Jen smiled, her arms reaching around and hugging herself, as he went off yelling orders to his troops, the army started scrambling around. The night came alive from the sleepy murk it once was. What was it he compared it too in the meeting earlier that evening? A hive...yes, that was quite fitting with the buzz of activity. The grim-faced, rag-tag army rolled from where ever they managed to find a spot in the crowded courtyard, the groups of them huddled around fires throughout the rectangle that made up the outer bailey. All who had not been assigned to watch were sleeping where they could find a spot in the courtyard. At the sound of the gruff Master Sergeant, the regulars came to quickly, kicking their blankets and started donning their armor. Their years in the military aided them in blocking out the horror of the battle to come. Their counterparts did not have the benefits of such a mentality to draw on. The civilian conscripts rose slower, slightly so, to try as they might to fight for their lives and the lives of their families. Terror clearly stood in most eyes as the dread of fighting against insurmountable odds sank into reality.

The Master Sergeant had assigned the duty of lighting the arrows to some civilians conscripts. To some of the other civilians, they placed them near buckets of water, so to put out any return fire. As of right now, they were trying to keep the conscripts out of the fighting and in other duties, freeing up the regulars for doing the bloody business. Most of the fighting was to be done in close quarters and though friendly deaths would happen, he wanted to keep them to a minimum. Only trained and disciplined men would fight in the first wave of action. Half the main body lined the broad walk wall of the Temple, weapons in hand, waiting for the archers of the North Garrison to stir the hornet's nest. The other half they held in reserve, hoping not to need them.

It would take a couple of hours to set the town ablaze good. The infantry’s job was to come up and surprise the enemy, who managed to top the battlements when the signal was given. The ballista would hopefully provide the defenders with an advantage and speed up the process. The siege machine did put them in an interesting predicament. They had no experienced operators. Some of the guards had operated one in practice, but none of that few had experienced battle.

They would not have the luxury of time, as in practice. Aiming was not a problem. Demons and Chaos, they had a whole damn city around them! The problem lay with over tensioning the ropes. If that happened then, the tensioner cable could snap and slice men in two. They had too few defenders to kill off them from accidents. That left few enough for arguments of any kind when it came to its operation. Besides, it would be only good for so long before they would need its operators on the walls. He sighed in resignation and continued his inspection.

Wallace walked through the assembling troops feeling the usual swell of pride and in the back of his mind, he felt the treacherous feeling of despair. He had been through battles before, but never on this scale. The gruff Master Sergeant knew as he inspected the men and women who prepared to fight for their very existence, that some, if not all, would not see another day. He strode quickly towards the front of the assembly and climbed on top of a broken portion of the wall to address his troops.

“Corporal Thad, I want you with the archers on top of the battlements with the General. Sergeant Howe died from his wounds; they are yours now. Protect her, since the Captain insists on playing with the ballista. Hope she doesn’t mind me speaking frankly, but she is a lucky son of a bitch,” Wallace said with a smile at Isobelle, who stuck her tongue out at the short man. She tossed her cropped blonde hair, letting the cheek length strands settle back down, before smiling mischievously at the short commander.

“I have waited for my twenty-five winters to play with one of those, listening to my dad talk about how fun they are. I am not about to pass up the chance. Now go sulk in the vanguard.” She pointed toward the waiting infantry at the gate. The Master Sergeant took on a stricken look, theatrically shaking his head slowly. He was trying to keep it light. All knew this was a desperate plan, one that, if it failed, meant every single one of their deaths. Wallace could see the fear plainly stamped on the faces of even some of his stoutest veterans. A little light-hearted foolery would help ease the tension before the coming battle.

“Well I guess that about sums it up, I am grounded.” Wallace said with mock sorrow, “Thomas will lead the inside defenses in my place. Take orders from the General but mainly keep the idiots outside, well outside. Do not let them breach the walls if possible. I will lead the elite vanguard and rescue our poor friends out there when all hell breaks loose when we leave this place. Everybody ready for the insanity of trying to screw an angry hornet's nest and somehow not get our cocks stung in the fucking?”

