Jonathan pushed the levies hard, forcing a punishing pace and they arrived at Gelt’s Pass just before dusk four days later. The going on the last day had been especially tough as they navigated the treacherous, narrow mountain road with steep inclines and sudden drops as it wound its way through the Humi Mountains. Loose rocks were strewn across it, causing many to stumble. One of Jonathan’s assistants had been forced to stay behind to escort the dozen or so men who had injured themselves.

“Look at that!” Lewis exclaimed. The aches and pains he had been moaning about since morning already forgotten, “they’ll never take that in a hundred years!”

The men looked up and their spirits were lifted. The castle at Gelt’s Pass was built on the shoulder of a mountain. Even from this distance, they could see that its walls were tall with parapets for archers who would be able to rain arrows down on the attackers as they made their way up the narrow, winding road. An intimidating looking keep loomed from behind the walls and each man counted their blessings that they were not here as attackers.

The road they were walking was narrow with a steep ledge on one side and a sheer drop on the other and Philip realised that they would be completely exposed to any archers on the walls, which struck him as a little odd. It wound its way up the mountainside in clear view of those atop the wall. At the top of the road was a pair of iron reinforced gates. The walls surrounding it were built from stone and were at least thirty feet high. A banner fluttered proudly from the top of the keep bearing a pair of prancing horses flanking a castle. Lookouts lined the top of the walls and watched them approach in silence.

As they approached, the gates swung open revealing the courtyard beyond. Philip noted that the gates were made from solid wood planks a foot thick set on massive iron hinges and bound by bands of steel. Once they were in the courtyard, a few of the levies gasped. The stones of the keep and the walls close to the gate they had entered through were scorched black from a past battle. Philip figured they had to be from when Celethir captured the castle from the Morovians decades ago. It was curious that they had not bothered to repair it after taking it.

Then, he noticed the soldiers in the courtyard, and his spirits sank. Many were injured or walked with limps, and a few were missing limbs, but most concerning of all was the look in their eyes as they watched the newcomers. They were the eyes of defeated men.

“Who’s that?” Peter wondered out loud.

Philip didn’t have to ask to know who Peter was talking about. A man wearing finely cut clothes and a sable cloak walked towards Jonathan who had dismounted from his horse. His pale red hair was shoulder length and curly, and he sported a thin, broad moustache.

“Baron Graham,” Jonathan said, bowing formally, and answering Peter’s question, “I’m relieved to see that we made it in time.”

Baron Graham Tolyn gave the levies a disappointed look before turning back to Jonathan. “Is this all you could bring?”

“I’m afraid so,” Jonathan said, lowering his head in apology, “my master, the Earl said he hasn’t had enough time to raise his men, but he expects to be able to have them ready by the time the army from Antere by the time they arrive in White Stone.”

The Baron scowled before turning around and stalking back to the keep. The soldiers in the courtyard had hardly given him a second look during the entirety of his two minute appearance. Jonathan broke into a wry smile that told Philip that he had half expected this reception. He shook his head before turning to address the levies.

“You must all be tired after our long journey,” he said, “find somewhere to rest, we’ll work on organizing you into fighting shape in the morning.”

“Where are the Morovians?” someone asked.

Jonathan gave one of the nearby soldiers an inquisitive look and received a blank one back in return.

“Well, where are they?” Jonathan demanded at length.

The soldier shrugged and replied, “not here,” before shuffling away.

Jonathan gaped at the man briefly before turning back to the levies. “You can expect to be briefed tomorrow.”

Before any more questions could be asked, Jonathan handed the reins of his horse to one of his men and disappeared into the keep.

“Well, that didn’t go as I thought it would,” Lewis remarked, while the others stood in shock, with no idea what to do with themselves.

Philip looked at the far end of the courtyard where the gate they would be defending was and felt his unease rise. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it until he looked over his shoulder at the gates they had just passed through and then back to the far end of the courtyard.

“What in the,” he muttered. He stepped out of the line and began walking across the courtyard.

“Hey, Phil, where are you going?” David asked.

“I just need to see something for myself,” Philip called over his shoulder, “you can come with me if you like.”

