Kai led the way down the many hallways of the Guild House, running as fast as he could and barely avoiding several collisions. The team shouted warnings at everyone they passed. Most people simply looked back at them in shock, but Davon couldn’t stop long enough to explain further.

They didn’t have time.

When the team finally burst through the doors of the Guild’s warehouse, they saw five Revenants gathered inside. All five heads turned towards them, eyebrows raised and awaiting an explanation. Davon quickly scanned the group and ran up to the one figure he sought.

“Grant!”

“What’s the matter, boy?” Grant crossed his arms, his voice stern. “Running through the Guild House like this…”

“There’s an army… on its way,” Davon managed between gasps of air. “Siege engines and all. They’ll arrive any minute.”

“We tried to warn the Stalwarts,” Lyla added, already at his side. “But Meyer just… brushed us off.”

“Army?” Grant chuckled. “You’re not the only scouts we’ve sent out, you know. No one came back with reports of an army.”

“What reason do we have to lie, Grant?” Davon demanded, frustration nearly choking him.

“I don’t know, but without —”

Grant’s retort was cut off by the unmistakable sound of war horns in the distance. Three harsh, discordant calls, the universal sign of impending danger.

The room was silent for a moment as reality sank in. Then Grant turned to the other four Revenants around him.

“Jacob, to the bell tower. Sound it thrice,” he ordered. One of the Revenants nodded quickly before running off. “The rest of you, to the walls.”

A momentary relief washed over Davon’s heart as the other Revenants hurried away. At the very least, they wouldn’t be completely unprepared.

Grant turned back to the trio. “The three of you, head to the walls as well, but warn anyone you see along the way. Try to get as many civilians inside as you can.”

With a quick nod, the group set off back along the way they had come, a renewed purpose guiding their step. As they rushed through the Guild House, they noticed the previously calm halls were now alive with activity.

Both confusion and excitement were palpable in the air. Dozens of Revenants were gathering in the halls and heading out in groups of two or three. Davon even spotted several robed and masked figures, whom he had learned to recognize as the Guild’s mages and healers, scrambling to get to the walls.

The scale of preparation buzzing around them made Davon extremely nervous. There hadn’t been time yet to process the severity of what was happening. Now, as the reality of the situation finally sank in, his felt the grip of fear’s steely vice around his heart.

He had accepted the idea of living with danger since he’d first signed on as a sailor, but surviving a siege would be a whole other level.

Before he could think more about the foreseeable future, the trio stepped outside, and Davon was dragged back to the present. The streets had already been cleared, the city’s populace retreating into their homes. This emptiness left Davon even more unsettled than the grim activity within the Guild House.

The vice around his heart tightened as the team ran towards the city gates.

Then the war horns sounded again. Twice, quickly: the signal of immediate danger. Cursing beneath his breath, Davon sped up.

The enemy was faster than he thought.

Upon arriving at the gates, the group was ushered onto the ramparts by a guard captain. They were immediately split up and sent to cover different sections of the wall. As soon as he reached his post, Davon looked outward and gasped.

The convoy he and Lyla had seen on the road must have been only one of many. Emerging from the forests surrounding Walden’s Hold were hundreds of Crimson Reaver soldiers, each contingent dragging a cart of war supplies.

“Warriors, man the ballistae!” A familiar voice echoed along the ramparts. After a second, Davon recognized the speaker to be the acting leader of the Stalwarts, Sir Meyer. “Archers, fire at will!”

Reluctant as he was to listen to Meyer, Davon swallowed his pride and raised his bow. The sound of flying arrows buzzed in his ears as his fellow archers loosed their projectiles, but Davon waited. He fought against his nerves in order to find that perfect shot.

It soon became clear, however, that his care was useless. The enemy ranks were too thick. They kept pushing through the forest like a grisly tide, barely slowed by the defenders’ hail of arrows. Most projectiles simply bounced off of the Crimson Reavers’ armor. Common weapons weren’t strong enough, after all, and Walden Hold’s common guards outnumbered the Revenants ten to one.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

Waiting for perfection would cost Davon much more than pulling the bowstring back one more time.

He settled instead for quantity over quality. He loosed an arrow, not waiting to see where it landed before he pulled another. No need to worry about missing. There were simply too many enemies for that to be a possibility.

With each breath, Davon made another attack. Every inhale was the draw of a bowstring. Every exhale marked the flight of an arrow.

But as the fifth row of Crimson Reavers emerged from the trees, the enemy deployed their barricades. All along the front line appeared seven-foot-tall slabs of what looked like carapace, wide enough to cover three soldiers a piece, with a tiny slit cut into the middle.

Davon and the other archers did all they could to slow the deployment of these defenses, but the sea of enemies was simply too vast. It wasn’t long before the barricades covered the front line of Crimson Reavers, leaving only small gaps here and there.

The rain of arrows slowed. Davon took a moment to look at the siege defenses on the city’s walls. Walden’s Hold had several ballistae placed on top of towers, and small catapults on lower platforms. Davon could see projectiles loaded into the ballistae. He even spotted Kai turning one of them.

