Chapter 19: Attack on Invercard

Dane Wrickon tightened his grip on his sword as he crouched, unseen, in the alleys of Invercard, amidst the mid-morning mist. Vesper Grant knelt beside him, breathing quietly. They could hear the tramp of boots echoing off the feeble wall that surrounded the city.

Dane and Vesper had been idly playing Braegan since they had woken up, but they had left their quarters the second the guards had sounded the initial warning. The other soldiers and men hadn’t left their homes—not yet, anyway.

The city gates had been well locked and barred, and Dane had counseled Joel to put a few men on the walls—not enough to cause suspicion, but enough to make it appear they weren’t anticipating an attack.

Apparently it had worked. The guards they had placed up there were young and fast, and they were currently yelling about the oncoming assault and running through the streets, warning the people to close their homes and prepare themselves—all the while making sure they, themselves, were out of danger.

The prisoners had no way of knowing this—but those shouts of warning were only for their benefit. There were few people left in Invercard to listen.

* * * * * * * *

Dane Wrickon strode along the streets of Invercard, Joel Barker at his side. Together, they were knocking on all the doors of the residential areas, and giving the sleeping inhabitants the news. It was midnight work—stealthy, quick, and utterly silent.

“All women, children, and men who aren’t able to fight must leave for the Forges immediately,” Joel said—his voice bore no argument. “We’ve already cleared this with the Table—they’re there now. The prisoners from the Drain have broken out, and we expect an attack as early as tomorrow.”

Women bundled their children up, bringing their families with them. Dane instructed his men to help the families bring supplies with them—food, clothes and blankets for warmth, and above all, scrolls and games to keep them from boredom and worrying. Dane wasn’t sure that such distractions would work, but it would be better to have things in the Forge than not.

As for the men and the soldiers, as soon as the families had vacated, they got to work.

The men locked and boarded up the houses far away from the wall. After turning on the alchemical lights to create the illusion of living, they would secure it. They barred the doors with iron bars, and slipped out through the windows afterward. The stone and metal would be tough and time consuming to break through, and hopefully keep those houses safe from looting and destruction.

Dane instructed the rest of the men and soldiers to go into the houses near the wall in pairs or groups of threes. They were to have their armor and weapons on hand, and have leisure activities on hand if needed. These men were to also present the illusion of being lived in, and be ready to burst out, ready to for war, in a moment’s notice.

But since Dane couldn’t know when the attack was coming, he made sure that each group had a Braegan set, dice to play with, or scrolls to read. By the time the preparations were complete, the hour of the wolf was nearing its end.

The women and children were safe, the men were ready for war, and the guards were on the walls to sound the alarm.

He and Joel finished some last minute preparations, and then he and Vesper returned to their quarters, to sleep. Vesper had been able to sleep, anyway. Dane had roamed the guardhouse, restless, thinking and praying.

And now he was going to see whether his preparation had been worth a damn at all.

* * * * * * * *

The shouting and whooping of prisoners filled the cramped stone and metal streets of Invercard. From their hiding spot, Dane could see scores of men and women with crude weapons and cruder armor pass before him, roaming further into the city.

“Vesper,” Dane whispered. His partner turned his head towards him. “You feeling fast?”

“Always,”

“Run to the wall and light it up,” Dane said, grinning ear to ear.

Vesper scurried out the other end of the alley, his boots scraping against the gravel.

One of the last minute preparations that Joel and Dane had done late last night was to line the entire perimeter of the wall with long-burning powder, mixed with the gravel. The flames wouldn’t be explosively hot, but they would be a huge deterrent for the prisoners to try to scale back over the wall and escape.

The other preparation was to bar and lock all the gates, to prevent anyone from entering the city. Or from leaving it.

He shielded his eyes against the initial flare. He heard the shouts of dismay and confusion from the prisoners. From his hiding place, Dane could see a bit of the wall, burning in the late morning light.

The prisoners were well and truly trapped. All that was left was the battle—the prisoners in the Drain verses fifty trained Caeledonian soldiers and the fighting men of Invercard, in cramped streets and alleys that the residents knew by heart, whose narrow passages would effectively negate any numbers advantage that the prisoners would have had.

Vesper’s setting the perimeter of the wall on fire was the signal for the men to exit their homes and attack from all sides.

Dane started laughing; he couldn’t help himself. He was ready to die, he was ready to live. He raised his sword in a fighting stance, and rushed out of his hiding spot in the alley. The shouts and roars of his men rushing out of the Invercard houses filled his ear. He added his voice to theirs, and plunged into the melee.

* * * * * * * *

Dane took a club blow against his left arm, grunting as he did so. He wrapped his left arm around the club and whipped it away from his attacker, striking out with the sword with his right hand simultaneously. He missed the man’s neck, which he had been aiming for, but lodged the tip of the sword in the attacker’s collarbone. He twisted the blade, savagely, and the man went down.

As Dane moved on to the next bunch, he threw the club down, striking the man in the stomach.

It felt as if he had been fighting for hours. His sword arm ached, and he was cut and bruised all over.

