Battle at the wall

Mel’s feet had given way the second the marching was over, and she had collapsed onto the grassy slope. She was a very tough person, but she was physically exhausted. Her legs ached as if they’d been beaten with sticks, and only the knowledge of the coming battle kept her from sleeping. Now, she watched the town from her vantage point, seeing the smoke rise from burning buildings.

She hadn’t seen the Hold before, since she’d taken a wide berth upon entering Cerne. Illuminated by Heaven’s light, it was less impressive than she imagined. The walls were thick, but much shorter than the houses they protected, and they were very uneven. The Southern gate was also fairly unimpressive, with its two square towers being little taller than the rest of the wall. Only the castle itself was powerful.

One detail worried her: the refugees. Dozens and dozens of settlers, many with livestock or carts, were banging on the doors and begging to be let in. They were trapped between the goblin army and the town gates, which wouldn’t open with the enemy right outside them. It was a terrifying position for them to be in, and they weren’t listening to reason. They would greatly frustrate any attack on the gate even if no mercy was given to them. Mel wondered if there was a similar situation behind the walls. Maybe that was the reason the gates were not yet open.

Though she didn’t know the goblin’s language, she understood the Hierarch’s order to attack when she heard it. The warriors wearily picked themselves up, and stomped down the valley towards the walls. Each goblin held a shield almost as big as his body. The sentries on the walls which had been watching them shouted for help, and more guards came to the battlements with bows.

The hillside around Mel was quickly emptying, but she had already decided to stay back with the supply detachment and the Hierarch. The crossbowmen scrambled down around her, each accompanied with a shield-goblin, carrying slabs of bronze and oak thick enough to stop a crossbow bolt and heavy enough that it was a miracle anyone could carry them. These guys had been riding on the cart, so they had the energy for it.

The goblins directed their attack at a stretch of wall, with groups jogging towards the battlements carrying ladders instead of shields. The refugees wouldn't listen to anything the goblins said, and fighting them through to the gate wasn't worth it. Arrows rained down as the goblins advanced, sinking into the stout shields or the unprotected flesh of ladder-bearers.

The overpowering scent of blood rose along with the black smoke, smothering Mel's delicate antennae. She coughed as the wind blew smoke towards the hill. When the wind changed, she was met with the smell of black blood and the bodily fluids expelled upon death. The fear itself from the goblins was pungent, cutting through everything else. Monsters couldn't be as flippant with their lives as humans, for there was nothing good waiting for them after death.

Thus, the first wave was driven back. Half the goblins ran back to the hill, some dragging their wounded friends. Women moved to tend to those hurt. Many were just so exhausted that they could be confused for dead, sleeping on the hill like goats.

The Hierarch wouldn’t let them rest, and rode down the hill, screaming at anyone lying around and having his guards beat them awake. In the battlefield, the crossbowmen and some skirmishers had scored hits on the defenders. The crossbowmen hid behind their grand shields as their shield-bearers cranked the handle to re-prime the weapon. As Mel watched, one of the crossbowmen was hit in the belly with an arrow as they aimed a shot.

Someone grabbed her arm, and she yelled in surprise. She turned her head to see Farvius standing above her, clad in mail and holding a strange type of crossbow over his head. It was a miracle he could balance it with only one hand, such was its size relative to his body. He looked strangely excited, as if he’d been secretly wishing to go to war for a long time. Or rather, maybe he wanted to test his weapon.

“Come on, we’re going down there! You’re strong; you can prime someone’s crossbow. We can’t let this attack go to waste!”, the doctor declared.

Mel tried to shake his hand off. “No, I’m not here to fight. I’ll help out with the supplies.”

“You joined an army to not fight? There won’t be supplies left if we don’t take this town soon. There aren’t as many soldiers on the wall as there should be; the infiltrators have done something down there.”

“I’m not a fighter! I’ve never picked up a weapon longer than a knife. I don’t want arrows flying at me. Anyway, I’m the only one who’s not a goblin here! I’d be a massive target”, protested Mel.

“For Heaven’s sake! I’m telling you I need you to prime my crossbow! You’ll just be sitting behind the shield – it’s big enough to cover you. Come on!”

Despite the protests from her legs and mind, Mel found herself standing. She ripped her wrist from the goblin’s grip, but followed him down the hill to the battlefield, past the arrayed wounded and the command-point of the Hierarch. Then the dead and dying were all around her. An arrow thudded into the grass only a couple of metres away.

