"We are under attack!"

The words rang in Isaac's ears as he woke. He blinked, looking up at the starlit sky with the faintest hint of sunlight on the horizon, momentarily unsure of where he was.

"Wake up! We are being attacked!" a woman's voice yelled.

Isaac bolted upright, the words were no dream. He scrambled for his shield and sword on the ground beside him and scrambled to the nearest wagon, crouching beside it and kneeling behind his shield, his eyes frantically searching the campsite in an attempt to get his bearings. The other guards were waking up, grasping for their weapons. Isaac could see a single body laying motionless by the fire. It was too far to recognize but he could tell the man was dead. The three northern women were kneeling close together, covering each other with their round shields.

Several men were on their feet near the fire. At first Isaac thought they were his fellow guardsmen, responding to whatever threat had been called out, until he saw one plunge a sword into the back of a man attempting to crawl towards his gear.

"Everyone! Rally on me!" Isaac shouted. A few sprinted towards his position. He saw one turn towards him but dropped his sword and fell to his hands and knees, arrow protruding from his back. One of the attackers pounced and, with a thrust of his sword, finished off the injured mercenary, who collapsed into the dirt.

"Form up!" Isaac shouted again, "On me!"

Several men joined, those with shields set up a ring for those without to shelter behind. Svarja and a northern woman whose name Isaac had forgotten joined him, shields raised.

Isaac could hear shouts of pain, anger, confusion, and words in the northern tongue coming from the edge of the camp.

"They're attacking the druids!" He shouted. "Shields up, we need to get to them!"

The group began moving in the direction of the cries. An arrow embedded itself in Isaac's shield, another struck the shield of a man to his right. Three attackers stood in the camp, swords drawn. As Isaac's group moved forward he could see another formation of his companions huddled by another wagon, Frederick and three men with shields raised. Frederick aimed his rifle and let off a shot. Isaac saw one of the attackers stumble as the bullet struck him in the ribs from behind. The wounded man turned and let out a roar of anger and pain as he sprinted towards Frederick. The commander pumped his gun and loosed a second shot. Isaac could not tell if it missed or if the man simply ignored the bullet but he continued his charge and threw all his weight into the middle shield, knocking the guard backwards. The two mercenaries on either side stabbed wildly with their swords, striking the attacker repeatedly as their companion tried to wriggle free and raise his shield but before he could an arrow flew through the gap, striking Frederick in the belly.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

"Move, now!" Isaac shouted. His group charged at the two attackers in the middle of the camp. They each stabbed at the approaching formation to no avail, knocked over by the shield wall and quickly dispatched by a flurry of sword thrusts and axe blows. Arrows continued to fly, embedding themselves in shields, one flew over Isaac's head so close he was sure it grazed his scalp.

The familiar 'ping' of an air gun caught Isaac's attention. He glanced in the direction of the noise and saw Mark standing on top of the wagon closest to the wounded Frederick. Having retrieved a gun, Mark was standing upright and shooting rapidly into the darkness that surrounded the camp. He loosed a dozen bullets and Isaac heard a distant scream of pain as one struck true. An arrow whizzed mere inches from Mark's face but the gunner was unfazed. He turned in the direction the arrow had come from and emptied the remainder of his gun's magazine, another cry indicated one less attacker. Mark dropped the empty gun, picked up a fresh one from the wagon, and continued firing into the darkness.

"Protect the druids!" Frederick shouted through gritted teeth. Isaac and the others moved towards where the druids had made their own camp a short distance away from the rest of the group. Rolf sprinted ahead, dagger in hand. Isaac saw two men walk to a druid laying in the dirt on his back, arms raised and pleading in the northern tongue. Rolf threw himself into one of the men, knocking him to the ground. The other ignored his attacker, kneeling down and plunging a sword into the druid's chest, only to fall himself as a dagger found his throat. The first man rose up to his feet and slashed at Rolf, who nimbly dodged the blade and stepped in, thrusting his dagger upwards into the man's belly, then withdrawing and stabbing the man repeatedly in the chest.

"There's someone running over there!" Mark called out. Isaac looked back to see where he was pointing and then took off in that direction, dropping his shield to run faster. Svarja and a couple others joined him, sprinting after the dark shape stumbling through the rough, dry grasses. As Svarja ran ahead and closed the gap Isaac shouted out "Take him alive!"

The man turned towards his pursuers and fell to his knees, "Please don't kill me! I'm unarmed!" he pleaded, hands clasped before him. Svarja struck him in the face with the handle of her axe. "Move, now! Or I swear I will make you wish I would kill you!"

Isaac and the others escorted the man back to the camp. The man was whimpering, tears rolling down his face, begging his captors not to harm him. Frederick was leaning against one of the wagons, rifle resting upright beside him, arrow still stuck in his gut. Isaac felt a chill as the rush of battle wore off. He began to shiver, his hands were weak and he felt nauseous. The sun was slowly rising but its light brought no comfort, only revealing the full scale of the carnage. Isaac had survived this attack but now he and the others would have to account for those who did not survive. "And those who will not," Isaac thought to himself with a glance towards Frederick.