54

A Confused Assault

Somehow, a few of them got in. How? The portcullis had been secured and any of the other exits were secrets only for herself and her lieutenant. How the hell did anything make its way inside? This marks the second time in a few days something has breached the fort. That does not bode well.

A few guild mercs came back injured, which was concerning since the portcullis remained closed.

They had avians amongst the mob, but they didn’t look willing to fly up just yet. Safety in numbers and all that. Then again, those assassins got in somehow. Maybe they could do it again.

Toulmonde marched on through the fort, getting her armour on and weapons ready as fast as she could, not sparing a single moment.

There was always the possibility that this would happen. She just didn’t think it would be so soon. Then again, she always thought that. A bunch of degenerate artists, dust-filled poets, and new-age layabouts never seemed like anything to be concerned about.

And now reality had set in and was currently trying to kick her doors down.

Anytime they’d gather like this, all they had to do was wait it out. Sit back for a few hours, wait for them to get bored and go away. Although, they never gathered outside the fort before, and they’d never been so angry.

Archers stood by the embrasures, arrows notched to bows, but relaxed, as they stood by a simply watched.

‘Commander,’ a sergeant asked. ‘When do we start firing?’

‘Only when they start attacking. I’ll be damned if we’re going to fire on some rioters before they’ve actually done anything. Word like that spreads like cockrot in a whorehouse. But as soon as you see so much as a single slap, you show no quarter and give them hell!’

The entire hall barked a response of approval as Toulmonde continued her march through, bringing her to the mess hall, which was being used as an impromptu infirmary. Healers were supposed to be standing by, yet they found themselves with a few injured soldiers already, despite nothing actually happening yet.

One lay on a stretcher, a healer binding some particularly nasty looking knife wounds. Not a single arrow wound. They were definitely inside the fort.

‘How did they get through the gate?’ she asked the injured soldier.

‘They didn’t!’

‘Then how are you injured?’

‘Shadows! Shadows crawling in over the walls!’

His body appeared to disagree with the sudden energy of his outburst, as one bandage began turning red, and a healer forced him to stay down so she could work her magic and staunch the bleeding.

Shadows?

In the darkness and the drizzle, it would certainly look like anyone ascending the walls would appear so.

A distant, out-of-tune whistle broke her from her thoughts. Ludgar strolled down the hall, blade bouncing against his shoulder, whistling to himself like a miner going to work for the day.

‘Ludgar! What the hell is happening out there?’

‘You’ve got an infestation.’

‘Of what?’

‘Our old friends.’

‘The assassins? There were only three of them!’

‘Looks like there’s more.’

Then came the sound of a heavy crank turning, iron scraping against iron as heavy chains moved. She looked out the window to the courtyard.

‘They’re in the gatehouse!’

‘I’ve got that area covered. You go parley with their leader or something; you’re gonna meet her pretty soon.’

There was an increase in commotion as the noise of the crowd grew to an unignorable level. Gears released a mighty groan as their shifting began a chain of rotating gears pulling great chains that hefted great metal beams.

The portcullis shifted under the change.

The gate rose.

‘Awaken, child!’

‘Sethel?’ Caspar yawned, wiping the grit from his eyes. ‘What time is it? What’s going on?’

‘Revolution, or so Kathiya has informed me. We may need to consider hiding or fighting, lest we be beaten, killed, or worse, forced to join them.’

The electric spike of sudden onset panic shot Caspar upright, flinging the bedsheet aside. ‘What? Now? Today?’

‘Why yes. When else would it be?’

‘But there was the huge riot yesterday! I thought we had more time!’

‘Evidently not. Progress stops for no one, after all; even if that progress appears to be heading towards the edge of a cliff.’

‘I have to find Sister Ezria!’ He flung himself out of the bed, donning himself in the strewn clothes he could find, not necessarily in the right order or in the right orientation. ‘Maybe I can speak to her!’

‘You can speak to her, yet I doubt she would listen.’

