Note to Reader: This Chapter contains some graphic description of violence/death, in the context of a medieval battle. If you will find this upsetting or is just not your thing, feel free to skip this Chapter. For everyone else, please read on!
Caera threw on clothes in a rush, then took the stairs three at a time to reach the castle below. She saw two grim-faced guards loitering uncertainly in the corridor leading to the main gate of the keep.
"Guards, what in the name of the Divines is going on?" asked Caera frantically.
"Barbarians, Princess." Replied one of them, his voice trembling a little. "It sounds like some of their war-bands have grouped together under the leadership of some big fucker- I mean, fella -- called Grisha the Foul. We've heard rumours about him, but Captain Vannice never imagined he would be bold enough to attack us here in the castle."
"And where is the Captain now?"
"Dead, Princess. Skewered in his tent this morning. The two of us barely made it back to the castle. The few guards on duty this morning are holding the Gate as best they can, but I don't know how long they can hold. We were...just about to go there." His voice trailed off, betraying that perhaps they were not the courageous soldiers their Princess would expect them to be.
"So, who commands our forces now?"
"Nobody, Princess."
Caera glanced at the other guard, who had been silent up until now. He looked barely seventeen, with a wispy moustache and acne on his chin. Caera met his eyes, ignoring the shake in his hands that jangled his sword against the rim of his shield. She dredged up their names from somewhere in the back of her racing mind.
"Kurt, isn't it? And Vynar?" They nodded in affirmation. "Both of you, come with me to the Gate. I must see for myself what's going on. I need two good men to guard me, and I know I can trust the two of you."
Their bearings straightened, and they gripped the hilts of their swords more firmly, unwilling to show their fear now their courage had been challenged by their Lady. Caera turned and walked towards the battlements, without looking behind her to see if the two faltering men behind her were following.
Caera graced the battlements and was met with the roar of the pitched battle about the walls of her castle. Men were howling in rage and pain, and the air rung with the scrape and clash of iron and steel. She hurried over to the central fortification atop the gatehouse, appraising the scene below. The tents from the Festival were mostly aflame, with several bodies lying unmoving in the grounds. Leather clad warriors with ragged beards and giant swinging axes were crowded around the foot of the gatepost, at least 200 strong. A thin line of gleaming armoured knights had formed a wall of shields, battling desperately to keep the savage barbarians away from the foot of the gatehouse. As Caera watched, an enormous invader shoved his way to the front of the attacking throng, swinging two giant axes as he ran forward. The defenders' shield wall buckled, then crumpled inwards.
More barbarians followed their champion into the breach, some of the dragging a huge tree trunk behind them.
"That's Grisha," said Kurt at her elbow, leaning forward to cover her body with his shield. "They've brought a battering ram too, not much our lads can do now."
He appeared to be right on both counts. The savage band of interlopers lifted the trunk and started to swing it against the gate, sending splinters raining down with each hefty swing. As his warriors pounded at the door, Grisha the Foul turned to the remaining defenders and lashed out with his axes, splitting shields and spitting vile insults. Now their line had been breached, the surviving guards seemed to lose their spirit, huddling together with their backs against the castle wall. Once they realised the men on their flank posed little threat, the attacking horde turned their attention to the men on the wall above the Gate.
Caera saw the threat to her gate, and her heart quickened at thought of these spitting savages rampaging through her castle. No. These people looked to her for protection, and she was failing them. Looking to her left and right, she saw her remaining guards standing around disconsolately. Their swords hung limply at the sides, bows thrown aside. Her men had given up hope; they simply stared down as the gate shook in its hinges, their doom imminent. She took a long breath, steeling herself for action.
"Men! Take up your weapons! The day is not yet lost! Archers, take aim at the men with the battering ram. If you have no bow, throw your spears, throw anything, tear stones from the walls if you must. This gate has stood for hundreds of years, today is not the day it falls."
After a minute pause, her men jumped into action. They launched a ferocious barrage of missiles from the walls of the castle, flinging several men away from battering ram and stalling its assault on the gate.
She turned once more to the men closest to her. "Kurt, you are my shield, protect me from anything they throw at us. Vynar, I have a vital task for you. Our men are trapped outside the walls, I need you to bring them back inside through the garden gate. Form another shield wall inside the gate. If they make it through the gate, you will be our final defence. Go."
The attackers below soon grew wise to the renewed resistance from above. The men with shields protected the men hefting the ram, which had been quickly picked up and was once more smashing against the gate. Others were picking up spears and hurling them upwards. Caera gasped as an archer nearby took a spear to the chest, and slumped forward with a small moan. Caera took up his weapon and nocked an arrow as her Father had taught her many years ago.
The bow was larger then her hunting bow, and her first shot went wild, skittering far over the heads of her foes. Breathe. Stretch. Aim. Release. Her Father's voice still carried in her ears, as her arrow flew forwards and found its mark. The man below toppled forward with her arrow in his chest. The spear he had been poised to throw tumbled down onto the grass.