Peter, David, and Lewis exchanged looks before breaking ranks and joining their friend. The other levies took the chance to do the same and a few sat where they were standing, exhausted after the long march from Melinfield.

Philip reached the stairs heading up the wall and standing this close, there was no mistaking it, this wall was shorter than the one they had entered through. His heart sank once he reached the top.

“This is quite the view,” Lewis remarked.

Before them was a large, rocky plateau roughly a thousand yards across and eight hundred wide. It dropped off dramatically to the south, offering a breath-taking view of the valley before them. Bordering the east end of the plateau, roughly six hundred yards away, was a thick forest and a sheer cliff face marked the western edge.

“This bloody fort is back to front,” Philip gasped.

The others looked at him. “What do you mean?” Lewis asked.

“He means,” came a man’s voice from next to them, “that this fort was made so that it is easy to attack from the Morovian side, and easy to defend from the Celethir side. Which makes sense, I suppose, since it was the Morovians who built it back when this was the border between our kingdoms.”

“Then why didn’t they change it? This has been a Celethir fort for over twenty years, hasn’t it?” Philip demanded, looking at the forest. The foliage was dense, and it would be trivial to hide an army in there. The approach of any army coming up from the southern end of the plateau would also be impossible to see from the castle complex, “or at least thin that forest down?”

“Because, in our hubris, we never thought we would be the ones having to defend this place after we took it,” the man said and laughed sardonically, “you’re levies, aren’t you?”

Philip nodded and looked down. The wall was scarcely ten feet from the ground and only wide enough for four men to walk abreast. “Why even bother with a wall on this side?”

“It is encouraging to see a levy with such good knowledge on defending walls,” the man remarked with amusement.

Philip looked up and his heart leapt into his throat as he saw an elderly man in the purple robes of the gifted. The white edges on his short sleeves identified him as an aeromancer. Philip recognized him as Lord Percival Corin, one of the few militant aeromancers in the kingdom’s service.

Percival gave Philip a long stare. “You look familiar,” he remarked.

Philip had spotted the aeromancer at the Academy on a few occasions. He had never stayed long, and he prayed that the man did not recognize him.

“I have a common face,” Philip replied, looking away quickly.

“Perhaps,” Percival said, “now then boys if you’ll excuse me.”

His eyes glowed white and the other boys gasped as he hopped over the edge of the wall. A gust of wind gently buffeted his fall and he landed in the courtyard with the grace of a cat. He looked over his shoulder and smirked at the amazed looks on their faces.

“What was that?” Lewis exclaimed softly.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Philip said, hoping his lie sounded convincing. He also hoped that Percival’s display would make them forget about his knowledge of siege defences.

A commotion in the courtyard woke Philip up and he saw soldiers streaming out of one of the barracks. It was a two storey stone building that he guessed was the barracks as it was where the soldiers had spent the night. The orange stained sky told him that it was just after dawn. Peter was sitting upright, watching the movement in the courtyard, while David and Lewis were still snoring softly, spent from the night before. They had spent the night sleeping under the stars close to the gate they had entered from with the rest of the men from Melinfield. The soldiers hadn’t said anything about dinner, so they ate the last of the food they’d brought with them which barely filled their bellies.

“Huh, what’s going on?” David asked groggily as Philip poked him in the ribs.

“The soldiers are gathering,” he replied, nodding towards the soldiers who were standing in loose groups close to the keep, “I think we’d better join them.”

He glanced over at the two other groups of levies who had arrived in the night. They were still fast asleep which was understandable. He’d heard they’d arrived from towns and villages even further away than Melinfield. A group of men appeared from the keep and split up as they walked towards the various groups. Jonathan approached theirs with his men in tow.

“Get up lads, the bailiff’s coming,” Peter called out, and the men around them began to stir.

Jonathan came to a halt twenty paces away and his men fanned out and positioned themselves between him and the Melinfielders.

“I’m here to brief you on our situation and what you can expect,” he began quickly, “Baron Graham’s forces were ambushed by an army of five thousand deep in Morovian lands, the baron’s rear-guard are doing their best to stall them on the mountain paths that lead up here, but they will get here eventually.”

