Iron Blooded

Forty Five: Second Siege

I used the last of the health potions in my inventory to heal my broken nose. The potion itself did nothing for the pain but the steady flow of blood slowed to a halt in moments.

Draxus splashed water from his canteen over my hands, and I wiped the sweat and blood from my face. My helmet had seen better days. The side had been dented in, and the visor was bent inward at an angle. I grimaced and placed it back into my inventory.

I would need it repaired, and soon. But now I had much more pressing concerns. My HUD flashed, indicating new notifications. I had risen two levels over the past few days, and with the boost to my base stats, it might just be enough to carry me through the night.

“Alright,” I called to the soldiers gathered along the wall. “Gather round.”

I waited until the clamor died down and all eyes turned expectantly to me.

“Lord Blackthorne’s men are overrun and have need of reinforcements to bolster the wall. Lieutenant Giller and half of the 3rd will remain here to ensure the south side of the city remains secure. The rest of you are with me.”

I reached out, helping Gills to his feet. The Veteran regarded me with a cool expression before nodding.

“The men will follow you,” he said. “I only request that you spend their lives wisely.”

I hesitated for a moment before nodding. He was right, even if the delivery stung. The Siege went badly, and my actions here had the potential to shift the tide of battle. What I needed now was a level head and a plan.

“I need a Shield,” I said. “A sturdy one.”

***

The night was long and the moon was fully visible. It was by its light that my men and I were guided through the city and towards the Northern Wall. The ambiance of war was loud enough to carry through the city. The shouts of men and crash of metal were interrupted only by the occasional discharge of a ballista bolt as it hurtled through the air towards the enemy.

A rumble shook the ground, and a flare of orange light was enough to illuminate the silhouettes of men struggling on the wall. The ramparts had been overwhelmed by enemies. Orks climbed over the walls on crude ladders and brought with them death.

In the press of men and desperation, it was hard to make out where Lord Blackthorne might be. I scanned the wall and shared a look with Draxus. There was worry in his eyes that I knew was reflected in my own.

At the bottom of the steps leading to the ramparts, I called a halt to the men and ordered them into two columns.

“We will need to strike hard and strike fast,” I said. “Our objective is to press the enemy back long enough for squad A to retake the tower. Squad B, led by Draxus, will hold the wall and aid Lord Blackthorne's troops. Squad A, I’ll take point. Stay with me and, when I tell you to brace you do so without question.”

I met each pair of eyes.

“Am I understood?”

“Yes, Sir William.”

The sentiment was echoed by each and every man along the line. I nodded and turned to face the front.

“Shields,” I called and heard the creak of metal and wood as men readied themselves for battle. Some made the sign of the saint. Others prayed to the God King. I sent up a prayer myself, though it wasn’t to he who sat on the Radiant Throne.

Instead, I sent a brief prayer to the August, the God of the Autumn Winds. I might have imagined it, but I could have sworn I felt a sudden breeze stir my hair, gusting a few leaves along the stone around me.

Then we began our advance. Draxus and I took point, shields raised and swords at the ready. The air smelled of copper and sweat. Smoke stung my eyes, and I was forced to blink to clear them.

We were halfway up the steps now and I could hear the clash above. Draxus's breathing was loud in his helmet. I tried to catch his eye but he was focused, eyes hard as he stared above us. Waiting for the enemy to appear. Waiting for death to come for us.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

We weren’t long in waiting. We had nearly reached the top of the steps when we encountered our first threat. A line of men in dark blue livery buckled under the onslaught of Orks.

Their Sergeant turned, trying to call for order but his head was cleaved in two by the blow of an axe. It was then that the line truly began to deteriorate. Some men broke and turned to run, abandoning their fellows. Those who had chosen to stay behind were valiant but were quickly overwhelmed by the Host's numbers. Men screamed as bones were broken. The body of a soldier was picked up by an Ork the size of a car and hurled screaming over the wall.

Many of the soldiers that had tried to run were killed in a matter of moments. But one man managed to make it all of fifteen strides toward us before a giant chain swung through the air towards him.

Its coils wrapped itself around his neck and I saw his eyes go wide. The chain went taught. It was his own momentum that broke his neck. His body flew forward, feet leaving the ground as his head took the brunt of the force. The sickening crack echoed through the air like a gunshot.

