by ~Hunters-Moon-12

      A blast from a horn broke him out of his memories, and he jolted back to himself. The army was advancing on the walls. Soon, they would be in position to begin the attack. He turned to the soldier next to him, a centurion by the name of Timmons, and said, "Signal to the archers to be ready, they're almost in position." Timmons raised his left hand, clenched it into a fist, and twisted it slightly. All the archers that lined the walls instantly drew back their bowstrings, arrows already nocked and ready, and prepared to fire.
       Lord James watched as the army approached. Lord Jeremiah had nearly five legions under his control, filled with those who had chosen to side with him in the uprising. Lord James however, had barely two. The walls would have to hold if they had any chance of surviving the next few days.
       He waited several seconds more before he yelled, "FIRE!" The sky blackened as hundreds of arrows were released, streaking through the air toward the enemy. Soldiers fell and died. Those that survived the arrow were trampled by those who followed, for no one dared defy orders and stop. Another volley followed the first, and another after that, until suddenly, the army reached the walls.
       Lord James screamed, "The gates!" A handful of soldiers rushed along the wall until they stood above the gates, each lugging a large barrel filled with boiling water. Behind them came another handful, this time lugging barrels filled with hot tar. They worked together to pour the barrels, one by one, onto the men below. Lord James watched, his face stony, as dozens of men died. As he saw the battering ram fall, split and steaming, to the ground, he told himself that it was necessary. He knew, though, that he would never forget the terror on their faces, or the sound of their painful screams.
       He didn't have time to dwell on his horror. He patrolled the walls, issuing orders as he went. Whenever the enemy tried to raise their ladders, his soldiers pushed them back. Sometimes they simply cut the ropes from the grappling hooks, watching as the ladders fell back to the ground. Sometimes the ladders were allowed to land, and the soldiers slaughtered as they scurried up them. Once, he'd seen a handful of knights yank a ladder from the ground, throwing it behind their walls, denying the enemy access.
       Sometimes, however, the enemy was smarter, or stronger, or faster, or simply lucky. Sometimes, the soldiers made it onto the walls and were able to push back his men. Each time, however, they had been repelled. He wasn't sure how long they could keep it up, however. The men on the walls were tiring, and his Healers were already flooded with the injured.
       As darkness began to fall again, he blew a sharp whistle that cut through the air, the signal to bring in the reserves. He had tried, when preparing, to keep as many veterans as possible on the wall at all times, but it was more difficult than he'd anticipated. Many times, his veterans were the ones receiving the most injuries. By trying to step in and protect an unblooded comrade from injury, they'd leave themselves open, or they were overcome by the enemy, who knew who on the wall were the most dangerous and targeted them. Either way, the number of veterans that he had on the wall was slowly dwindling, something he could ill afford. It was several hours earlier than he'd intended on, but if he didn't make the changeover now, he wouldn't have any veterans left.
       He watched as the men smoothly fell back, to be replaced by fresh faced men eager to join the fight. He continued pacing the walls, his bloody sword grasped in his hand. He parried a blow from a young soldier to his right, stabbing him in the abdomen and shoving him off the wall. Farther along the wall, he dodged the blow of an axe, his sword darting out to slice the man's throat. No matter what, as he walked he called out encouragement to his men, issuing orders as needed.
       It was at midnight when a sudden lull in the enemy troops caught his attention. No soldiers ascended the wall, and it was eerily quiet outside the walls. He peered over them and felt his blood run cold. He yelled to his second, "Send up the Battlemages!" His second shouted the order, and within moments seven men raced up the stairs. They were garbed in robes of onyx, and each bore the blood-red sash around their waist that marked them as a Battlemage. Behind them came fourteen more, garbed in the white of the Magi, or the apprentices. Earlier, allowing them to participate had weighed heavily on his mind, but now, seeing what they were to be faced with, he would have gladly doubled their number.
       No less than a hundred Dreywolves bounded toward the walls. Large, mangy beasts the size of large horses, Dreywolves were deadly fighters. It could take ten men just to slay one in the wild. Their fur was a dark red and matted with the blood of their prey, and they foamed at the mouth as they ran. They couldn't be allowed to reach the walls. The walls would prove no hindrance to them, as they could leap them in seconds, but they would prove deadly to his soldiers. They're claws were as long and sharp as daggers, able to slice to the bone with ease, and they could dislocate their jaw when biting. He 'd once seen a Dreywolf swallow a man whole. In such close quarters, at such a large number, they would be virtually undefeatable.
       He turned to the Battlemages, who stood next to him, staring out at the approaching monsters. He said, "Deal with them. I don't care what you have to do, just get rid of them. And fast. They cannot be allowed to reach the walls." The Battlemages nodded as one, excitement, not fear, written plain on their faces. He backed further down along the wall to give them space to work.
       The Battlemages spaced themselves out along the wall. If they stretched out their arms, they would just be able to touch the tips of each other's fingers. Then, they each began to mutter words he couldn't comprehend. It was as if they were speaking but he couldn't hear them, as if their words were water that was poured over his head, but curved around it instead.. He felt a shiver run down his spine as they spoke, and his hair stood on end on the backs of his arms.
       At first, nothing happened. After a few seconds, however, he heard a rumble from the sky. He glanced up and saw storm clouds forming, nearly covering the full moon. The rumbling grew louder, and as it reached its zenith, lightening poured out from the clouds. It did not strike, not as was typical with lightening. Instead, it rolled, like a wave of crackling energy, over the field, killing Dreywolves by the dozens where they stood. When it dissipated, their number was cut in half. It still wasn't enough.
