Philip could hear a distant voice calling to him. He could not discern what it said, but it didn’t sound friendly. He knew it was important that he wake up. It could be a Morovian attack, they could be inside the courtyard already! He had to open his eyes, defend the castle, defend his friends, and defend himself. However, struggle as he might he could not.

He gasped as he felt something slam into his shoulder and opened his eyes to see a pair of soldiers sneering down at him.

“The dawn bell has sounded,” one of them said, “you’d best get to your trainer, levy.”

“He’s one of mine, Gom,” Eric said breathlessly as he came running up to them, “thanks for finding him.”

Philip got to his feet groggily and cursed himself. He had been careless. It was the first time he had experienced such a panic attack in months and couldn’t help but wonder if it was an ill omen.

“Better keep your boys on a tighter leash, Eric,” Gom replied. He and his friend smirked at Philip one last time before climbing up the stairs to the top of the wall.

“Where have you been?” Eric asked, “the others were looking high and low for you.”

“Sorry, I must have dozed off,” Philip replied. He looked at Eric’s eyes. They were red and sunken, as though he had spent the night crying.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Never better,” Eric replied quickly.

Philip didn’t press the issue. He didn’t feel he knew Eric well enough to say anything, and simply walked with him in silence.

“I met my brother last night,” Eric said at length.

“I guessed as much,” Philip said, “I’m glad he’s alright.”

“My father’s dead.” Eric’s voice was emotionless, but his shoulders shuddered once he finished speaking.

“You have my condolences,” was all Philip could say.

“It’s good that the Morovians are coming here,” Eric said quietly.

“That’s a dangerous line of thought, young man.”

Eric and Philip looked up to see Percival walking towards them.

“My lord,” Eric said, bowing his head deferentially, “is there something I can do for you?”

“Sir Lester’s wounds were grave, and his war is over,” Percival said, “he is being sent back to White Stone today.”

Eric’s jaw dropped. “Who will be in charge of the cavalry then, the baron?”

Percival shook his head. “I will assume Sir Lester’s responsibilities.”

The old aeromancer couldn’t help but smile at the relief on Eric’s face. “That brings us to my business with you, young Eric.”

“How may I be of service?”

“Sir Lester tells me your father died heroically so that the rest of the rear guard could withdraw,” Percival said, “in return for his sacrifice, he asked Sir Lester to send one of his sons back to look after his wife and daughters.”

“Then send my brother,” Eric said, “he is wounded. Besides, I intend to avenge my father here.”

“I’ll see it done,” Percival promised. He then placed a hand on Eric’s shoulder. “Just remember, your father did not give up his life so that you could throw yours away.”

He then turned his attention to Philip. “May I have a word with you in private?”

“Me?” Philip asked as his pulse quickened.

Percival nodded and gestured for him to follow.

“I’ll tell the boys you’re alright,” Eric said, giving Philip a curious look.

Philip shrugged at Eric as he followed Percival up the stairs to the top of the wall overlooking the Celethir side gate. Percival looked north into Celethir in silence and Philip wondered if he should just come clean about his identity.

“You’re from the Academy, aren’t you?” Percival asked, solving that dilemma.

Philip opened his mouth but did not know what to say.

Percival looked at him briefly before looking back out north. “That pyromancer who’s afraid of fire?”

“Yes,” Philip admitted at length.

Percival chortled and tapped his forehead with a finger. “See, my memory isn’t what it used to be, but I got there eventually.”

“I can’t use my Gift,” Philip began.

“I know of your circumstances,” Percival cut him off, “and your secret is safe with me so don’t worry about that.”

“Thank you,” was all Philip could manage.

Percival gave Philip a sideways glance and smiled. “I can arrange for you to be sent back to… Melinfield was it?”

Philip’s eyes widened. He hadn’t been expecting that.

“Why?”

“Your master and I go back a ways,” Percival said, stretching his arms, “one levy won’t make the difference between victory and defeat. Besides, it would be a shame if you died here.”

“Do you think we’re going to lose the castle?” Philip ventured.

“Nothing like that, no,” Percival said, “but it wouldn’t be unusual for a levy like you to get killed.”

“I’d rather stay,” Philip said after a moment’s consideration. He’d never be able to show his face in Melinfield if he left while the others had to stay.

“I thought you’d say that,” Percival remarked with a wry smile, “you youngsters are so impetuous.”