‘I have to try.’

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t you want this to happen?’

‘Not like this.’

Moving with speed unprecedented to Caspar, he tugged his boots on, and hopped along, still getting the boot to fit, to take his axe from the corner and ran off out the door, leaving Sethel alone.

‘Hmm. What to do?’ he asked himself. The gates were breached, hundreds stormed in to rip them to pieces, and now their team had split up and he had no idea where any of them were. ‘I think a good book is in order.’

‘The gate is open!’ one revolutionary astutely pointed out.

‘Our way in is secured,’ another said in response.

‘Nothing can stand in the way of our march against tyranny!’

The crowd cheered in agreement.

They kept cheering.

They kept cheering so much they forgot to start marching.

The chanting soon died down, and it left the riot in an awkward shuffle, as no one was fully sure what to do next.

‘Why aren’t we marching?’ the first called out.

‘...It’s scary,’ someone responded.

‘No, it isn’t,’ he yelled back, barging his way through to the front. ‘They’re just some up jumped thugs with-’ He got to the front to find his way blocked by a barricade of pointed sticks, with guild mercs wielding bows and spears on the other side.

He looked back, seeing the crowd hesitant to move.

‘M-maybe we can throw something,’ he said, sinking back into the crowd.

‘We got anything to throw?’ another asked anyone in earshot.

The fellow revolutionaries looked around and shrugged.

‘What about your sign?’ he asked one girl holding a sign.

‘It took me twenty minutes to make this! I’m not throwing it!’

Sister Ezria stood at the back, still atop the upturned wagon, presiding over her glorious revolutionary army that seemed to be taking far longer to start the revolution than she wanted.

‘What is the holdup?’ she asked through gritted teeth.

‘They’re scared,’ Gorsen responded, tense as ever.

‘How could they be possibly scared? There’s thousands of us and only hundreds of them!’

Of course, Gorsen already knew the answer. The threat of pain alone is quite an overpowering instinct. The largest, most imposing animal can back away from the smallest if the threat of pain is sufficient enough.

A hornet may be no bigger than one’s thumb, but people still tend to flee if one gets too close.

It takes quite the motivation and management to break past that instinct, which they sorely lacked.

‘It’s fine,’ Ezria huffed. ‘All they need is a little push.’

As though it was on command, the robed figure emerged from somewhere in the crowd. The pained, silver face of his mask looked to Ezria, and she gave a nod.

More robed men emerged from the crowd and sifted their way through to the frontline.

‘You shouldn’t rely on them.’ Gorsen said, blunt as a hammer.

‘Why not? They’ve helped us thus far. They can take us further. Whatever they demand, I can provide once all is done.’

‘And let’s not forget that they don’t care for you or your cause.’

‘Our cause, need I remind you?’

‘And it’s not just that. Your entire army is reliant on them. If, for any reason, they go, the whole thing collapses.’

‘That’s fine. So long as they fall before we do, then it is of no concern.’

‘And all the lives it will cost?’

Movement began. Their army finally pushed forward, taking their first tentative steps to the mercenary barricade.

Ezria smiled.

‘Necessary.’

The shadows worked, pushing at the portcullis levers; heavy things that required more hands than just two.

Three of them operated the cranks and watched as the gates lifted.

The few guards that were stationed there had fled, unable to deal with their coordinated onslaught.

Then their attention turned to the crowd below, waiting for the herd of degenerates to collapse the last form of resistance this pathetic city has to offer.

The gate was open, but they did not march forward. They just shuffled in place, unaware of their next action.

The shadows spoke, one after another.

‘They refuse to move.’

‘They are hesitant with fear.’

‘They are but children.’

‘Requiring but a simple push.’

‘The only push you’re getting is my foot kicking you out the window,’ came a voice that was not theirs.

Together, they turned.

A dark furred wolf stood by the entrance, a simple longsword resting against his shoulder, a large, black blade on his back, and a wide, devilish smile.