering.

“This whole damned fight is your fault! Yours and those who follow that cursed prince!” Around them soldiers had gathered, some royalists, others not, confused and waiting for something to spark. “Address your soldiers, general, address them and tell them how you plan to drive back the Xellcarrians!” He shoved the general back against the steps, and for a second time the man tripped and collapsed.

Evander marched towards one soldier, her sword at half draw, her face rife with confusion. “Is that your general, soldier? I’m I your enemy, now?” He marched away from her and addressed the gathered crowd. “Anyone here who considers themselves a royalist, who thinks the Church isn’t enough, for Maytoni! This is what you asked for! Death by Xellcarrians! This is what your scum of all creation, prince, has delivered to you. If we live beyond tomorrow, it will be because of the Gods, it will be because of this,” he thrust Centuries Reach into the air, “This tool blessed to us by the Gods!” He paused. “And because of all you, holding steadfast on those walls. All of you who came within a fang’s length of a lion today, who have been throwing arrow after arrow against more of an adversity than you have ever seen in your life! I’m not determined to die for some self-important, pompous, little twat… But I am more than willing to die for anyone of you, and for Maytoni. Over ten thousand Xellcarrians, many a fierce warrior, will come at us tomorrow, I’d say in full force. General Dedrick is a lost cause.” Evander lowered his longbow and pointed it towards a soldier who had his sword drawn. “You! Where was the last place you saw the general?”

The young, ashen faced soldier swallowed eyes darting all around Evander, before looking at the now standing general. He looked back at Evander’s wrathful demeanour. “I… I hadn’t seen the general at all, until now. Not since we arrived at the fort, days ago.”

Evander marched off and pointed his longbow at another solider. “You! When was the last time you recall seeing the general?”

“Well, I think… Just now, sergeant.”

“You?” Evander thrust his longbow at another.

“Not since we arrived.”

“You?”

“Not until now.”

“You?”

“Only now, sergeant.”

“That man is not worth following, and he is here as a representative of the so-called prince. Who, if anyone wants to know, isn’t even in Maytoni! He took the Outriders and fled to Xela!”

“Lies!” Dedrick screamed.

“Then you tell it general… Where is the so-called prince?” The general only remained silent.

“Says it all, doesn’t it,” Evander continued. “When you’ve been fighting, losing your friends, risking mutilation, that man has been hiding in his quarters, as the so-called prince continues to flee, leaving us to account for his transgressions! And I’m not prepared to pay with my blood, or any of your blood!”

Affirmations rose from the crowd, with some applause. Ebrill appeared between a group of archers leaning on their bows, her presence disarming and reigning in Evander’s darkening spirit.

With a bloodied hand, and not his longbow, Evander pointed towards her. “Earlier this day, pastoral Glace rode out to the Xellcarrian camp, to offer herself as a hostage. They could have just as easily killed her on the spot!” Evander continued to shout through a prickly dry throat, though the aching fury behind him had been subdued to something more manageable. “Pastoral Glace is the Church! She is representative of the Gods! And without thought for her own life, she was willing to trade herself for every one of you here, and everyone on the peninsula! Some of you saw her ride out – and saw me and knight Glace tear after her.” There was much laughter from the ranks at that remark. “How many here would have stopped her if they knew that was what she had been up to?”

A swell of affirmations rose to a tidal force from the crowd, many looking to Ebrill with awe now.

“That’s more than your so-called prince has done for you, and far, far more than he would ever be willing to do. In Maytoni, our underlying philosophy is that no one thinks of themselves as superior to anyone else. All of us, are equal, as that is how the Gods made us. It is why Wrath and Mercy were cut apart by Tovron’s arrow, carving out the Chasm. They sought to keep us from the Gods, and to see themselves worshiped as Gods instead.” Evander paused. “We’re soldiers, we defend Maytoni. But who feeds us? Farmers. Who gives us shelter? Who gave us this magnificent, if not ugly, walls which have kept us alive? Masons. Who keeps us in good health? Hospitallers. Who keeps are streets clean and free of filth and disease? The Workers Guild. And who give us direction, confidence, council, and comfort?” Evander pointed to Ebrill. “The Church. Not to contradict myself, but Ebrill is the best of us, and she’s kept me sane and standing in my darkest times. And I know she is doing the same for many of you here. Tomorrow will be Chasm on Anordaithe, for all of us. But I am determined to resist it. For all of you. I’ll be on that wall, I’ll be in the mud, here if it comes to that, too. We are Maytoni, and we wield the tools of the Gods.”

Many – not all – of the gathering threw up bows and fists in a raucous roar, loud enough to the fill the whole fort and northern peninsula.