Three weeks have passed since the attack on Taere. Supply lines have now been established and the men are eager for combat.

"The hills leading up to the bridge is perfect cover for our camp." Fenwick says. "Let's get the supplies here!"

"I do worry about a possible Goblin force to approach from south." Xandrien says. "If they decide to attack us, we won't be able to properly defend ourselves. Not without a wall."

"While you two were up north, I decided to train a special group equipped with a wide assortment of fire weapons." Fenwick says. "We should be fairly save from their attacks. We should combat ready by nightfall."

"That's good." Xandrien says. "How is your plan coming along?"

"I have a feeling it might just work." Fenwick says. "I'll tell you at nightfall. Some of my men are gathering supplies as we speak."

"I'll help construct the camp." Xandrien says, walking away. "Have you seen Gilbert?"

"No." Fenwick yells after him. "I think he is helping build the tents."

After a few minutes of walking past half-build tents Xandrien finally finds Gilbert.

"Gilbert." Xandrien says.

"Xandrien." Gilbert says. "Helps us out a bit here. The command tent isn't going to build itself."

Xandrien walks up to the tent and a few minutes later the large tent was ready for use.

"Any idea where the others are?" Gilbert asks.

"Fenwick is on that hill to the north of us." Xandrien says. "I have no clue where Meckrin or Tevron are though."

"They should be around here somewhere." Gilbert says. "Can you believe we will finally accomplish what Archil tried to do. Oliron will be free."

"Indeed..." Xandrien says. "We are not quite there yet, my friend. We can celebrate after taking the city."

"One last adventure?" Gilbert asks.

"Yes, one last adventure..." Xandrien says.

"Welcome, gentlemen." Fenwick says. "Tomorrow morning we will commence our attack. I will now explain the details of the assault with you. First of all, Gilbert, you will not participate in tomorrows attack."

"What?" Gilbert says in surprise. "What do you..."

"I fear that on the field you would be too much of a liability." Fenwick explains. "If you fall the men might lose moral and flee. I cannot let that risk exist."

"Very well." Gilbert says, disappointed.

"We will march across the bridge." Fenwick says. "We will move slowly, using a shield wall to cover our advance from archer fire. In between our men we will be carrying a large log. We will use this to break through the gate. Xandrien, you will stay at the beginning of the bridge. If a hostile mage shows up, we need you ready."

"Sure." Xandrien says.

"Why don't we simply use his magic to break the gate?" Tevron asks. "It would save us a lot of trouble."

"And risk losing our only mage in the process?" Fenwick asks. "Tevron, if we run into a hostile mage we need Xandrien to stand a chance. Also, Tevron, you will be leading the first wave."

"How confident are you in the shield wall?" Tevron asks.

"Very." Fenwick says. "Their arrows should not be capable of piercing the shields. After Tevron takes the gate, my men in the cavalry will charge across the bridge and secure the rest of the wall. If Tevron fails on the other hand, I will lead the second wave. Should I fall with my men, then retreat and wait the enemy out. Use the anti Goblin groups to deter their attack before launching a counter attack. Gilbert, in that scenario you will lead the army. Does everyone know what to do?"

"I am still convinced that the mage can break the gate at a distance." Tevron says. "The confusion would be perfect to overrun their defences."

"And we would enter the city only to get blown to bits by their mage." Fenwick says. "Breaking the wall would cost too much energy. We need Xandrien at full strength."

"Why do you assume they have one?" Tevron asks, angrily.

"Because, if I don't, while they do have a mage, it will get us all killed." Fenwick explains. "I would rather lose a few extra men than risk the entire army."

"I see your point..." Tevron says. "I still don't like the fact that we would risk the lives of soldiers, while we can do the same with less casualties."

"I agree with Fenwick, Tevron." Meckrin says. "It would be devastating to lose the entire assault and our mage. I would like you to agree, especially since you will lead the first assault."

Tevron looks at Meckrin surprised and stops arguing.

"If you think so too, Meckrin..." Tevron says. "I appear to have been outvoted."

"I will see you all at down on the hill south of Oliron." Fenwick says. "Now we best get some rest before tomorrow. Tevron, would you brief the men on the plan so we can begin our assault as soon as the sun rises."

"Will do." Tevron says, moving out of the tent.

"Avon, come in here!" Fenwick yells.

"Sir?" Avon asks, walking into the tent.