He clapped his hands in front of him looking around at his poorly outfitted army. They had broke furniture for clubs, shredded saddles for leather for armor. They had cut buckets for helmets and raided the pantry for pot lids for some measure of shields. The regulars had their standard chain for infantry that made up the East, West and South Garrisons. Then you had the archers in leather, that made up the North Garrison. The Temple Guard were the elites of Tharpe’s standing army, the ones he would lead. They wore studded but were specially trained with exotic sword fighting, customarily found in the deep Federation capital of Alderananon.

“I am not your normal commander, so I will not lie. Our chances are slim to make it out. But by the Grim, who does Grace us today, we will make the bastards who slaughtered our mothers, fathers, brothers, and sisters and burn them like they were on the plains of Chaos this day. We will keep the reapers busy for the next year, ferrying the sick sons of bitches that we once called family, to see the face of the Immortal Father who witnessed this very battle. Let’s kick some ass.” Wallace roared raising his fist.

The crowd let out a deafening cheer, and Isobelle idly reached over and pulled the ballista handle letting the first fire cask go. Wallace gave her a hard stare. She shrugged idly.

“Oops--” she said with a yawn, “--Must have leaned on it. Sorry Master Sergeant.”

Out in the distance, a building exploded in flames, and the battle began. The arrows started to rain out on the buildings that were in sight; at the start, it seemed to be a futile effort. The bowstrings sang in unison volley, the commander’s voices calling out in cadence to keep a steady rain of arrows falling on their beloved city. The roofs were moss-covered and damp in the winter, but eventually, their song of death kindled the damp wooden shingles into a smoldering state and eventually lit them on fire. The ballista boomed off in intervals sending firebombs lurching into the distance. When they landed, a building would explode into flame. Slowly, one by one, buildings that caught fire brightened the night sky with an angry red glow.

The Resistance Army charged forward madly towards the looming stone walls of the Temple. With ladders, ropes, poles, anything that could reach the merlons, where they could attempt to put a stop to this insane plan. They ran heedlessly past the prisoners, who seemed all but forgotten in the mad dash. Both Faldo and Marlin watched the new activity with marked interest, while Cariline lay against her restraints heaving sobs that were lost to the battle cries of the night. War had found the streets of Tharpe.

Jen shouted below for readiness and gave Thomas a nod as she drew her sword. Thomas called his troops to ready as the enemy hit the wall like a wave and started to climb. When the first hand was seen, his Garrisons rushed to meet them. Thomas’s job was to keep them busy on top of the wall until the city was at a total loss. There was little room between the merlons and the archers as Thomas and his men busied themselves with pushing ladders and cutting ropes. They allowed enough men to top the walls to keep the enemy interested but tried not to allow enough to interfere with the archers. Soon though, there were too many ascending the wall to keep up and the fighting grew fierce, neither side wishing to give way. Thomas’s troops were able to hold their own, finally repelling the first wave off the top and earning his troops a respite.

As they finished pushing the last ladder off the wall, the first flaming arrow came sailing in from somewhere in the city, striking the inner keep wall and shattering. Soon, it was followed by another, this one hitting one of the low thatched roofs in the bailey. Jen ran across the top of the wall walk and leaned on the inner railing.

“Quickly now, or we are all doomed,” she yelled down the orders into the hectic courtyard. One of the civilians whom she had placed in charge of the fire brigade, was already on it. She nodded and turned back to Thomas, “It took them longer than I anticipated thankfully.”

They watched another arrow fly in as the troops outside reorganized themselves for the next rush on the walls. Thomas nodded as his eyes traced another streak that came in through the night sky.

“For that, I am eternally grateful to them for,” He motioned with his bloodstained longsword towards the charging defenders,” They are more organized this time. I think they actually mean it.”

“Of course they do dear.” She said with a little wink.