Uneasy silence fell over the battlefield as each side waited for the other to make a move. Davon pulled back another arrow, preparing himself to attack as needed. The crackling of the ethereal bowstring only somewhat settled his nerves. Besides him, he could hear the other archers scuffling their boots anxiously.

As the tension dragged on, Davon found himself wondering why the city’s siege engines weren’t firing. One well-placed blow from a catapult or ballista would be enough to break the Crimson Reavers’ front line.

What is Meyer doing? Davon thought, fighting down a wave of frustration. He must have some reason to keep the siege engines holding…

Then a guttural shout broke the silence, echoing all around Davon and cutting off his musings. The cry was followed by a cacophony of roars from the enemy, so loud and bloodthirsty that it left Davon’s ears ringing. He held his aim even as his hands started to tremble.

Looking around, Davon could tell the soldiers around him were similarly shaken, but none of them had time to dwell on their fear. The enemy was already on the move again. From behind their barricades, groups of Crimson Reavers stepped out, pushing along some sort of contraption.

At first glance, it looked like a wedge of barricades on wheels, with several free-floating barricades to cover the soldiers pushing it. On closer inspection, Davon saw that it was an armored cart… with ladders inside. He cursed under his breath and prepared himself mentally for close quarters combat.

Meyer’s voice rang out from the ramparts.

“Engines, target their ladders!”

Davon heard nearly a dozen siege engines firing simultaneously. He could barely track the nearest ballista bolt as it flew towards the cart. The bolt pierced the armored plating on the cart’s side, making Davon’s heart leap.

His celebration was short-lived, however, as he realized the shot didn’t destroy the cart. It didn’t even slow the damn thing. Frustration welled up again within Davon as he aimed his bow at the cart, looking for any opening to shoot at the soldiers pushing it along.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, Davon saw a massive rock flying towards the enemy lines. His fury had made him forget the catapults mounted on the ramparts.

He watched as the rock flew about a foot over the cart, smashing into a line of barricades on the opposite side. The barricade crumpled like paper. Catching the opportunity, Davon held his breath and invoked the ‘Scattershot’ rune engraved on his Reliquary.

Davon’s perception of time slowed as he loosed his arrow. The missile flew straight towards the break in the enemy’s defenses, splitting when it was about six feet away and covering the exposed ranks with deadly projectiles.

A well-placed burst, Davon thought, watching gleefully as at least a dozen creatures dropped dead.

But the tide of soldiers shifted to fill the gap, replacing the broken barricade in seconds. Davon’s heart sank. What was the point of every kill he’d made thus far? It was like trying to drain the ocean by taking one bucket at a time.

Hopelessness gripped Davon, but only for a moment. He buried it with savage desperation.

If he let those thoughts claim his mind, he was already as good as dead.

Looking to the sides, Davon saw similar situations along the wall. More carts creeping closer to the walls, more boulders being flung towards them, more death and destruction. The worst part was the inconsistent impact of the defenses. He watched a cart get smashed to pieces further down the ramparts, then turned to see a poorly aimed boulder collide with a tree.

How long had it been since the defenders actually had to use their siege engines?

“Archers! Heads down!”

Meyer’s voice rang out once again, directing Davon’s attention to the battlefield. From the gaps between the trees and through barrier slits, he saw enemy archers taking aim. He had only a second to react, dropping to his knees behind the battlements.

Screams and grunts of pain surrounded Davon. Something heavy fell onto his shoulders. Looking to his side, he saw the body of a soldier, an arrow protruding from his neck. Shuddering, Davon let the body slide off of his shoulder onto the rampart.

A brief glance to either side showed Davon several other members of the common guard dead all around him. He didn’t know how many soldiers were stationed in Walden’s Hold, but he was certain the number was smaller than the enemy forces.

The sound of crashing boulders echoed through the air once again, and Davon instinctively covered his head, still hiding behind the battlement. When he peeked out, he saw another ladder-cart smashed to pieces.

A spark of hope ignited in him. If they could prevent the enemy from reaching the walls, then maybe, just maybe, they could hold them off. On the other hand, if the Crimson Reavers managed to successfully get onto the ramparts, their sheer numbers would guarantee victory.

Another hail of arrows erupted from enemy lines, forcing Davon to duck back under cover. In that moment, Davon nervously tracked the noise of rolling wheels drawing closer and closer to the walls.

“Mages! Barriers up!” Meyer commanded.

A soft hum filled the air as golden light covered the battlefield. Gathering his courage, Davon looked beyond his cover to see a massive shield of energy flare up between the wall and the enemy’s siege engines.

Uneasy silence reigned once again. The two sides of the conflict settled into a stalemate.

Davon allowed himself a sigh of relief, but he knew this break in the combat was temporary. His conversations with Lyla had taught him that magic needed energy, and a lot of it. Meyer’s order was a desperate measure.

It could only give the defenders some time to prepare for the worst.