The Ork who had thrown the chain calmly began reeling the body in, like a fish on a line. His giant hand closed around the man's head and lifted him into the air. The Ork examined him and to my horror, I saw the eyes of the soldier move.

“Throne he’s still alive,” hissed Draxus.

I turned to one of the archers.

“Shoot him,” I said. “Put an arrow in his eye.”

There was the creak of a bow as the man stepped forward. Moments later, the twang of an arrow whipped past and buried itself in the eye of the soldier. The man slumped. The Ork, furious at being deprived of his new toy bellowed in frustration and turned to look at us.

He barked a few commands in his language, and the Orks around him took notice. A sea of dark hostile eyes swept over us and I knew we had only moments before the Host came for us in earnest.

“Stand your ground,” I shouted to my men. “Stand your ground and go down in history not as men, but as legend.”

The answering roar of affirmation was enough to light my blood on fire. Even Draxus joined his shout with the others as the first line of Orks crossed the distance between us.

For long moments it was almost silent, the eye of the storm as it passed overhead. I could see in great detail the horns of the beasts before me, the blood on their weapons, and the blood lust in their eyes.

Then they were on us, and there was no more time for thought. The initial wave of Orks hit hard and fast. With my new round shield, I managed to take the brunt of the blow of an Axe. In the corner of my vision, the blue meter for damage taken ticked higher.

The Ork stepped back, intending to swing at me again, but the eagerness of his companions drove him forward unto the point of my sword.

The Ork snarled then squealed as he was pressed forward, trapped between my blade and The Orks now clamoring for a chance to spill out blood. I swung my shield, knocking his body aside and sending him crashing into the Ork behind him. Moments later the tip of a crude spear whipped past my ear, drawing blood.

“Press forward,” called Draxus over the sound of battle. The men behind us braced us with their shields even as the second wave of Orks hit. I kept my shield up and my head tucked behind the rim, only emerging to hack and slash at my enemies.

An Ork swung a two-handed blade at me and I twisted my torso aside, hacking at his arms. One came away with a spray of blood. Another shoved him aside and hammered at my shield with a metal gauntlet. My blade took him in the eye moments later.

The fight was brutal and slow going. The men behind us thrust their spears at the enemy, and every once in a while one of my archers managed to strike an Ork where it hurt. Twice I had a beast lunge at me, only to fall moments later with a white-tipped arrow in his throat.

At last, we reached the center of the wall where the sea of bodies became thick. Some of the corpses were Orks, but far more were bodies of men. To advance we were forced to press onward, stumbling over the corpses of those who had fallen before us.

Once I thought I heard the cries of a wounded man from somewhere among the piles of corpses. But when I looked again, I couldn’t be sure. Hell of a fate, to drown in a sea of corpses. Not one I would wish on any man.

I caught an overhand strike on the lip of my shield and thrust my sword into the ribs of an Ork, twisting and withdrawing it with a satisfying squelch. All around, the colors of the bodies began to stand out to me. Many were wearing the colors of Ceris. But there were a few mixed in that wore the Black and Red.

Lord Blackthorne had been here, and by the look of it, he and his men had beaten a retreat. But what could make a man as powerful as Blackthorne call a withdrawal? The answer nagged at me. I cut through the tick arm of an Ork, blade glowing red as Iron-Blooded boosted my max damage.

The beast dropped to a knee and I swung my sword, managing to sheer one of his horns in half as he jerked aside. A horn blasted in the distance beyond the wall. I tried to turn squint through the haze, but the smoke was far too thick to see through.

Draxus shouted something over the sounds of battle. I cut at an Ork and was forced to withdraw my sword as his spear thrust for my arm.

“What?” I asked him.

Draxus turned his head I could see his eyes moving rapidly in the slits of his helmet. He made a slashing movement through the air with one hand and gestured at the wall. When he spoke I was only able to catch fragmented words.

“Horn. Coming, don’t let…”

A roar echoed through the night followed by the sound of a ballista being fired. The projectile whipped past and to my growing horror, I realized just how close the shot had been.

At that moment, I knew with dreaded certainty what Draxus had been trying to tell me.

That horn had signaled one thing. Outriders were coming, and with them came the Sand Drakes.