The next wave hit as more defenders came to pick the ladders back up. This time, Thomas ordered stones dropped from above and pitch poured from the walls. Flaming, flailing men and woman ran into the night as torches were dropped onto the pitch and it was ignited. As the ladders eventually topped the wall, Thomas called his line back into battle formation and ordered the attack. They started pushing the ladders off and cutting ropes, but the numbers outside were too formidable. The Sergeant saw his lines buckling under the pressure of the enemy and called back to a waiting runner for reinforcements. The civilians, who had been assigned to other duties, picked up their improvised weapons and climbed the stairs for the fighting above.

Arrows continued to be streaks of light, great bearers of death, through the night sky proceeding out all around the Temple’s four walls and trails of smoke could be seen as flames started to lick from the wooden shingles around the city. Inside, small fires burned but most were contained and none were a danger to the defenders at the time. Out in the distance, any building hit by a firebomb could be distinguished as a blazing beacon, lighting up the horizon. Thomas’s conscripts came up the stairs to the battlements, struggling in front of the archers and spread to the parapet filling in any place they could. The fighting intensified, and through the heat of battle, Thomas could see the rain of arrows had stopped. Either the supply had run out, or his lines had been pushed back into the line of archers, he was almost ready to call the retreat when he felt a tap on his shoulder, and a bloody streak of steel sang by his head, cleaving a wild-eyed with the sound of the splintering skull of the bearded man Thomas had been fighting.

“Need some help?” His formal corporal asked, putting his hand on top of the mass of bone, hair, and brain matter, wrenching his sword out with a slight sucking sound.

“I thought the Vanguard was supposed to stay out of the main fighting?” Thomas asked through labored gasp as he wiped the blood out of his left eye. Wallace slashed at a woman, who took his blade with a backhand and fell back to prepare for a counter. She thrust at him, and he sidestepped it, swinging over her thrust catching her across the throat. She dropped her sword, clasping her hand over her throat, a pitiful gurgling coming out of it as she tried to breathe through the hole the Master Sergeant just created. Her eyes slowly glazed as the blood throbbed with her last heartbeat from between her loosely clutched fingers.

Wiping her blood off his face, Wallace explained to his Sergeant, “Wouldn’t do no good if these walls fall now, would it? Now, let's push these bastards back off so they can see that their damn precious city is burning down and maybe they will leave us alone.”

Thomas nodded wearily and picked his sword back up and followed his short, stocky commander back into the fray. He was surprised at the agility of the stockier man in battle. Often Wallace would show a burst of speed and nimbleness that defied his stature. Thomas pushed his body harder to suit and rallied the men. The defenders fought fiercely and pushed the Resistance back off the wall. The houses beyond were engulfed, the sky turning scarlet red with the blaze that was burning far below. The people standing on the walls jeered at the Resistance Army, telling them of their doom. The attackers looked around and took in the city for the first time. They started calling for water and forming chains, finally dropping their weapons.

“About time,” Wallace breathed heavily sheathing his sword, “That’s what we were waiting for, let's go.”

He turned from his vantage on the wall and nearly bowled Damon over. The boy was standing there grimly, in ragtag leather armor. He looked miserable, with his wounds he endured the night before, but there was determination written over his dark visage. With the help of healers, his eye was finally opening but had turned a horrid mixture of black and purple. His nose he had set, but it was still swollen to the point of him breathing through his mouth. Damon had clear bruising in multiple areas around his torso and neck, and his movements were stiff, making his walking look like a puppet in a play. Damon looked at the Master Sergeant with a clear expectation. If he was angry at Wallace for his part of Damon’s condition, he hid it well.

“Damon, go take your place with the other conscripts, we are leaving,” he commanded shorty, turning his back to continue the withdraw process.

“No.” Damon simply said folding his arms over his chest slowly. He winced as his hands touched his sides. Damon was clearly not in the shape to be heading out on a suicidal mission.

Wallace pivoted back around on his heel angrily. They had the rebels distracted, but they were still horribly outnumbered, and here he was arguing with a spoiled brat. “What do you mean no, this is not a time for arguing. I have to save your Bonnie lass right now, or the Grim will have my hide. Now go; she will be fine.” Wallace assured him, trying to contain the growing anger.

