A small child was sitting in her bed, her back resting against the walls. Besides her was her mother, holding one of her hands tightly. The room was only illuminated by candlelight, but it was still enough for the girl to be able to see her mother’s anxious face.

Sometimes they would hear the resonating explosions of rocks raining over the city of Mitgard. The last one crashed dangerously close, giving them a small shock.

“Mum, are we going to be okay?” The girl asked in a trembling voice.

“Yes dear, of course. Your father and brother are fighting for us. They will not let anyone harm us.” The mother tried to make it a reassuring voice, but failed. She knew very well that the odds were heavily against them. She had heard her husband talk many times about the threat of attack coming from the northern kingdom of H’ros.

*

Outside, the streets were empty except from the desperate screaming coming from houses having been hit by the catapults and that had thus collapsed. Sometimes, the rocks had been dipped in tar and lit on fire before being launched, setting buildings on fire. Dozens of soldiers would come and try to put the fire out, with the help of a few civilian volunteers sometimes.

The city was surrounded by tall walls, manned by the garrison of the city, which had been largely reinforced by soldiers and guards coming from all over its lands, seeking refuge with their families’ and friends.

In the centre of the city there was a mansion, made of stone. It wasn’t built high, but had a great hall and many rooms to accommodate the royal family and its company. It had a huge underground cave which was now filled with as many women and children as possible, in case the enemy broke through the walls and bloody street fights would take place.

In the great hall, most of the tables had been pushed against the wall, leaving only one to carry a map of the city and its surroundings. Many heavy armoured men stood around it.

“A full report lieutenant.” An aging man carrying full plate armour said, the one standing at the end of the table. He was the king of the city state of Mitgard, and sadness and determination, like he had failed as a king to ever let it come this far but now tried to rectify this mistake with all of his power.

“Your Majesty, the army of H’ros has massed around the northern and eastern gate. There doesn’t seem to be any attack on the western gate any soon. They are supported by assault squads using ladders. There must be around four thousand soldiers, which mean half of their army, if the reports we received about their army’s size were correct. ” The lieutenant was on one knee, with one leather covered hand on his thigh.

“How many men do we have at those gates?” The king asked, after having thought a few seconds.

“We have seven hundred at the north gate, and five hundred at the eastern gate.” A general responded immediately. He was a young man, with long brown hair and a full grown but short beard. His name was Hallas.

“Unfortunately, getting any reinforcements from the western gate will severely weaken it. Perhaps we can move some men from the ports at the river in the South? There are three hundred, I believe.”

“Hm. We could send a hundred to each of the other gates, and let the civilian volunteers guard the Southern gate at the port. I don’t think they would attack that way, it would be suicide. They would have to cross the river en masse, and attack over a bridge. If anyone is coming from there, then it will be the Tarnorians, to reinforce us.” The king Malted said with a hopeful vibe.

“General Hallas!” The old king took the word again. “You go execute the orders, and then take command of the northern gate.” The young man bowed the head and marched out, while putting his helmet on. He faintly heard the king order to other generals to the other gates.

They met outside, and all three rode south to take command of a hundred soldiers, while a messenger was to warn the captain in charge of the volunteers to lead them to the southern gate.

When he arrived at the northern gate, the situation was worse than he had expected. He could see fighting on the walls, although there were so many corpses that the soldiers were slow and unstable, constantly falling and stumbling, some slipping in the blood before falling to death. He also heard a battering ram smashing against the wooden gate in a slow but steady rhythm, warning of its unavoidable fate.

Few soldiers were at the gate itself, only a dozen or so, as the rest were in the gory melee on the walls, holding the assault back for now.

He quickly ordered the soldiers in formation twenty feet behind the gate, as to contain the breach. The formation was twelve men large and eight men deep.

“Archers behind spears!” He shouted, standing in the middle of the formation on his horse. He didn’t risk being hit by enemy archers, in security behind the walls. The spearmen had five feet long spears and round wooden shields with an iron knot on.

The two first ranks were spearmen, one rank kneeling and the other standing behind. Then came a rank of archers, aiming over the shoulders of the spearmen. Behind them, there were more spearmen, waiting to take the place of the archers when the melee had begun. They all carried small maces, which were very effective in a tight packed melee, while the spears where excellent to stop charges dead on.

The gate almost gave in when the battering ram hit again, and at the next hit, an opening was formed in the much damaged gate, and the enemies could just push it open. A few seconds passed and the men grew increasingly nervous.

General Hallas could feel the fear around him, in the group of soldiers. They were trained, but inexperienced. Him too; it had been decades since the last serious conflict, in fact as long as king Malted had reigned he had managed to keep Mitgard from any major conflicts thanks to intrigues and politics.

General Hallas spotted the enemy soldiers coming through the dust, yelling like madmen and charging at the defenders. Most of them had short swords and axes, with a few carrying short spears. They nearly all had shields resembling the Mitgard soldiers, though painted in a different colour.