"I assume you heard the roll I want the cavalry the play in this, since you were guarding the tent." Fenwick says.

"Yes, sir." Avon says. "I am to lead the cavalry across the bridge."

"I am counting on you and that big axe of yours." Fenwicks says.

"When do you suspect they will attack, captain?" Daven asks.

"They have spent the night beyond the hill, sir." Kellistar answers. "They could attack now, or they may try and starves us out. That would be unlikely though as I suspect that most of the northern farmers are among their ranks."

"We best prepare for an attack in the morning, captain." Daven says. "Are the men ready?"

"Most of our soldiers are here, but some failed to arrive on time." Kellistar says. "We are armed and ready, but some of the men are tired as they hardly slept tonight."

"I see." Daven says. "It is unfortunate that we had to prepare our defences overnight as there is no way to properly predict when the enemy will chose to attack."

"Our scouts have estimated their numbers to be near the three thousand." Kellistar says. "Most are simple farmers, but a few are well armed and properly trained. The bridge should provide us with the advantage we need however. I think we should worry little about their numbers."

"Four hundred men hold a wall against three thousand." Daven says. "Those are not the best odds..."

"We have trained, sir." Kellistar protests. "We are ready for combat. They are simple farmers, who never held a spear in their lives!"

"What do you think those farmers were up to these past few weeks." Daven says. "Might I remind you, our forces count more miners than actual warriors. A few of these men have seen combat. Combat against Goblins, captain. "None of these men are truly prepared to face men. I just hope your optimism is well placed, captain, because I fear the worst."

"Sir, the enemy is on the move!" A running soldier reports.

"To your positions, men!" Daven yells. "This is what we trained for. We will hold these gates so our families will remain save from these brutes that would attack our home! Prepare yourselves!"

Men hastily hurry to man the wall. Two hundred men, split in two lines, man the first group. One hundred of them are trained in archery and prepare their bows. Behind the first group, another group of soldiers stands. A few gaps within their ranks betray the absence of a few among them. As the first group takes casualties, the second group will mend the breaches.

A loud war cry echoes across the lake. The men on the wall fall silent as a wall of wooden shields marches onto the bridge.

"What is that?" Kellistar asks.

"Something to stop our arrows." Daven says as he is familiar with shields. "It is rare to see shields in use though. Archers, prepare to fire!"

The archer draw their bows.

"Fire!" Daven yells.

A hundred arrows fill the sky and rush towards the oncoming wall of wood. Half of the arrows misses and splash into the water harmlessly. The other half finds its mark. The arrows crash into the crudely made shields. A few shatter on impact, others cause the wielder to buckle and fall over. Gapes among the ranks are filled quickly, however, and the wall moves ever forward. The men on the wall can hear the men march now. Every step clearly audible. A man can be heard, yelling to signify the pace.

The men on the wall start to waver.

"Stand your ground, men!" Daven says. "We are the only thing between them and our families. For Oliron!"

The wavering men reluctantly regroup and hold the line.

"Fire!" Daven yells again.

Another swarm of arrows fills the air. The result isn't changed however and the wall continues its march. Suddenly, as the marching grows louder, the bridge starts to wave. It cracks loudly and the men forming the shield wall lose their balance. As the group comes to a halt, the waving subsides. The men quickly reform their formation.

"Walk at your own pace!" Tevron yells.

"The bridge waved along with their march..." Kellistar says. "What in the world..."

"Focus, captain." Daven says. "Fire!"

The shield wall is now close enough for Daven to be able to count the men. The formation is eight men wide, but something strange happens further back. Three lines back the shields arch up as if to protect something bigger.

"Why are they moving so slowly?" Daven says. "They could have charged the wall and have lost the same number of men. Why would they chose not to?"

"Maybe they had the illusion this would save more lives." Kellistar says.

"Maybe..." Daven says, not convinced.

The formation has now reached the end of the bridge.

"Charge!" Tevron yells.

The formation opens and a group of soldier, covered by shields, charges at the gates. They are closely followed by a bigger group of soldiers.

"A ram!" Daven says. "Brace the gate!"

A group of soldiers rushes forward and slams into the inner side of the gate. A moment later all of them are thrown back by an impact on the other side. Daven jumps down to help the men brace the gate.

Another impact and the door cracks loudly. The hinges start to buckle.

"Archer, fire at will!" Kellistar yells. "Target the men operating the ram!"