“You don’t understand, Wallace, no one lays a finger on my woman. No one.” Damon said with dark rage burning across his face that made the soldier pause to listen. The youth took a few moments to compose himself, curling and uncurling his hands, “I will be there when she is released.”

Wallace nodded in understanding. He eyed the boy critically, looking at the makeshift leather armor and bucket for Damon’s helmet and shook his head, “Well you can’t go dressed like that. I don’t like being laughed at, especially if I am to die. Go commandeer your cousin’s armor. He won’t be happy to swap with you but tell him it is an order. If he still doesn’t listen, tell him he can go with the vanguard in your place. That ought to motivate him. This mission will be to much work without having to worry about an easy casualty.” Damon gave a little chuckle and clapped Wallace on the back and walked off whistling merrily. Wallace sighed, realizing his mistake. He really should have sent Damon to his cousin with an escort. If Wallace was lucky, Thomas might come out of this alive, if not, someone would need a promotion.

“He’s got a lot of me in him.” came that deep baritone from behind him making him jump, “He is very protective of his wives.”

“Would you kindly stop doing that,” Wallace said irritated trying to rub the goosebumps that had formed through his chain.

“Stop what?” Grim asked innocently as he walked up with a quite and subdued Bethel beside him. She was dressed in heavy chainmail that bore the crest of Grim on it and had a broad sword at her side. He seemed to almost have an invisible leash on her with the way she moved when he did. Wallace had known Bethel for almost a decade, serving under her on the guard. Whatever happened to her, changed the vain, lustful matron forever. The steel iris’s that could cut a man down, no longer shown with the same glint. Wallace shuttered, tearing his gaze away from her as he spoke to the Grim.

“Sneaking up behind people. It is nerve-racking enough to have the All-Father, Champion of Order with us but to have him listening over my shoulder is more than I can take.” Wallace admonished the Grim, giving him an irritable wave of his hand. The Master Sergeant respected the Grim, but he could not bring himself to grovel before anyone, “You could, I don’t know clear your throat or something.” the soldier said irritatedly, then he tacked on as almost an afterthought, “your Grace.”

“I will try to keep that in mind,” The All-Father said with an amused, thin smile, “But it is that Champion of Order title I wanted to talk to you about. I did not interfere in the battle because there was no interference from Chaos. As Order’s Champion and Caregiver to this planet, I am responsible for keeping a certain balance. If I act, Chaos is free to act as well, without consequence. I do have certain restrictions that do cause some irritation to me from time to time.”

“Is that why she wasn’t out there?” Wallace pointed at the heavily armed Bethel, “She is one of the best armed and trained in Tharpe. She is easily worth five of my men.”

Grim looked at Bethel and smiled, “No, it is because she is concerned about fighting agents of Chaos, not peasants with swords. Bethel is, how should we put it, unique.”

“They weren’t all peasants with swords out there Father,” Wallace objected, “But what restrictions could an immortal like you have. We are taught that you are all-powerful, do as you please type person. Snap your finger’s and create or destroy at will and all that other Grimly stuff.”

“Ever wonder why Temple is held for three days every two weeks? Or maybe why don’t I have any children?” The Grim looked patiently at the commander in front of him. It was painfully obvious Wallace was not a faithful follower of the Temple, but that was a good thing. The Grim had much to correct, more than he realized, in his own family.

“Yeah supposedly because you can only.. oh I guess you do have some restrictions,” Wallace admitted scratching at his blood-crusted beard. All around the preparations for the evacuation of both the Temple and the city were almost finished. Wallace and the Grim started to walk for the head of the line near the massive Temple gates. The glow from the burning city cast a hellish, red glow into the outer bailey as the remaining survivors gathered together in their designated groups. Huddled together, babies being carried by other children or mothers if they survived the battle, wrapped in whatever they could find against the growing cold of the night. Jen stood up on a short wall, counting silently, taking in their losses from the civilian conscripts.