“How many men do we have here?” someone asked.

“Against their five thousand, we have four hundred levies and six hundred of the baron’s soldiers.”

There were gasps and concerned looks among the townspeople at the disparity between the forces, but Jonathan quickly overrode them, “fear not, the walls here are strong, and we will be on the defensive. In three weeks, a glorious Celethir army eight thousand strong will arrive to relieve Gelt’s Pass and drive the Morovians out of our lands.”

“So what do we do now?” someone asked.

“The baron’s men estimate that the Morovians will be here in another two or three days,” Jonathan replied, “in the meantime, you must be turned into fighting men. The baron’s soldiers will see to your training.”

“What will you be doing?” another voice ventured.

Jonathan hesitated before answering. “I must return to my lord, the earl at once and report on the situation here.”

“You’re abandoning us?” someone cried, as the others gasped.

“Fear not, I will tell him of the bravery of you men from Melinfield,” Jonathan continued, “and I promise that I will return with the rest of the reinforcements from the capital.”

There were more angry outbursts, but they stopped when the bailiff’s men stepped forward menacingly with their hands on their swords.

Jonathan nodded at them and mounted his horse. He guided it over to the baron and spoke to him briefly while his men backed away from the townspeople towards their waiting horses. Soon, they all thundered out of the castle, leaving the levies looking after them feeling bewildered.

“We’re proper shafted, aren’t we?” Peter remarked.

“That man runs like a proper nob,” a portly man remarked loudly enough for the Melinfielders to heaf as he watched Jonathan and his men ride out the gates as though demons were at their back. He then approached the men from Melinfield with a sloppy, carefree smile. He had a bristly moustache and carried a polearm across his shoulders. He was flanked by a pair of men, one of whom was enormous. He looked to be around Peter’s height but considerably broader at the shoulders, with a bulging chest and arms to match. The other man was old with a craggy face and a scar across his cheek. Both men looked like they’d rather be anywhere else.

“Is he a nob?” he asked David who happened to be standing closest to him.

David blinked. “I don’t think so, no.”

The portly man grunted. “But he runs like one, doesn’t he?” he asked one of his men.

“If you say so,” the man replied.

“Right,” the portly man exclaimed, he grasped his polearm with one hand and slammed the haft into the ground with a thud, “my name is Felix, and I am in charge of whipping you peasants into something resembling fighting shape before the Morovians get here.”

“Now,” Felix said, surveying the men from Melinfield, “aren’t you a sorry looking lot?”

He paused as though waiting for an answer and when none came, he continued, “has anyone here been in a fight before?”

A few hands went up, and Felix sighed. “Now when I say fight, I don’t mean a drunken whorehouse brawl, or smacking your missus around in the bedroom, I mean a fight where your life was on the line.”

The hands went down, and Felix rubbed the back of his head with a meaty palm. “Disappointing, but not unexpected.”

The men looked back at him blankly. Felix then looked the crowd over once more and pointed out eight men, including Peter. All were fairly large or physically impressive.

“You lot follow Noddy over here,” Felix said, gesturing to the enormous man standing to his right, “he’ll be your teacher for the next few days.”

“Get a move on,” Noddy growled, “you’ll see your girlfriends tonight, so save the teary goodbyes.”

The men walked off to another area of the courtyard and Felix cast an eye over the remaining men. His eyes stopped at Lewis, and he beckoned him over.

“How old are you, boy?” he demanded.

“Twenty two,” Lewis replied hotly.

Felix grunted and raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Lewis gave a defiant nod in response.

“Do you want to fight?” Felix ventured, “given your size, it’s a tossup whether you’d be a help or hindrance in a fight.”

“I’ll make up for my size with spirit,” Lewis replied, his eyes burned passionately, and Felix sighed.

“Don’t regret it,” he warned.

Felix left them with the other man and disappeared back into the keep. The man then marched them over to a building adjacent to the barracks where they were joined by the levies from other towns. Men at the door of the keep handed out spears, steel breastplates, and steel helmets along with a stern warning that they were to be returned once the fighting was over. Once they were armed and armoured, they were told to form groups of eleven.