“Loose!”He screamed, and the archers sent a barrage of arrows, cutting down half of the first rank of enemies. At this range, the arrows could penetrate anything but pure plate. This barely slowed them down, as they came crashing down at the first ranks, some impaling themselves at the spears. The soldiers having used their spear immediately abandoned it and drew their mace, hitting everything of the enemy they could.

Even so, the first rank was quickly being cut down, while the rest were being pushed back. General Hallas diverted his attention to a soldier next to him, who didn’t look too fazed by the massacre. He must be a new recruit in their army, and a veteran of other wars.

“You! Get back to the king, tell him the gate is breached, we won’t hold for long, go!” He shouted at him. At first the man seemed surprised, but then he nodded and began pushing his way back. The other soldiers reluctantly let him through, and then he was gone.

In the corner of his eyes he saw a man fly through a door and out on the street, slamming down against the ground. A cloaked man then came out and finished him off with a big dagger. What kind of men begins fighting in the mid of a siege? General Hallas thought, puzzled.

He was about to order a few men over to take the cloaked man down, when an arrow slammed into his chest, making him sway backwards and nearly falling off the horse.

His plate armour and leather underneath did its job though, and stopped it from causing deadly damage. He would get s serious bruise though. He quickly got off his horse and handed the reins to another soldier, who took it away.

Cursing, he realised that he should have given it to the soldier who was bringing the message. But it was too late now. As the fighting continued he led the archers back behind the lines. He was reminded of the cloaked man, but he had disappeared. Hallas didn’t have time to hunt the possible murderer though, or investigate, as he was in the middle of a battle.

“Listen, if you get a clear shot on an enemy on the walls, shoot! Hell, if you get a clear shot anywhere, you shoot!” He shouted, and they all nodded, instead of trying to shout something back. They spread a little behind the lines, and now and then he heard arrows leaving their bows.

He stayed behind to assess the situation. He believed he had lost a at least a couple of dozen men since his arrival. On the walls, there was still a tight melee, but he figured that they had suffered severe losses by now.

On the bright side, the H’ros army must have suffered even more casualties in this assault.

A couple of soldiers suddenly began running down the stairs of the walls. He recognized them as enemies, due to their black and green colours, in comparison to the Mitgard marine blue and red.

“Archers! The stairs!” He shouted, and saw them turn around and begin hailing arrows over them, quickly shooting the two of them down. And then he saw another group coming down the stairs, and then even more. Shit, they are breaking though, he realised, and He shouted to the archers to take their maces forth, and then follow him.

Once they had broken through the walls, it would be a street to street fight, with the last defenders desperately halting the enemy. It would be a lost fight, the soldiers only fighting for their lives and their families, hoping that killing that one guy more would make one less plunderer, one less risk that their families would be hurt, raped or killed.

There would naturally also be traitors, deserters who grabs everything valuable and try to escape, maybe getting enemy clothes and try to pass as a H’ros soldier.

He wholeheartedly hoped that it wouldn’t come to that, as he had a kind sister, barely fifteen years old. Thinking of her, he reached the walls and began mounting the stairs. He saw the first enemy soldier come closer. He had an anxious and nervous expression on his face, until he came close enough to attack. Then he screamed and swung the axe down at him.

Hallas blocked it with his shield, feeling the hit resonate up to his shoulder. He drove the sword in the soldier’s throat, and quickly pulled it back while pushing the soldier away with his shield. The axe unfortunately was stuck in his shield, making it heavier to handle.

The next guy was nearly at him, when Hallas heard a voice screaming “duck” behind him. He did so, while also covering behind the shield in case an attack would come his way. He heard the sound of an arrow being shot and saw the soldier before him receive an arrow in his eye. The man fell backwards, but he was pushed away by the soldier behind.

This soldier immediately lashed out with his sword, but Hallas was ready and slammed it away. He directed a heavy blow against the leg, but was countered by a shield. The enemy soldier then kicked him, but he received the blow with his shield, and the axe was torn out of it. He managed to inflict a deep cut in the enemy’s leg, but then he saw the slash coming. He barely had time to parry it with his sword, the clash reverberating in his arm.

The next blow was his, and he successfully cut through the leather at his stomach, inflicting a deep and mortal wound guaranteeing a slow and painful death. He fought two other guys, without receiving any serious wound but his arm was numb when he reached the top of the wall, though he wasn’t exhausted yet.

The situation was better than he had hoped; there were more Mitgard soldiers than H’ros soldiers, though more of the latter were coming up with the ladders. It was only at this section that they had broken through. With this little new and fresh force, they took back the section, and held out for a while.

But the defenders’ forces were thinning out, and at last he found himself surrounded with but a couple of soldiers at his side, desperately fighting for their lives. The guy at his right got himself killed, his head half cut off. A mace caught him by surprise and he tried to avoid it by taking a step back, but then he realised that there was nothing behind him. The wall stopped.

With a scream he fell, fifteen meter down and landed on pile of corpses, the world going pitch-black for him.