Panting, he moved through the alleys, stalking his prey. Vesper Grant moved beside him, clean and fresh by comparison. They had met up at some point during the fighting-- when, Dane couldn't quite say.

Dane jumped as a small explosion rocketed against the wall beside him. Vesper was already shouting and pulling him down; two more blasts echoed off the walls. They scurried back into the alley that they came from.

“What in the sunken hells was that?” Dane asked. He was checking his legs for damages—it felt like he had been it with something, but it was hard to tell what.

“Crossbow,” Vesper said. “Probably with explosive pellets. They must have stolen them from the guards at the Drain.”

“Damn,” Dane said. He tried to stand up on his leg, and it crumpled underneath him. “I can’t stand.”

Vesper knelt down quickly, occasionally darting his head to see whether the attackers had followed them into the alley.

“Your armor is ruptured on your left shin,” Vesper said. “You’re probably bleeding underneath it, I can’t tell.”

“Well, get it off!” Dane said.

Vesper nodded, and started to fumble with the straps. Dane shouted a warning as one of the prisoners rounded the corner, crossbow in hand, but it was too late. Vesper took an explosive pellet straight to the chest. He collapsed on the ground, clutching at his broken armor.

Dane snarled, and staggered forward on his good leg, supporting himself by using his sword as a crutch. The prisoner was reloading the crossbow, panicking.

As the prisoner was fumbling in his pouch for another pellet, Dane leapt forward, tackling the man. Pellets ripped from the bag and tumbled everywhere. Some exploded on contact and rocketed off the ground, slamming into the walls of the alley around them. As the pair landed, they landed right on the bulk of the bag.

Dane felt the explosive force rip through the man below him, but nothing touched him. When he hauled himself off of the body, there was a mess of a person below him.

“Vesper!”

Dane grabbed his sword and hobbled on towards his companion. His leg gave out a few feet from him, and he collapsed on the ground.

Vesper was coughing, and had managed to roll himself onto his back. Dane crawled over next to him.

“You ok?” Dane managed to cough.

“I'll live,” Vesper whispered. “Gods, it hurts so much.”

“I know,” Dane said. He craned his neck; there was motion coming from the alley. He fumbled around Vesper's belt for his knife.

“None of that,” came a gruff voice. Gruff, but scared. One of the prisoners stalked towards them, a spear held hesitantly in his hand. “Saw you on the wall last night,” he said. “You in charge?”

“What do you think?” Dane gasped, trying to roll over onto his side while concealing the knife. “Does it look like I'm leading a gods damned army right now?”

“None of that,” he repeated. “Where's the bag?”

“What?” Dane pulled his legs towards him, propping his back against the alley.

“The gods damned bag,” the prisoner said. “With the powder. We.. we can't get out. What did your people do with it? The priestess is gone, what did you do with her?”

“Friend,” Dane said, weakly, spinning the knife in his hand, “I.. I can't..”

“The bag,” the prisoner said, stalking closer with the spear. “You kill her? Where is she?” he roared.

Dane tried to cough, and tasted blood in his mouth.

Disgusted, the man thrust the spear forward. Dane shifted his body at the last moment, grabbing towards the man's arm. The spear punched through the armor in his side, but didn't penetrate his ribs. He brought the man forward in a jerk, and jammed the knife through his neck.

The prisoner collapsed on top of Dane, coughing up blood. Dane pushed him off.

“Vesper!” he yelled. “Stay with me!”

“Not going anyplace.” Vepser moaned.

“Good...” Dane mumbled. “Me either.”

* * * * * * * *

“Dane.. Dane, can you hear me?”

Dane Wrickon opened his eyes. He was lying on a stone table, surrounded by kindly looking women and men. Joel Barker loomed above him.

“We won, Dane. We won.”

Dane tried to get up, and failed. “Vesper?”

Joel shook his head. “I'm sorry.”

Dane slammed his head back against the stone table, but didn't make a sound apart from breathing heavily.

His side and leg felt as though they were on fire. He clenched his left fist as hard as he could, digging his fingernails into his palms.

“Please keep talking,” Dane said. “Please. What.. tell me what happened.”

“The plan worked, just as you said. They couldn't leave Invercard once we set the perimeter of the wall on fire. They panicked, and fell apart as a group. Our roaming bands were able to kill or capture them all. They weren't worth a damn in the melee.” Joel spat on the ground.

“How many did we lose?”

Joel's mouth thinned, and his eyes crumpled in worry. “I'll tell you later, Dane. I promise.”

Dane tried to nod. A thought came to him, suddenly.

“Did... did your men happen to find a bag of explosive powder? Sizable, perhaps?”

“Not that I know of,” Joel said. “I can ask around.”

“Do that. And if you can't find one... I need some soldiers who are still fresh. Soldiers that can run very, very quickly.”

“I'll see what I can do,” Joel said. He rested his hand on Dane's brow. “We've been praying for you, and for your recovery, Dane. You saved us.”

“Hooray for me,” Dane said, but he felt sick inside, a sickness that had nothing to do with his wounds.

This isn't over.

Chapter 19 2,072 | 45,443/50,000
Author’s Note in Comments