Mel screamed, and sprinted forward blindly. Adrenaline made her for a moment forget her aches and pains as she barrelled through the Heaven-lit battlefield, eyes set on an unused shield planted into the ground. Everything but her destination became blurry, and she could feel her heart in her mouth. She stumbled the last few metres and collapsed with her back to the shield.

It felt like she was suffocating no matter how hard she breathed. Right now she was in safety, but literal centimetres away was the possibility of death. Everything had gone really quiet, and she heard her own heartbeat. There the bee sat for a minute, slowly fighting back the red that had crept in from the corners of her vision.

Only after such a time did she hear that someone was calling her. Cautiously, she turned her head, afraid that she would expose her scalp to the archers. He sounded really far away.

“Are you listening to me?”, Farvus asked again.

Mel nodded, gulping down some more air.

“I need you to wind my crossbow. It shoots many times with one wind, but I can’t do it by myself.”

“How”, Mel gasped.

Farvus scrambled across the space between shields, and Mel shrank back, afraid he was going to push her out. He placed the large crossbow front-down, with its but resting on the shield’s rim.

“Easy, lass”, the goblin said. “Look, I need you to spin this handle while I guide the string to the notch. Just grab the bow and spin, though it’ll be tough.”

“Let me recover”, the bee asked, her breathing slowing. “Why the fuck did you bring me down here? I’m not made for this...”

The goblin ignored her complaints. “Take the but and put the handle between your legs, and you can crank it quickly.”

“Don’t you see I have a whole part of my body down there! When sitting down like this I can’t put my abdomen anywhere else.”

An arrow hit the shield with a thunk, making Mel cover her head and whimper.

Farvus said, “Then cradle the but in your armpit while working with your hands; that’s the only other way.”

Mel shook her head, but took the end of the crossbow and did as she was instructed.

The goblin said, “Right, start twisting it and I’ll pull the string up. Don’t stop or the string will whip back down and hit me.”

The bee began to twist the crank and quickly found why Farvus could not do it himself. The bow’s poundage was immense. Pushing the handle down was like trying to push a boat underwater, and pulling it up was like lifting rocks. Her hands almost slipped from the wood immediately, but with a little effort, and her teeth gritted, she began to twist it.

Mel’s arms were very strong from the labour she had been subjected to her whole life, and so once she found a rhythm, the crank was conquered with little problem. She had done this motion many times, such as when she ground corn to flour.

Farvus knelt beside her, guiding the string as it was pulled up along a rail by a bit. Finally, the crossbow was primed, and he called for Mel to stop winding. The goblin took the hefty weapon, which was almost as big as himself. 

He explained: “When you pull the trigger and unload the bow, the wheel you just wound will release its tension, driving the bit back to its place. Thus, the crossbow can have a high poundage without requiring a long gap between every shot… just look, I’ll show you.”

Farvus placed a bolt in his crossbow’s channel, rested the weapon on his shoulder, and stepped out from cover. He aimed for a second before squeezing the lever, and the bolt flew from the bow with a thud. Mel didn’t dare look over the shield to see if he had hit anyone.

Already, the doctor was back in cover. Mel watched as the crossbow in his hands primed itself through the mechanism he had described. It was ingenious. The string was pulled up on its own by the bit as the wheel spun in its cage. Once it was fully drawn back, he put the string in its nock and found a new bolt.

“The accuracy is good. My weapon is a wonder”, Farvus said, but a little of the excitement was gone from his face. “This is hardly a pleasant affair, though. The refugees are getting slaughtered…”

Farvus stepped out to take another shot at the defenders. As he worked, Mel watched as another wave of goblins ran past them to the wall with ladders, though this time they held their shields through the ladder’s rungs in an awkward fashion. It seemed to be working, and only a couple had been wounded by the time they passed out of view.

Movement caught her eye towards the way of the road, and it wasn’t just the refugees. Something there was glinting under the Heaven-light. Her heart dropped as she realised she was looking at armoured knights. The night made their clerical purple tabards into the darkest black. Now she could hear their thunderous gallop.