Philip, David, and Lewis ended up joining up with a group of farmer’s boys who lived close to Lewis, and they were soon approached by a slender straw haired soldier. His face was youthful. In fact, he did not look like he was much older than Philip, but he had the eyes of an old man and a disinterested look on his face.

“They’ve told me I’m in charge of training you,” the boy sighed, “there are eleven of you and I suppose I’ve been made your leader so that makes us an even dozen.”

Lewis looked around at the other people in his group and cleared his throat. “I mean no offence, but you seem awful young to be a soldier, sir.”

The boy looked at Lewis and blinked. “I was a thatcher’s boy until a month ago. They pressed all the men of my village into service when they were withdrawing.”

“Forgive me, but how old are you, sir?” Lewis asked delicately.

“I’m seventeen,” the boy replied, “and the name’s Eric, don’t call me sir. It makes my skin crawl.”

“Have you been in a fight, Eric?” David ventured.

The boy nodded. “Yes, now let’s get started. There’s a lot to cover and not much time.”

Eric looked the levies over. “You lot look like countryfolk, are you carrying knives?”

Everyone except David nodded and held up their personal knives. They all had identical four inch single edged blades, forged in Albert’s smithy though there was some variety to the hilts which they had each made themselves.

“Does anyone have a knife they can lend me?” David asked sheepishly.

“Here, take mine,” Lewis said, passing David a knife, “I brought three.”

“Right,” Eric said, “let’s carry on. First thing you need to learn is how to remount a spearhead. You’ll be surprised how easily they come off.”

Philip looked down at the leaf shaped spearhead on the tip of his spear. It was roughly a foot long fixed at the tip of a six foot long wooden shaft.

“We weren’t issued any spare spearheads,” David pointed out.

“You’ll be given a spare each once you’ve learned how to replace them,” Eric explained.

He then showed them the pin that held the spearhead in place, how to remove it, and how to reattach the spearhead by hammering a fresh pin in with the haft of their utility knives. A fresh pin was needed, he explained, because they would have to rivet it on both ends once it was in place to hold the spearhead tight. He then showed them how to fix the blades of their utility knives at the tip of the spear if they were in a pinch but stressed that it was only to be used as a last resort.

They spent the next twenty minutes practising removing and reattaching their spearheads. Lewis and the farmer’s boys mastered it quickly as it was a similar process to reattaching the heads of their farm tools.

“Can I just leave this to you lot if I lose my spearhead?” David asked as he struggled to hammer the pin through the shaft with the hilt of his borrowed knife.

“You’d better practice tonight,” Eric warned, as David and Philip continued to struggle, “you’d be lucky if you had twenty seconds to complete the process in the heat of battle.”

“We’ll now begin basic spear techniques,” Eric announced.

“This is more like it,” Lewis grinned, rubbing his hands together.

Eric showed them the basic thrust and had them practise it on sacks filled with sand for the rest of the morning. They practised the same repetitive motion until noon when Eric had them stop for a break.

“You are now about as trained as I was before my first battle,” Eric said.

“Mind if we chat a bit over lunch?” Philip ventured, as a wagon brought around a large pot full of gruel.

“Sure,” Eric said, and looked around, “truth be told you’re the first people my age I’ve spoken to in days.”

“Where’s the rest of your family?” Philip wondered as they joined the line for gruel.

Eric looked towards the Morovian side of the wall before replying, “my father and brothers were part of the rear guard. My mother and sister were sent back ahead of us towards White Stone. I’ve not heard anything from them since.”

He then looked back to Philip. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything about refugees from Red Crossing?”

“No,” Philip shook his head and turned to David. “Have you?”

“No,” David replied.

Eric’s shoulders slumped.

“What are they like, the Morovians?” Lewis ventured, “are they fierce fighters?”

Eric looked away and shrugged. “They were, and their cavalry was merciless, but I suppose we won’t have to worry about that while we’re behind these walls.”

“That’s a crumb of comfort,” David remarked as the mood turned sombre.

“Do you think we’ll be able to push them out of our lands?” Lewis asked, “once our reinforcements come from the capital?”

Eric shrugged. “They don’t tell the likes of us commoners what their grand strategies are.”