Percival seemed like he knew more about what was to happen than Eric and Philp summoned the courage to ask a question that had been weighing on the Melinfield boys.

“Will the fighting be fierce?”

“Fighting is always fierce,” Percival replied, “but I don’t think they will try to take this castle in earnest.”

Philip blinked. “You don’t?”

Percival shook his head. “The Morovian army has been cautious ever since we invaded. Their army is small and every life they lose is a huge setback for them. They won’t attack this place in earnest. Truth be told, I doubt they intend to take it at all. They just want to scare us into leaving them alone.”

“So we’re safe?” Philip asked, as his hope soared.

“That doesn’t mean you should let your guard down,” Percival warned, “people still die in the lightest of skirmishes.”

Philip nodded, but couldn’t help but feel better about the situation.

Percival cast a glance over his shoulder at the keep and his face darkened. “Though with that idiot in charge, anything is possible.”

“Excuse me?” Philip asked, not sure if he should have heard that last part.

The aeromancer shook his head. “Forget I said anything,” he said, “I’m just tired and not thinking properly.”

Philip nodded dubiously and stood next to Percival in silence as the older man took in their surroundings.

“If that’s all, I’ll excuse myself,” Philip said, sensing that Percival wanted to be alone.

Percival nodded and Philip hurried down the stairs while trying to make sense of the whole exchange. Down below, in the courtyard, a pair of wagons were getting ready to leave. Standing in disciplined rows behind it were a dozen wounded men. Eric’s brother was among them. Philip guessed those too wounded to walk like Sir Lester would be in the wagons.

He then looked around for Eric but was unable to find him, which he found odd. He was sure the boy would want to spend a few moments with his brother before he left. He searched the courtyard but could find no sign of Eric or his friends. He then checked the wall and spotted a diminutive back looking out over the wall on the Morovian side.

“Is anything interesting happening out there?” Philip asked as he joined his friends.

“How do you fall asleep ten paces from the stairs?” David asked incredulously as Philip stood next to them.

Philip shrugged. “We’ve been training hard, it just caught up to me is all.”

He then looked over at Eric who was staring at the valley that lay beyond the plateau to the south. “Say, this might be none of my business, but the wounded are leaving.”

“You’re right,” Eric snapped, “it’s none of your business.”

The others looked at him, stunned at the normally calm Eric’s sudden outburst. “Say no more,” Philip said as he backed away.

Philip looked over his shoulder and watched the convoy of wounded soldiers leave the castle. The gate closed as soon as the last man limped out, and a huge drawbar was dropped in place, barricading the gates and filling Philip with dread. He couldn’t help but feel it would be the last time the gate would open until the attack came.

Eric stood there unmoving for hours, and his squad could merely look at each other and stay by his side. Down in the courtyard, light drills were being conducted by the other squads and if they would surely be questioned if they were found down there without their leader.

It was just after noon when Philip spotted movement on the plateau.

“What’s that?” Lewis asked.

David, who had been sitting with his back against the parapet, leapt to his feet and looked where Lewis was pointing.

“The scouts have returned!” shouted a lookout further down the wall as a pair of men came into view, running as though the Morovians were just inches behind them.

“That doesn’t look promising,” Philip remarked, noting the panic in their stride.

“They’re here,” Eric said softly. He grabbed his spear and took off down the stairs. His squad exchanged looks and scrambled after him.

A large group had gathered close to the gate by the time the scouts stumbled in. Even the baron had descended from the keep with his personal guard standing in close attendance.

“Well?” the baron demanded, as the scouts stood with their hands on their knees, struggling to catch their breaths.

“They should be here any minute,” one of them gasped.

“How many?” the baron asked.

“At least three thousand,” the scout replied.

The baron’s shoulders slumped, and he began muttering to himself as his soldiers watched and waited for his instructions. However, they quickly disappointed. The baron soon retreated to the keep with his guards in tow, leaving his men staring after him in disbelief.

“Right,” Percival declared, shaking his head once the doors to the keep slammed shut, “here’s what we’ll do.”

All eyes went to the old aeromancer, “Felix, please organize the men on the wall. We’ll have half the archers and all of the cavalry stationed the middle of the courtyard by the keep.”

Felix stared blankly at Percival for a moment before snapping out of his daze. “Action stations! Man the walls!” he barked, and the soldiers scurried to comply.