The Hierarch was barking orders from his vantage, but it was too late. The religious knights trampled the goblins, as well as refugees who didn’t get out of their way quick enough. With their lances they ran through anyone that dodged the deadly hooves. The goblins were too short to properly deal with the ginormous chargers that bore down on them, and soon everything was in disarray. That was when Mel realised the knights were heading straight at her.

The crossbowmen quickly turned to face them, and got to work. Their weapons were designed to bring down such targets. Bolts were let loose through the night air, and immediately one horse was felled. Another bolt penetrated a knight’s shoulder, making him fall from his mount. The enemy was only ten in number, and they had already dealt with two.

Alas, the knights were travelling too fast, and their armour was too thick - amazingly so. Dozens of bolts connected, but only dented the armour. Farvus let loose one last bolt, hitting a knight in his neck and killing him, before the remaining seven were upon them.

The horses trampled over them like a storm, and their lances found four of the remaining crossbowmen. Mel watched one spear Farvus as he stood beside her. The lance pierced his mail and punched through his body. The doctor was impaled, and brought up into the air by the knight as he raised his lance.

Mel screamed as the knights turned back around, discarding their lances as they drew swords to slay the remaining crossbowmen. The goblin sharpshooters dropped their weapons and tried to run, but the seven remaining knights were already upon them. 

At the same time, a force of goblin spearmen charged the knights, and it became a wild melee with the knights hacking at anyone below them from their tall horses. The goblins were not powerless anymore, for the knights had to lean down far in order to strike them, exposing themselves in the process.

Mel was frozen in fear. All she could do was pretend to be dead, and hope her cloak disguised her features. But when she sensed a knight above her, she couldn’t stop her eyes from looking up at her impending doom.

A massive horse in silver armour stood over her, with wild eyes and foam dripping around its bit. The knight that sat atop it was equally large, and clad in a suit of plate armour so fine that she couldn’t even see the leather straps. His purple tabard displayed the face of a dying heretic – the symbol of the inquisition.

Atop his helm was the plume of a captain. His visor was the most striking part of his whole harness; it was fashioned into the shape of a human visage. Yet this face was not that of a knight, or a warrior charging into battle. It was the face of an orc-like heretic screaming in pain as he died. An enemy would see their own demise reflected at them.

He carried the unnatural smell that Mel had come to associate with magicians. The inquisitor frightened Mel to the core. She whimpered as she met his eyes. But he hesitated to kill her. Maybe in the night he missed her monstrous features and thought she was a settler, or maybe he would just have to lean to far to hit her.

Despite the crippling fear, Mel was a survivor. With one hand she grabbed Farvus’s discarded crossbow, and with another she found a bolt. The inquisitor noticed her movement and leaned down to slash her with his sword, catching her cloak and tearing it off. Mel felt the blade touch the skin at her chest, and blood was drawn. But she was alive. She loaded the weapon and squeezed the trigger.

The bolt hit the knight’s shoulder, and with a spark of magic it was deflected. Ironically, it was this that doomed him, for the bolt, carrying all its energy, hit the back of the horse’s head. The animal didn’t even scream, just died, and fell to the ground with a crash of armour.

Since the inquisitor had been leaning over, most of his body was crushed by the fall, and he was now trapped beneath the horse’s heavy carcass. He cried out, and his wheezing echoed out of the suit of armour that would now be his coffin.

Mel didn’t wait for the crossbow to prime itself. With one strong arm she pulled the string back until it clicked into place. Staggering over to the downed inquisitor, she loaded the weapon and placed it to the metal face’s left eye. She squeezed the trigger.

The might inquisitor; a man who saw monsters, women, peasants and modernisers as bugs, was now killed by one. Mel didn’t wait for the man’s friends to avenge him. Her panicked mind noticed someone with white hair atop the battlements, and so that was where she would run.

Dropping the crossbow, she sprinted towards the wall, forgetting everything else as she imagined a furious knight cutting her down from behind. Yet that never happened, mostly thanks to the goblin spearmen surrounding the knights, who’s bravery she didn’t even notice as she ran. By the time the six remaining horsemen had broken out, Mel was already halfway up the ladder.

She climbed as fast as when she had climbed the face of a quarry to freedom. Her hands found the stones of the battlement, and someone grabbed onto her to pull her up. She fell onto the wall, gasping for breath, and took one look at the people around her. She saw Estrild, and then lost her battle against unconsciousness.