“Besides,” Eric continued, “the lands we lost were once theirs. They’re just taking them back after twenty years.”

Soon, a wagon came around carrying a large pot of gruel. The men lined up and were given a generous portion each which they devoured quickly. After lunch, the afternoon training session began.

“I can’t feel my hands,” David groused, rubbing them gingerly against his thigh. They were both thoroughly chafed.

“That’s because you don’t do enough honest work, merchant boy,” Lewis replied. He was lying flat on his back next to David, and they were both too tired to even turn their heads to look at one another as they spoke.

“I’m not having that from someone who threw up twice after lunch,” David shot back.

The two who had been trading barbs since they left Melinfield. David was still bemoaning his fate of being forced to go to war while Lewis resented his attitude, but Philip could not summon the strength to mediate between the two this time. His entire body ached. They had spent the entire day learning basic spear techniques and they were all surprised at how exhausting swinging a spear around could be.

“At least you lot don’t have to wear this all day,” Peter puffed as he approached them. He was wearing full plate armour that rattled as he walked and had a large two handed mace strapped across his back, “this stuff weighs a bloody ton.”

He groaned as he more fell than sat next to Philip. “They told me to take it off only when I need to shit so that I grow accustomed to wearing it by the time the fighting begins.”

“You’re probably the best off out of all of us with that heavy weapon and that armour,” Lewis remarked, “you’re lucky to have that body of yours.”

Peter’s eyes went wide. “Not at all,” he protested, “they said that we’re expected to be in the thick of the fighting, which is why they gave us all this kit.”

“Did they tell you anything else?” Philip asked, forcing himself to sit up.

Peter nodded and looked around before lowering his voice, “they did, but keep this to yourselves.”

Despite their tiredness, the others sat up to huddle closer. “Now if anyone asks, you didn’t hear this from me,” Peter began slowly.

“Just spit it out,” David hissed impatiently.

“Well, you know Noddy doesn’t like the baron,” Peter said, “like he really despises the man. He blames him for all the men they lost. They set out with eight thousand men you know.”

The others nodded and indicated for him to continue.

Peter looked around again before leaning in closer, “Noddy was saying that the reason they were ambushed is that the baron got greedy. They had already captured all the cities they were sent out to capture, but the Morovian army went into full retreat and the baron ordered his forces to pursue despite the protests from his commanders, and sure enough, they blundered after them through unfamiliar lands and got caught in a pin… pincher?”

“Pincer,” Philip offered, feigning uncertainty.

“Yes that, I think…” Peter said, “anyway, they got wiped out there, lost like six or seven thousand men, so they fall back to the mountains and the baron leaves half the survivors to stall the enemy while he ran all the way here without looking back.”

Peter’s words hung heavily in the air as it became clear to each of them that the baron was an incompetent commander at best.

“We’re properly shafted, aren’t we?” David remarked.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Philip remarked.

“That’s not all,” Peter continued, “Noddy says that the baron is shafted worse than us.”

“At least he’s safe in the keep and not above running when the going gets tough,” David pointed out.

“Yes, but he’s made a proper mess of this campaign,” Peter pointed out, “not only was he defeated and lost lots of soldiers, including many famous lords, but he’s also allowed the Morovians to retake Folerin and forced the king to issue a call to arms to save his bacon.”

Philip nodded to himself. He didn’t need an Academy education to know that an incompetent and desperate commander would spell disaster for his men.

“It seems you’re awful chummy with this Noddy,” David remarked, “neither Steven nor Felix would tell us anything about anything.”

“Noddy was itching to vent,” Peter said, “I’ll be sure to share it with you lads if he tells us more tomorrow.”

A silence fell over them and the boys were quickly fast asleep, too tired from the day’s efforts to be kept up by the troubling information they had learned.

Dawn came all too quickly for Philip. He had fallen asleep just after dusk and was still exhausted when the morning bell sounded from the keep.

“Good morning boys,” Eric said, as his trainees formed up in front of him.

“You seem in a better mood today,” David remarked

Eric managed a smile, “I suppose a change of company is what I needed.”

The others were taken aback by the first smile they’d seen from him. “At least you get to sleep on a bed indoors,” David pointed out.