“And Felix?” Percival added.

“Yes, my lord?” Felix replied, looking embarrassed by his earlier lapse.

“Do your men know their ranges?”

Felix nodded. “Of course, my lord.”

“Excellent,” Percival said, “go on then, get going.”

“What are the archers going to do from all the way over there?” David wondered as he watched them assemble on the far end of the keep.

Philip knew but kept his mouth shut as their squad waited climbed the stairs and took their position close to the gate which Eric had told them would be one the most likely positions to be assaulted first.

“And those cavalry fellows looked to be heavily armoured,” David rattled on, “why aren’t they up here with us in the thick of it?”

“They’re to deal with anyone who makes it past us and into the courtyard,” Eric replied, “can’t risk them catching stray arrows by having them too close to the wall.”

“Surely that fancy armour can take a few arrows,” David remarked, looking over his shoulder.

“Also correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t archers important for a siege battle, so why aren’t they all on the wall with us?” David continued, but no one paid him any heed.

“Look, there’s Peter,” Lewis said, pointing at a group of four heavily armoured standing close to the stairs. Their job, Peter had explained, was to assist any position on the wall that was in danger of buckling. The boys waved at their friend who waved back, earning himself a smack to the back of the head from Noddy.

After what felt like an eternity, the first of the Morovians appeared, climbing up onto the plateau. The first thing Philip noticed was how uniform they looked, wearing identical helmets and black tunics over their armour unlike the hodgepodge of armour the Celethir soldiers were wearing. Most carried either a shield or a ladder in addition to a weapon. A few of the Morovians wore more intricate tall helmets and wore white tunics over their armour which Philip supposed identified them as officers.

“They’re all dressed the same,” Lewis said, stating the obvious, “somehow it makes them look more intimidating.”

“Stop admiring them,” David groused, “they’re here to kill us.”

“At least they don’t have cavalry,” Eric breathed.

“That’s because this is a siege battle, lad,” one of the nearby soldiers said, “their horses won’t be able to climb those ladders.”

Philip’s heart pounded, and no one made a sound on the castle walls as the Morovians streamed up onto the plateau and swiftly assembled into disciplined rows. Once they were assembled, an officer wearing a gold edged white tunic over his armour stepped forward. A bronze eagle was perched atop his helmet, and he was flanked by ten men wearing blue and green tunics over their armour. They each carried a large rectangular shield.

The man walked with a dignified grace that was apparent even from across the plateau. His men took their positions at the head of the Morovian army, but the man continued walking until he was standing alone, fifty yards ahead of the rest his men. He looked at the walls with disdain and addressed the Celethir.

“I am Count Edmond Dompere, general of the great Morovian army!” the man said. His booming voice was carried by a stiff breeze across the plateau and was easily heard by every defender on the wall. “Today, we come to liberate the lands taken from us so many years ago!”

The general’s opening statement was met by lusty cheers from his men. He stared at the castle with cold eyes while his men’s cheers grew in volume until he raised a fist, silencing them.

“Know this, soldiers of Celethir,” Edmond continued, “we only seek to reclaim what is rightfully ours. Withdraw from the castle and you have my word as the General of the Morovian army that we will not set one foot past it.”

The general paused and let the silence hang in the air. Philip, Lewis, and David exchanged looks. David’s look said, ‘sounds good to me’.

“What say you soldiers of Celethir?” Edmond demanded at length, “will you withdraw, or will we take it from your corpses?”

Suddenly, the wind changed, and it began blowing fiercely in the direction of the Morovians. A few men slipped at the ferocity of the change. Philip looked over his shoulder and could see that Percival was standing in front of the keep with both arms raised and his eyes glowed bright white.

“Brave soldiers of Celethir, do not heed this fork tongued man’s words!” came Percival’s cry, who seemed to speak with the voice of the wind itself, “we have received word that reinforcements will be here in twelve days! You need only hold these walls for twelve days and our brothers will come to sweep our enemies away and reclaim Folerin!”

Philip felt his heart stir at the promise of twelve days and the strength in Percival’s voice. He looked down the wall and saw that the doubt had been banished from most of the defender’s faces.

“These walls are stout and defended by brave and ferocious warriors,” Percival continued, “and we will defend them with our lives for if they fall, our homes and our families will be at risk.”