“More than you know, but right now I am going to help. Chaos has put its finger into the mix. It is not important how, but he has. My Master, Order, has also deemed it necessary to step in and aid somewhat too.” The Grim explained. Wallace raised an eyebrow in interest at this revelation as they came to the head of the line, “If we are to thwart Chaos’s attempt, we need to leave now. If we do, we will not lose a single person. Beware though. I have known since I arrived, a sorcerer from the Free Cities is here with the enemy. As I act, Chaos will be free to act as well. I will try to intercept any harmful energies in time, but even I cannot be everywhere at once I am not a…”

“God I know, I have heard that several times since you got here your Grace.” Wallace finished his sentence dismissively as he turned to issue the general orders to a runner that would be needed for leaving the relative safety of the walls. The Grim smiled with satisfaction. He liked this man more and more. The Master Sergeant broke so many formalities that everyone else observed it was refreshing. Wallace treated the Grim with the same indifference that he would show to a superior officer, but with that respect came the sense of duty to get the job done. Someday Wallace would be the greatest commander the world had seen if he was any judge of people and he was the best.

Damon showed back up with his cousin's blood-spattered armor, and a long sword buckled onto the sword belt. The armor was a little too big, but he would be better protected than when Damon was dressed in the rugged leather. He looked at his father with a smug smile plastered across his face and came to stand beside The Grim casually. Wallace turned and looked at the two, visibly shivered from the spectacle. The resemblance was uncanny, Damon was a miniature of the All-Father without glowing eyes. The Master Sergeant turned his head from the father-son pair and motioned for Damon to come to stand beside him. The soldiers had worked to remove the timbers throughout the afternoon and now all that had to be done was to activate the mechanism to unlock the gate. The splintering of wood could be heard echoing off the Temple’s walls.

“What?” Asked Damon innocently trying to suppress a mischievous smile.

“You know what boy. You did that on purpose.--” Wallace said smacking him on the backside of his head, “--Please don’t do it again, sent shivers down my spine.”

Damon gave a small laugh. “I take it from your smile that he was not happy?” Wallace guessed. Damon showed the Master Sergeant a red fist and smiled happily. Wallace shook his head, at least he knew Thomas still lived. At the moment, trying to replace a sergeant, however lousy he may be, would be hard to do. Though he could not blame the lad, after the beating Damon had taken at the hands of that belligerent man, a couple of good sucker punches couldn’t be blamed. He motioned to the man operating the mechanism.

“Open them up. Let’s move out.” He ordered, his deep voice echoing throughout the darkness of the winter night. It carried on the winters wind to the soldiers manning the gatehouse. They were not worried about an ambush. Everyone had given in to the need to save the city, they would ignore them as they left. As the leader of all the Garrisons, Wallace would be giving orders. He had already discussed with the General what was expected of his groups when he departed. She and the Captain would be with their respected regiments, what was remained of them anyways. They took casualties in their attack, they didn’t have an exact count right now, but it wasn’t good. His vanguard, which joined the battle late, had only taken three. Adding Damon back in meant they were down two, that wasn’t bad. But, most of the guard behind him were reporting losses of ten men or better. That was one-fifth of their regulars gone, which was heavy casualties in a defensive fight. The Matron had tried to get a headcount but gave up, the people were starting to panic. Without fighting, the worst enemy to any army started to set in, fear.

The gates opened, the passage of the door caused the smoke to curl through them, wafting the sweet sickening scent of burning flesh to their nostrils. The outside was lit with an eerie red glow that gave it the appearance of the pictures that the necromancers showed of the Planes of Chaos. The vanguard drew their wicked curved short swords as one and moved out into the fire lit half-darkness of night. The rest would run directly for the gates. Each group had what was left of their volatile fire cask, a liquid made by the ingeniousness of alchemists in their creative labs. They would roll it down the narrow back allies and finish lighting the outer sections on fire and then, lock the city gates on the way out.

The vanguard was to rescue the beleaguered prisoners and make their way to the docks. They each carried a flask of the fiery liquid cradled on their belt. When they got there, they would set fire to the dockside, taking the last boat on a perilous, night-time crossing of the Dim. If everything went well, the army on foot would have a signal fire lit for the vanguard, but if not, a cold death would await them. The Grim went with the main group to protect them from sorcery. The vanguard was on their own.