“I wouldn’t call sleeping indoors in this heat a benefit,” Eric replied.

“Then come join us,” Philip offered, “the ground we sleep on is lumpy but firm.”

Eric smiled again. “I just might take you up on that.”

“Best cut down on the chit chat,” Felix warned as he walked past, “we’re expecting the Morovians to be here tomorrow.”

The group’s good humour vanished, and Eric started their training at once. That morning, they drilled on parrying with their spears and in the afternoon, they began working on group manoeuvres. They trained with great fervour and Eric had them stop for the day well before dusk out of fear they would be too exhausted to fight should the Morovians arrive the next day.

“Hey Lewis, do you think you could help me with this?” David sighed, as he struggled to replace his spearhead, “I can’t seem to get this done quickly.”

The light was fading, and they had just finished their evening meal. They were all exhausted, but sleep was still elusive for all of them as the prospect of going into battle the next day weighed on them.

“I think you should just give up,” Philip remarked, “just pick up a fallen spear or something. If you can’t do it now, you’re not going to be able to when people are out to kill you.”

“It’s just practice innit?” Lewis said, watching David fumble with the pin, “we’ve done it a thousand times with tools back home, I can’t really think of any shortcuts to help you.”

“My da would just shout at me if I took too long,” Joe, a boy from the farm near to Lewis’ remarked, “he’s a fierce one and his rants were a work of art. You learned to mend stuff right smartly when he gets that mood about him.”

“Good evening gents.”

The boys looked up to see Eric standing over them with a bedroll in hand. “Mind if I join you?”

The others stared up at him in surprise.

“Come on lads, make room for teacher,” Lewis said at length.

The others made room, and Eric laid his bedroll out next to Philip.

“Say, what’s Melinfield like?” Eric ventured once he was settled.

Lewis shrugged. “It’s a boring old farming town. Nothing special.”

“Do you think they’d accept outsiders settling in there?” Eric asked.

“I don’t see why not,” David remarked, jerking a thumb at Philip, “they let an orphan like him in, no questions asked.”

“There were some questions,” Philip protested, as Eric looked at him, “more than a few. You know what Abraham’s like.”

“You’re an orphan?” Eric asked, his eyes widened, “and you’ve made it this far on your own?”

Philip nodded.

“He’s been tight lipped about how he was orphaned and there’s a pool round the town as to what his backstory is,” David butted in before Philip could say anything, “but he’s lived at our fair town for going on a year now and has fit right in.”

“Good for you,” Eric remarked, “how do you like the town?”

“It’s fine,” Philip said, giving David a pointed look, “though a few of the people can be a bit inconsiderate.”

Eric nodded thoughtfully as David gave his best indignant look.

“Are you thinking of moving in?” Peter asked, “there’s plenty of land, and I’m sure Abraham won’t mind.”

“Well, I don’t really have anywhere to go once all this is over,” Eric replied.

“Do you not think we will reclaim our lost lands?” Philip ventured.

“Even if we do, I fear there’s nothing left of my home,” Eric said sadly, “and if we are starting over, my father will probably prefer to do that on the other side of the mountains.”

Philip nodded thoughtfully. “That makes sense.”

Philip noted that Lewis was fidgeting nervously as his eyes darted between him and Eric. “What is it, Lewis?”

Lewis looked away for a moment as he considered whether or not he should speak up.

“You’re not going to continue fighting?” he asked at length, “surely the crown didn’t raise a big old army just to defend this place.”

“Noddy hasn’t said anything about that,” Peter piped up.

“And I’ve not heard anything beyond defending this place,” Eric added.

Lewis let his disappointment show momentarily before forcing himself to shrug nonchalantly, convincing no one.

“That’s fine,” he said at length, “that just means I have a little less time to impress the people who matter.”

“Say,” he continued, looking at Eric, “who would I have to impress to get into the regular army?”

Eric blinked and took a moment to think about it. “The baron I suppose.”

He paused as Lewis muttered to himself before adding, “many of my friends were like you when the baron’s army came through our village, eager to go to war, to prove themselves, earn glory and all the other things we young men associate with war.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” Eric said, looking off towards Morovin, “all of them rushed off to die a senseless death, or decided that war wasn’t what they thought it was.”