The wind died down, and the plateau was silent once more.

“Is that your answer?” Edmond demanded.

“Here’s your answer,” Felix roared from the top of the gate, “Celethir fights!”

A roar of approval began from the men around him and was soon taken up by the rest of the defenders on the wall.

“Celethir forever! Death to the Morovians! For House Soumair!” came the cries from the castle.

Edmond smirked and raised a fist. The Morovian army began marching in perfect formation, advancing past him until they were roughly five hundred yards from the wall. Once there, they deployed into siege formations, spreading out and widening their line. Heavy infantry bearing shields stood to the front, with archers in the rear.

“They look so coordinated,” David remarked, with admiration in his voice.

“Three to one odds are as easy as you can ask for when defending a siege,” Felix shouted, “have no fear, men!”

“Archers, ready!” came the cry from behind Philip and his heart began to race. This was it; the battle would soon begin. It felt stifling in his steel breastplate and helmet, crammed up on the wall with so many men.

“Steady boys,” Eric called out as he the others bristled, “remember what you’ve been taught, don’t do anything stupid, and we’ll all make it through today alive.”

Once the Morovians had deployed into formations, horns blew, drums thundered, playing an ominous beat and Celethir hearts leapt into mouths. The Morovians began chanting in unison.

“Blood of our foes stain our weapons, we will not falter until we reclaim what is ours,” they said in one voice.

“Come on, come at us!” David yelled, as the anticipation became too much for him to bear, “or are you too chicken?”

His jeers were taken up by the rest of the wall and soon, even Philip was yelling himself hoarse. It took them a few minutes to realize that the Morovians had stopped chanting and were now simply staring back at the Celethir.

“What are they doing?” Lewis asked, echoing the thought of every man on the wall, “why aren’t they attacking?”

Philip was at a loss as well. The Morovians were standing stock still, seemingly content to simply stare at the defenders. He had never heard of such a tactic at the Academy. The Morovians should be attacking with urgency as Celethir reinforcements were on the way. Were they waiting for reinforcements themselves?

Soon, Felix sent squads of men out to cover the wall in all directions out of fear of a flanking attack, but none would come. Instead, the Morovians remained in place, taking up their chant periodically, until dusk when a horn sounded, and they withdrew to the far end of the plateau once again.

“Cowards!” roared the defenders as they withdrew, but not one of the Morovians showed any reaction.

“What was all that about?” Lewis cried.

“I have no idea,” Eric said, equally confused by the day’s events.

The defenders stared at the Morovians as they began setting up camp for the evening.

“See, the Morovians dare not attack our walls,” Felix cried, “soon, as their time runs out, they will throw themselves at us in desperation, that is when we will slaughter them in droves and drive them out of our lands.”

It didn’t sound like Felix believed his own words and he quickly ordered for half the defenders to rest for four hours while the remainder kept the first watch. Naturally, as one of the lowest in the pecking order, Eric and his squad were among those chosen to keep an eye on the Morovians.

As the day grew darker, both sides lit watchfires, and it took all of Philip’s willpower not to collapse. When he felt he could walk unassisted, he excused himself to the rear ranks and forced himself to focus on either the floor, the parapet, or the sky.

“Keep your eyes open boys,” Felix warned as he inspected the wall that night, “they could be planning a night raid.”

But dawn came, and all the Morovians had done was beat drums at irregular intervals throughout the night. The defenders had leapt out of bed thinking it was the sign of an attack, but the Morovians merely laughed at them before going back to sleep.

Philip yawned and rubbed his face. The other defenders alongside him were similarly bleary eyed, and Philip steeled himself. The attack would come today. The defenders were in a terrible state after the Morovian’s antics the night before. The feints would be less effective tonight, and the defenders would be able to rest so it made logical sense that the attack would come today.

“The Morovians are using underhanded tactics to tire you out because they fear the skill of the Celethir soldier!” Felix roared, “show them that a sleepless night is nothing to us!”

Just after dawn, the Morovians left their camps and began assembling on the plateau in a relaxed fashion that was in stark contrast to their disciplined efficiency from the day before.

“Those shitheads look well rested,” David observed sourly.

“It was all part of their plan,” Lewis agreed, “but they’ve overplayed it because now we’re more angry than scared.”

“That’s a good attitude to have,” Eric said, “but try to keep a cool head and don’t break the line.”