The line of archers rushes forwards to aim over the wall.

"Archers, now!" Tevron yells.

The rear of the attacking group folds away its shield wall revealing a large group of archers. They shoot a volley at the men on the wall and decimate the defending archers. At least half of the defending archers dies in a single volley. Kellistar takes cover behind the wall and breaks the back of the arrow stuck in his shoulder.

Another impact tosses the defending forces backwards as the door begins to break.

"Hold, men, hold!" Daven yells unaware of the situation above him.

"Once more, men!" Tevron yells from the other side of the gate.

The gate breaks of its hinges, crushing an unlucky few.

"Charge!" Daven yells as he leads his men out of the gate.

He catches the enemy of guard with this tactic and kills the men who operated the ram. The enemy must have had close to a thousand men at the start of their march, but bow this number was already reduced to eight hundred, because of the constant archer fire. All one hundred of Daven's melee fighter joins him in this desperate charges. Men are dying all around Daven, friend and foe. Soon Daven spots a taller man with a big sword killing all who face him. Daven tightens his grip on his spear made fully out of iron and decorated brilliantly by the workshop. He charges the tall man.

Tevron notices the young commander and prepares to face him. He decides to simply cleave his opponents spear in half, before cleaving his head off. Daven approaches and Tevron swings his heavy sword at him, expecting to break Daven's spear. Daven blocks the blow, but, to Tevron's surprise, the spear doesn't break. Tevron realises his mistake the late as Daven turns his block into a killing blow, thrusting the tip deep into Tevron's neck. The old commander gurgles for a few second, clasping at the gaping wound. Quickly the life fades from his eyes and he falls over.

Daven's men are pushing the enemy back now. The unexpected counterattack worked better than Daven could have ever hoped and with their commander gone, the enemy had nothing left to instruct them. For a moment Daven believed in victory. This believe was smashed when an enemy group of horsemen smashed through his lines. Before Daven even realises what happened, an axe plants itself in his chest. Daven keels over backwards, dead.

Kellistar rushes out of the gate, followed by the other spearmen. Just as he prepares to charge and avenge his fallen commander, a rain of arrows kills most of his men. Another volley hits the top of the wall, killing most of the reinforcing archers.

Fenwick has lead the second wave across the bridge and his archers had done their jobs perfectly.

"To the city!" Fenwick yells.

Kellistar retreats and soon finds himself in the city. He is quickly surround, but he still manages to bring himself to higher ground by standing on one of the sewage wells. Unfortunately these are not made to be stood on and so, as a soldier charges at him, the wood cracks and both fall down into the dark depths. A fading scream can be heard as both men plumed to their deaths.

The fight is over.

"It would appear I have won, Maxwell." Fake laughs.

"It might not have been that way, Axsel, had you not kept me in this tower." Maxwell says. "I could have helped them. I could have saved the cause."

"That would be your cause, not mine." Fake says. "I kept you here to keep you from interfering, as I am sure you understand. What is that altar for anyway?"

"That does not concern you!" Maxwell yells, becoming paler. "You have won. Leave while you are ahead, Axsel."

Fake looks around and suddenly he notices the rising stacks of stones. Fake laughs loudly.

"I can't believe it." He says. "After all I did to this tower it can still be rebuild? Arthfael is truly one of the greatest gods."

"Leave now!" Maxwell says.

"How can I leave while you still exist here?" Fake says. "For all I know you will now proceed to kill all humans."

"Fine, I will leave first." Maxwell says, closing his eyes.

Panic flashes across his face.

"Brother, what have you done?" He says. "Why can't I leave?"

"It isn't as simple as that, brother." Fake says. "In time, you and Arthfael would find a way to enslave humanity again and we would have to do this all over again. I, on the other hand, have a better future in mind."

"You little..." Maxwell starts. Before he can finish he is flung through the air onto the altar.

"Funny thing about gods inhabiting a human body for prolonged periods of time." Fake says. "The body becomes so charge, it can be manipulated freely by other gods. Goodbye, brother."

Fake turns around and starts walking away. He then throws a now burning piece of wood over his shoulder onto Maxwell.

"Brother, please." Maxwell yells in despair. "Please don't do this."

His pleading quickly turns to screaming as his soul burns with the body. Flames erupt and the altar breaks. The bricks forming the base of the tower separate and crack. A column of fire erupts into the sky.

"Goodby, brother." Fake repeats.