       The Battlemages again began to speak. This time, he was thrown to the side as he felt the earth quake beneath his feet. He heard startled yelps from several men along the wall that hadn't expected it. On the field, however, it was much worse. The earth didn't merely shake, it rolled, chasms opening in some places below the very feet of the Dreywolves, closing on them after they fell. In other places, large boulders shot out of the ground, striking the wolves in their heads or stomachs. This depleted their number again, this time down to a mere dozen. By now, however, they had reached the walls.
       It was a vicious fight; those twelve wolves had decimated his men. Nearly one hundred and fifty were dead, and another forty injured. Most of those would die before morning; the Healers had so many injured to care for they weren't even healing any more, they were simply slowing the injuries. Even that was taking too much time.
       However, when morning's light arose on the field, it rose on a partial victory. The army still stood outside their gates, but the field was littered on the bodies of an army of Dreywolves. If they survived the assault, the skins would be harvested and sold to buyers across the country.
       He ordered the men switched out again, and then, at the urging of his second, went to find his own bed. The man was right; he would do no good to anyone so exhausted he couldn't sleep. He owed it to his men to be at his best; his decisions, after all, would either save or cost them their lives.
       When he laid down in his bed, he was certain he wouldn't sleep. He wasn't sure if it was because of the stress or the fear or the empty house, but he expected to lie awake for hours. Instead, his exhaustion dragged him down into sleep within moments of his head touching the pillow.
       He awoke with a jolt the next morning to the sound of a horn blowing in the distance. He recognized it as the advance signal of the Royal Legion. It appeared the King had arrived. He threw on his uniform and raced out of the house and onto the walls, demanding of his second, "What happened? How's the wall holding?"
       Lord Dreyton turned to him with a grimace. "It's a good thing the Royal Legion's arrived, we wouldn't have lasted much longer. We lost another two hundred during the night, including three of our Battlemages. There was a trap, and we fell for it." He saw the question forming in Lord James' eyes and answered before it was asked. "They sent another pack of Dreywolves, smaller this time but no less deadly. While the Battlemages were occupied with dealing with them, some of High Lord Brieton's Battlemages cast some spell on them. I don't know what it was but they started dropping like flies. Luckily, our Battlemages are stronger than his, or they would have all died."
       Lord James regretted the loss of the Battlemages, but he forced himself to look past it, and to examine the situation with the enemy. They had heard the horns, so they knew that the King's army had arrived. This, he said to himself, was a horrible move on their part. They would have been better off to attack from the rear with no fanfare or warning; the element of surprise would practically have ensured victory. As it was, the army had begun to turn, so that they would be ready to face the enemy head on.
       It wasn't the Royal Legion that the army faced, however. The Royal Legion had a full battalion of Battlemages, the strongest and best trained in the entire country. They proved their worth at that moment. Rather than charging out of the trees as Lord James, and Lord Brieton, had clearly expected, the Royal Legion employed their Battlemages to the fullest. Working in symphony, they crafted walls of flame, nearly twenty feet tall and several feet wide, around the entire rebel army. Then, foot by foot, they shrunk the walls, forcing the army to congregate in the center. Those caught by the wall of flame were incinerated within seconds, their screams choked off as they died. Within moments, the entire army had been conquered. Many had burned by the flame before the rest surrendered, throwing their swords away from them and screaming for mercy.
       After nearly an hour, all the soldiers had been captured and removed from the field, along with Lord Brieton, who was to be brought to trial once back in Ilera. When the field was clear of all but the dead, the Royal Legion turned from the army to the city, marching on her walls. Lord James ordered the gates opened immediately and so they were, so that by the time the King and his legion reached the walls, they could enter the city at will.
       Lord James awaited the King just inside the gates; when he entered, he dropped to his knees in homage. King Daniel II waved for him to stand, saying, "Do not kneel today, for today you have done what many would not. The realm owes you for your service." Lord James stood with shaking knees.
       He said, "Sire, it is my pleasure to welcome you to Alixe. It is to my sorrow that it is not under better circumstances. If it would please you, sire, I would insist that you utilize my estate for the duration of your stay here."
       King Daniel II, a small smile on the corner of his lips, said, "I wish as well that the circumstances were different, but this day is far from sorrowful. You have secured a great victory over my enemies here, and that will make this place forever one of joy. Alas, perhaps we should move our conversation to better quarters. I suspect your soldiers are far more exhausted than mine. Send them to their bunks; the Royal Legion shall guard Alixe tonight." He barked a command and the soldiers began leaving the walls.
       Lord James said, gratitude swimming in his voice, "You are too kind, sire. If you would follow me, I will lead you to my estate, humble though it may be." King Daniel II nodded his agreement and the two men began to walk. Before they went far, however, a voice from behind stopped them both.
       It came from a man, a soldier from the Royal Legion. He was young, barely old enough to grow a beard, and full of the bluster of youth. He said, "Lord James Tavanaugh?"
       Before Lord James could respond, King Daniel II barked, "Soldier, what are you doing away from your post?" The soldier flushed, but King Daniel II took no notice.
       The soldier responded, "I was told to deliver a message to Lord James Tavanaugh, Your Majesty. It is, I believe, fairly important."
       King Daniel II frowned, eyes narrowed, but after a few seconds nodded for the man to continue.
       He reached into the pocket of his uniform. As he did so, he said, "In the name of the Black Hand…" The King jerked and went to shout a warning, but he was too late. The man yanked out an ornate dagger from his jacket, a ruby glittering in the sun, and stabbed Lord James in the stomach, twisting the dagger with a cackle.
       The man was grabbed by men nearby, but Lord James took no notice. He had paled as the blade split his flesh, feeling a searing pain in his stomach. It felt as if his blood was on fire, as if his entire body had been dropped into a fire.

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