Lewis grunted. “My convictions aren’t so weak.”

He lay on the ground restlessly for a few minutes before getting to his feet. “I’m going to take a walk,” he declared and walked off in the direction of the gate on the Morovian side.

“The Morovians might be here tomorrow,” Eric warned, breaking the awkward silence, “we had best get an early night.”

Philip lay on the ground and covered himself in his blanket. It was a warm evening, and many of the others were stripped to their waists, but Philip felt a chill. He fingered the seal on his chest and figured it was intact though he could not be sure. He had not had a moment of privacy since they left Melinfield. Perhaps it was just nervousness that was making him feel cold.

The sun was low in the sky and the men in the courtyard were beginning to settle down for the night.

“What do you suppose all that is about?” David asked.

He and the other boys were lying on the ground with only the strength to lift their heads to watch as the soldiers crammed themselves up on the wall of the Morovian side of the castle. It was the evening of the Melinfield levies’ fifth day at the castle, and today had been more of the same; gruelling physical training and too few breaks. There had been murmurs among the soldiers and the levies that perhaps the Morovians weren’t coming. After all, they had been expected to arrive on the third day.

“Could it be the Morovians?” Lewis wondered out loud.

“I think we should go take a look,” Philip said. He forced himself up onto his feet and winced as his aching muscles screamed in protest.

“That’s I think we should go take a look, sir,” Lewis grinned.

Lewis’ eager attitude had earned him a promotion to Eric’s second in command which meant that he would be in charge if Eric was incapacitated or killed in battle. It was something he was lording over the other two, much to their irritation.

“Well done not letting that go to your head,” David remarked sourly, still lying flat on his back, “that was the first thing Eric said after naming you his number two, remember?”

Much to Philip’s relief, relations between the two had thawed over the last five days as they settled into their new routines and David came to grips with being thrown into battle.

As Philip helped Lewis to his feet, the keep doors opened and the baron emerged for the first time since the Melinfield levies arrived at the castle. He was flanked by Felix and Percival and stood at the steps of the keep, seemingly ready to dart back the moment the Morovians were sighted. Just then, the gates on the Morovian swung open to admit around fifty lathered horses bearing battered and wounded riders into the courtyard. Behind them came another hundred or so similarly battle-worn infantry. Many had to be supported as they limped in.

Eric looked through the crowd worriedly next to Philip, looking for his father and brother. Then, his eyes focused on one of the infantry. Philip could tell he wanted to go to him but was not able to for the moment. All the other soldiers kept a respectful distance from their long lost comrades as though waiting for a signal that they could approach.

“Is this all that remain of the rear guard?” one of the soldiers asked from the top of the wall.

No one answered, and after a few minutes, the order was given to close the gate once more. The lead horseman had to be helped off his horse once they stopped in front of the keep, and two of his men had to practically carry him over to where the baron stood.

“Who’s that?” Philip asked Eric, but the boy did not answer. His eyes were still fixed on one of the infantry.

Philip’s curiosity overrode his aching body, and he pushed his way through the crowd of soldiers until he was near enough to be able to hear what the baron and the leader of this newest band had to say.

“My Lord, forgive my appearance,” the man began, “we delayed them for as long as we could.”

“You’ve exceeded expectations, I suppose, Sir Lester,” Baron Graham allowed, “how many of them were you able to kill?”

“I’m sorry my lord, I do not know,” Lester replied, “however, two thousand of them split off from the main group about a week ago. We think they returned to their farms for the harvest.”

“Think?” Baron Graham asked, raising an eyebrow, “you could not confirm?”

Lester took a moment to gather his strength before replying, “no. my lord, I am sorry.”

“When will they be here?” Baron Graham sighed.

“They were hot on our heels when we were forced to withdraw,” Lester replied, “we held them until the last possible minute as per your orders.”

Baron Graham rolled his eyes with exasperation and repeated his question, “yes, very good, well done. Now, when will they be here?”

“Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow,” Lester replied, “I’m sorry I can’t give you a more accurate answer.”