The defenders were tense, sure that the Morovians would attack soon to exploit their tiredness. However, once again, the Morovians were content to stare at them. The only difference was that today, they took turns, breaking ranks openly to relieve themselves or get something to eat from their camp to the rear.

“They’re just trying to rattle you, men!” Felix shouted at around noon, “remember, every day these fools waste taunting us is another day closer our reinforcements get. They are the ones who need to hurry, not us!”

“Perhaps they’re just trying to waste our kingdom’s time and resources,” Philip observed out loud, “as punishment for attacking them in the first place.”

“Even if that’s their intention, we will have to assume they can attack at any moment,” Eric remarked, “perhaps they are trying to lull us into carelessness.”

“You have a point there,” Philip conceded.

He hoped they would attack during the day. The previous night had been particularly torturous for him. Not only had he been unable to catch a wink of sleep thanks to the stress of an impending attack, the watchfires that burned all around had nearly caused him panic attacks several times. He was now thoroughly exhausted and didn’t know if he could endure another night.

However, night fell, and the Morovians had not budged. The Celethir scarcely had the strength to jeer their enemies as they left the plateau and made for their camps.

“I don’t know if my heart can take another day of this,” David sighed as he slumped to the ground.

This time, the militia was sent to rest first while the soldiers kept watch. Philip was so heavy with fatigue and distracted with avoiding the sight of fire that he stumbled on a step and felt himself begin to fall.

“Get a hold of yourself, man,” Lewis said tiredly, as he caught Philip’s arm, steadying him, “though I suppose there could be worse things than breaking a leg and sitting this out in the barracks.”

“Thanks,” Philip gasped, shaking his head to clear it.

He almost fell asleep on his feet as they queued for dinner which they devoured quickly before falling asleep where they sat.

It felt like he had scarcely closed his eyes when the warning bell set his heart racing.

“Stations everyone!” he heard someone cry and leapt to his feet, spear in hand.

He and the rest of his squad rushed up the stairs to see the Morovians laughing as they beat their drums. The men on the wall kept their eyes peeled on the shadows around the fort, having been warned that the drums could be a distraction for a sneak attack on another part of the wall. However, there was no sneak attack and satisfied that they had sufficiently stirred the hornet’s nest, the Morovian drummers smirked before returning to their campgrounds.

“Why don’t we send our cavalry after them,” Lewis asked sourly, “just to wipe those smirks off their faces.”

“We don’t know what’s lurking out there,” Eric replied, gesturing to the darkness that engulfed the rest of the plateau, “we could be sending them into another ambush, and to achieve what? Drive off some drummers?”

“At least we’d get a good night’s sleep,” David said sourly.

The drummers returned to beat their drums throughout the night, and while the resting defenders were no longer ordered to man their posts, the incessant noise kept them awake and on the edge.

“So, will today be another staring contest between us and the Morovians?” the baron’s haughty voice could be heard clearly by the men standing nearby as he glared at the Morovian camp across the plateau.

It was already late morning and the Morovians looked content to spend another day looking back at the defenders in the castle.

“Perhaps,” Percival warned, “but I would be wary of their general, he’s quite the extraordinary commander.”

“Extraordinarily lucky perhaps,” Baron Graham scoffed, as he gave the old aeromancer standing beside him a sideways glance, “we would have been fine if it wasn’t for that river hemming us in from the south.”

“Which is probably why they decided to ambush there,” Percival pointed out.

“Pah,” the baron spat, “they had no way of knowing we’d pursue them that far.”

“At any rate,” Percival said, wanting to change the subject, “we had best be wary. We cannot afford to underestimate them again.”

“Hmph,” the baron grunted as he looked out at the Morovian formations on the plateau, “it’s a pity you can’t just blow them all away.”

Percival sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “That is beyond my ability.”

“If only we Frederick of the Flame here, eh?” the baron mused, “or better yet, his master, Penelope the Red.”

“She died during the first war, remember?” Percival pointed out.

The baron stroked his chin while looking at the Morovians, seemingly not hearing what Percival said. “Yes, a pyromancer would make quick work of them, eh?”

“Or better yet, if we had one at Kiligi,” the baron continued, “we could have wiped their army out there and then and then marched on Ostgen and captured it in the name of King Storin.”

Philip spotted Percival turn his head and roll his eyes silently at the baron’s wishful thinking. The aeromancer caught Philip staring and winked.

“It’s a pity you couldn’t persuade him to come,” the baron remarked at length.

“Excuse me?” Percival replied.

The baron turned and fixed his eyes on him. “Frederick of the Flame. He’s a friend of yours, isn’t he?”

Percival nodded. “Whenever we threaten Morovin, their allies to our east respond by moving their legions close to our borders. The Academy thinks he’s best served there as a deterrent while we focus our attention here.”

“A lot of good your precious Academy’s advice has done us,” Baron Graham sighed as though he was the victim of the incompetence of others, “waste of money that whole lot.”

Percival pretended not to hear the last part and merely looked at the Morovians serenely. The baron looked out at Morovin in the distance and sighed one last time before making his way to the stairs.

“Inform me if something interesting happens,” he called out over his shoulder and quickly made his way to the keep.

Percival and Felix exchanged looks and shook their heads before turning their attention back to the Morovians.

“It would suit me just fine if they stayed there until our reinforcements arrive,” Felix remarked.

“It would suit me as well,” Percival said, “but somehow I don’t think they will.”

“I’m afraid you might be right, my lord,” Felix sighed.

Percival nodded in Philip’s direction before descending from the wall. Felix drew a deep breath and shouted, “Stand firm men, keep your concentration up. Our brothers in arms will soon be here to relieve us.”

And so the standoff continued through the third day and into the third night. Once again, the levies were the ones pulled off the wall to rest first.

“I feel like skipping dinner and going straight to bed,” Lewis said, bleary eyed.

“I’m with you there,” David yawned, “I think I’m tired enough to sleep through their infernal drumming tonight.”

“You’d best fill your bellies,” Eric warned, “no sense in being hungry and tired when they do attack.”

“If they attack,” Lewis groused, “how stupid will we look if they just decide to turn around and go home in ten days?”

“Not as stupid as them,” David pointed out, “though it does look like they’re getting a good night’s sleep every night, the bastards.”

Despite their complaints, they lined up for supper and filled their bellies before going to bed. The drums beat once during their turn to rest, and Philip covered his head with his blanket but found that the possibility that this might be the one time that it was an actual attack prevented him from sleeping. He did manage to drift off after the drumming stopped but all too soon, it was time for them to return to the wall.

Philip stretched as he got to his feet and kept his eyes glued to the ground. Dawn was still six hours away and various fires were burning around the courtyard and on top of the wall. He trudged up the stairs with the others and stifled a yawn as they settled in for another long night of staring at their opponents from the top of the wall.

The men on the wall now were mostly levies and as the night wore on, the toll of the last three days set in. Many of them began dozing off on their feet and most of their commanders were either asleep themselves or too tired to notice or care.

It was roughly an hour before dawn that Philip thought he saw movement in the darkness. He nudged David who was next to him in the arm.

“Did you see that?” he asked out loud.

“Huh, what?” David asked groggily and looked around, “ah, I was dreaming I was back in the Melinfield Inn, having a round with all of you.”

“I thought I saw movement in the darkness,” Philip said.

“You were probably just dreaming,” David’s voice trailed off as he spoke, and he was soon fast asleep once more.

Gathering his willpower, Philip gripped the parapet tightly and forced himself to give the Morovian positions a quick glance. His blood froze as he realized that two of the watchfires on their right flank had been extinguished, which he knew because he had memorized their positions so that he knew where not to look.

He gritted his teeth and willed the strength back into his legs. “Eric,” he gasped at length, “I think they’re up to something.”

“What do you mean?” Eric asked. He had been half asleep himself but came to his senses quickly.

Before Philip could answer, ladders wrapped in black cloth appeared all along the parapet on their section of the wall. Seconds later, armoured men armed with swords and axes appeared. Philip’s mouth moved but he couldn’t find the words as his brain struggled to make sense of what was happening.

“Enemy attack!” Eric shouted, “we’re under attack!”

Eric gripped his spear and kicked the dozing men around him awake before launching himself at the nearest enemy.