“Double the watch,” Baron Graham ordered. He paused before adding, “are the levies trained?”

“We’ve gotten five days of training in instead of the three we expected,” Felix allowed.

Baron Graham rolled his eyes again before snapping, “I have had it with these non-answers you lot are giving me. Are they trained, or aren’t they?”

Felix paused and kept his face serene, but Philip could see that he was clenching his fists so hard they had turned white. Half the soldiers around him were holding their breath to see if he would strike the baron.

“Yes, they’re trained,” Felix said at length, and the soldiers in the courtyard breathed once more.

“Good,” Baron Graham said, seemingly oblivious to the danger he had narrowly avoided. He then stalked back to the keep without giving the rear guard a look.

“What are you waiting for, get these men’s wounds seen to,” Felix barked at the soldiers in the courtyard, “and prepare them hot meals. These men are heroes!”

Eric ran towards the man as the soldiers around him sprang into action, helping riders off horses, taking wounded men off their comrade’s shoulders, bringing clean water and linens to wash and bind their wounds. Philip and the other levies stood where they were, not quite sure how they could help.

Percival approached Lester and smiled apologetically. “I know that wasn’t the reception you were expecting, nor was it the one you deserved, Sir Lester,” he began.

“Oh that’s where you’re wrong,” Lester said, wincing as he smiled, “that was precisely the reception I was expecting.”

“How bad are your wounds?” Percival asked as Lester’s men helped lie him down on a litter someone had brought from the keep.

“Oh, just a few arrow wounds, a few sword wounds, and a pair of broken ribs,” Lester said, coughing as he strained to speak, “I’ll be able to sleep it off.”

He groaned as his men lifted the litter and carried him to the barracks. Percival stayed at his side the whole time, chatting as they went.

Philip looked over to Eric who was exchanging a few words with the man. He spotted Eric, David and Peter walking in their direction and intercepted them.

“Hey, what’s say we go over there,” Philip suggested, pointing at the wall on the Morovian side.

“What about Eric?” Lewis protested.

“It looks like they’d rather be alone,” Philip remarked.

They were close enough to see the anguish on Eric’s face and silently followed Philip to the wall. The top of the wall was empty now except for a lone lookout. The four friends climbed the stairs and looked out at the plateau.

“They’ll be here soon, eh?” Peter remarked, panting from the climb. He was still clad in full armour with his mace across his back.

“Why don’t you take that off?” David suggested, “they’re not even here and you’re already knackered.”

“Not been told to,” Peter replied, “and you’ve seen Noddy. I don’t want to be on the wrong side of that man.”

“Not long now,” Lewis muttered, clutching his spear tight.

They watched the plateau until dusk and the defenders began lighting the watchfires along the top of the wall. A chill ran down Philip’s spine as one was lit in the periphery of his vision. He felt faint as the strength went from his legs, but thankfully, he was already leaning on the parapet and was able to stop himself from falling. He willed himself to focus on the far end of the plateau and focused on regaining his strength.

“I’m heading back down,” Philip said weakly when he felt confident that he had the strength to walk down the stairs.

He staggered down the steps and hoped the others didn’t notice his moment of weakness. Across the courtyard, he spotted Eric and the other man who was lying on the ground. Another man was tending to his wounds as the two spoke. As he looked around the courtyard, he saw that numerous braziers had been lit. He then realized that on previous nights, he had been asleep well before it was dark enough for the braziers to be lit and woke after dawn when they had burned out.

Seeing the multitude of fires before him, his fear bubbled to the surface, and he felt icy hands grip his heart. He felt short of breath even though he was breathing heavily, and an icy ball appeared in his stomach. Feeling lightheaded and no longer able to stand, he slumped to the ground.

As he did, a fire crackled in a nearby brazier, and Philip was transported to that faithful night that had claimed his family’s lives. Only this time, he was in his parents’ bed. They embraced him and his brother as the flames swirled around. His mother tried to speak soothingly, telling them everything would be alright, but the panic was clear in her voice. Soon, her whispers turned to screams as the flames grew stronger and nearer. Then, suddenly, there was silence. Before he could look up, he heard something crack and then his world went black.