Philip snapped to his senses and pointed his spear at the nearest enemy soldier who had just cut down a dozing defender. As the man stepped onto the wall, another climbed the ladder, and then another. Philip thrust his spear at the man, who sidestepped it neatly. As he did, the flames from a watchfire came into view behind him

Philip froze and his opponent stepped in and swung his sword. It would have taken Philip’s head clean off if he the strength hadn’t left his legs just then, causing him to collapse in a heap. The man’s swing cut through air as Philip lay helpless before him. The man stood over Philip’s fallen body and raised his sword to deliver the finishing blow and was stopped in his tracks by a spear through his throat.

“Get up Philip, what are you doing?” he heard David scream. Adrenaline overcame his fear and he looked up to see David looking wide eyed at the man he had just killed.

Their squadmates stepped forward to cover David as he pulled his spear out of the fallen man’s neck and helped Philip to his feet. The others had formed ranks four abreast and were trying to advance on one of the ladders. Their path was blocked by a defensive ring of Morovians who blocked their spears with their shields as the other attackers attempted to push in the other direction towards the stairs.

“Thanks,” Philip gasped as the bell at the keep rang repeatedly, signalling to everyone in the castle that they were under attack.

Philip glanced down at the courtyard. His heart sank as he saw teams of the black tunicked men already fighting down below.

“You need to get those ladders off the wall!” he heard Felix cry from somewhere in the melee down below.

“Ignore them and focus on staying alive up here,” Eric said through gritted teeth as he fell back slightly.

Philip’s training kicked in and he stepped into the gap Eric had left in the line and used his spear to keep the enemy at bay while those in the second row stabbed at them.

“They really caught us with our pants down, eh?” Lewis exclaimed from next to Philip as he let off a boisterous laugh.

“Has the lack of sleep finally driven you mad?” Philip panted, as he struggled to keep his opponents at bay.

“The two of you need to stop chatting and focus on fighting,” Eric warned from behind them.

The man standing on Philip’s other side went down shrieking as a crossbow bolt struck him in the arm.

“Carl!” Philip exclaimed, looking at the stricken shepherd’s son.

“Keep your eyes forward and let us worry about him,” Eric said. With practised efficiency, he and another man dragged Carl back, and David stepped over him to take his place in the line.

“Three of us fighting side by side eh,” Lewis grinned.

“I wish I shared your enthusiasm,” David replied.

He winced as a Morovian brushed his spear aside and charged at him, but a flurry of spears from the second row kept him at bay until he was able to recover.

“We can’t pierce their armour with our spears!” Philip gasped over his shoulder.

“It’s fine,” Eric replied, “we just need to keep the pressure up. Even keeping them where they are means that reinforcements can’t get to them while we can swap out with fresh bodies for as long as we control the stairs.”

Sure enough, the Morovians had stopped coming up the ladder, having run out of space on the parapet. Those who had made it off the ladders were packed into their small pocket. There was a roar from down below as Peter and the other heavy infantrymen drove the attackers in the courtyard back up the stairs.

Soon, the attackers that had entered the courtyard were fighting for their lives on the wall, and the pockets around the ladders gradually grew smaller as the defenders surely but surely drove the Morovians back on Philip’s side of the wall. When Philip swapped out with a fresh body, he was able to take stock of the situation on the wall as he caught his breath.

They were in control of their part of the wall, but it looked like the wall on the other side of the gate had been hardest hit and the Morovians controlled large parts of the wall and were fighting towards the stairs. They’d been told during training that the Morovians would attempt to fight their way to the gate so that the rest of their comrades waiting outside could swarm where their advantage in numbers would really count and the battle would be as good as lost.

Putting such thoughts out of his mind, Philip focused on resting while standing in the rearmost row, keeping a careful eye on his comrades to see if they were flagging and needed him to swap in. He also took time to be pleased with the fact that he had not been worried about fire since the fighting began. Pure adrenaline and his focus on the battle had banished such thoughts from his mind.

Soon, he was in the second rank, stabbing frantically at any Morovian within reach as the row in front of him struggled to keep them at bay. There were a few bodies on the floor and the Celethir bodies were dragged to the rear. Any fallen Morovians were kicked over the side down to the courtyard where they were finished off by the Celethir defenders down below.

The fighting on the walls continued to rage on as dawn broke. Philip glanced at the plateau below and his heart sank as he saw the rows of Morovians waiting to climb the ladders. A large group was standing close to the gate, waiting for them to open so that they could charge in.

Then, he heard a voice on the wind. It was Percival’s.

“Archers, fire!”