Town Hall had been obliterated. Screams of burning men echoed down the street, stirring Captain Falric from his cover. Staggering to his feet, the captain started walking towards the flame. The destruction in front of him boggled the mind, he knew better than most that Town Hall was warded against magic.

Every noble wealthy enough to hire a personal mage would have been at Town Hall today. Drawn there by the evacuation and the prospect of losing their holdings to Levi. They were gone, dead and burned.

Ropes fell from the frigate. Men in rusty armor sliding down them an instant later. Falric was going to make them pay. They had killed his father, killed every man who had raised him.

“Knights! Let’s show these whoresons a proper welcome!” Shouted Falric, drawing his sword and sprinting towards the invaders.

Metal rang against steel as the men at arms readied their weapons and followed Falric. Some eager men managed to outstrip Falric, charging with halberds lowered. The lead man speared the first enemy, his halberd’s point piercing the rusty chainmail. Rusty links broke, sending shards of red rings in every direction. Falric reached a rope just as one of the enemy warriors came into reach. His blade took the man in the knees, rusty armor turned the edge, but the man erred. Losing his balance he fell from the rope, landing on his butt and dropping his sword.

In most circumstances like this, with a disarmed enemy in front of him, Falric would have taken the man as a prisoner. Not today. In front of Falric sat a dead man. Rotten flesh sagged out of his helmet and red eyes stared into his own.

Falric thrust his blade through the undead’s right eye. Thrusting hard enough to pierce the rear of the undead’s helmet. It’s hands and legs fell limp, a swift kick dislodged his sword from the enemy armor.

“They are undead! Kill the undead!” Shouted Falric, warning his men to change tactics.

The warning passed from man to man, echoed by the men at arms as they heard it. Falric took a second to survey the combat, no one was coming down the rope he was at, but there were now ten ropes trailing from the ship. Rotting warriors slid down the ropes in a disorganized mob, three or four piling onto one rope only to leave the next one empty. Shouts came from above the ship, orders for the undead to follow. For a moment no undead descended the ropes.

“Fight beneath the ship! Do not let mages see you!” Ordered Falric, ducking into the ship’s shadow himself.

“Why don’t you fall to your deaths, and save us the trouble of killing you.” Growled Falric under his breath.

“Hear hear!” Shouted the three men at arms who had heard him.

Falric smiled in spite of himself. He had not meant for them to overhear his grumblings, but could not contain his pride. As the mayor’s son he had always wondered if he had earned his position. Seeing them obey his commands in an unexpected and underserved war crushed his doubts.

Retrieving a silver amulet he lifted the icon of a rose to his lips and kissed it. A ward of protection gifted to him by the local adventurer’s guild.

Hera, may your divine grace save my men. I know it is too late for me, but I beg of you, bless these men. Let them survive this battle and find new homes in Langdon and Crowell. He prayed.

Warmth filled his chest. A sign that his lady’s blessing was now resting on him. Around him the knights crushed the undead. Their rusty swords and rotten jaws proving no match for his armored men at arms. Ten shadows appeared simultaneously, whomever was directing the undead was proving to be a competent leader, but ten were no match for forty, and they were easily dismantled. Halberds kept them at bay while other men at arms hacked off their heads. A few men carried maces, weapons they now employed to smash skulls.

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Another ten undead appeared, dispatched as easily as the first batch. Bringing a frown to Falric’s face. This was too easy. A mage capable of flying ships and columns of fire would not allow themselves to be ambushed like this. Sending mindless soldiers into a funnel where professional soldiers could gang up on them. A wave of undead descended the ship. Then another. Fifty or more undead lay in the street, Falric’s knight held the line for another fifty.

Each wave of ten descended the ropes in the same synchronized way the first ten had. Fifty slain enemies turned into a hundred, then one hundred and fifty. When they reached two hundred, Falric knew the city was lost. Around two hundred and fifty his despair sank so low he stopped trying to win and focused only on selling his life. Each stroke of his sword increasing his value.

One of the men at arms grabbed the robe he was fighting by and carried it across the shadow onto the other side of the ship. The undead warrior who had been descending fell from the rope. It’s hands pinched between rope and hull. Bones splintered against cobblestone as the dead warrior broke. Falric rushed to meet it, his gauntleted fist connecting with it’s face a moment after it landed. Sending the creature sprawling. His next blow severed the undead’s head, and his third, fourth, and fifth blows pounded the skull to dust.

Men at arms followed their captain’s lead, criss crossing the ropes beneath the ship. Two men knotted the ends of their ropes together and held them taut by sitting on them. More undead fell to their crippling. Falling from the ship above to the cobblestones broke more legs than Falric could count. A few hapless men at arms were crushed by the falling dead, victims of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

“Men of Fallbrook! Victory is within your grasp, climb the ropes! Board the ship!” Shouted Falric, lying to the men who trusted him with their lives.

“For Fallbrook!”

“To victory!”

“Death to the dead!”

Shouted the knights.

Falric nodded in agreement, but said nothing. The mere thought of lying to his men a second time in one day made him shiver. Fallbrook belonged to humanity, they would make these invaders bleed a hundred times over.

Overseeing the men at arms, he noticed the piles of dead warriors, a few of his own men lay amongst the mountains. Polished armor sparkling against the rusty gear of the enemy. Captain Falric shook his head at their unthinking determination. Perturbed by their commander’s willingness to throw his warriors away. Grim disgust carved lines in his face, chiseling deeper wrinkles.

They are throwing scores of warriors away for a single of our men. How large can their army be that they see our trap and jump headlong into it?

Motion in his peripheral vision caught his eye, two frigates were moving along the wall. Trailing ropes for their undead to disembark. Scores of the enemy had already offloaded, seemingly unopposed by the defenders.

We are already surrounded. I never could have guessed these numbers. We are at peace with the emperors across the sea! Where could this many warriors and ship come from?

The clip clop of hooves against stone reached Falric’s ears, little more than a distant echo. A sign of Dorian’s cavaliers joining the battle. Guilt flooded Falric’s heart. Dorian had a family, a young daughter and a son who was about to turn twelve. He should be evacuating them, not dying for a lost city.

Shouts of pain interrupted his thoughts. Two shining men at arms plummeted from the ship above, breaking legs as they hit the cobblestones. Falric reached out to them, only to leap back a second later. Shadows fell across the men, a meager warning. Barely enough to drive Falric back as undead landed on his slain warriors. Diving from the ships in a self destructive fervor.

“Take one side of the ship! Fight them here!” Ordered Falric, taking hold of the nearest rope.

Despite the weight of his armor, Falric ascended the rope with haste. One way or another this battle needed to end. Town Hall was burned to the ground, a fate that would befall the rest of Fallbrook if he failed to take this ship. Clanking noises came from Baker street, alerting the men at arms of incoming warriors.

“Reinforcements!” Shouted an over-eager man, declaring the unknown host to be an ally.

He should have held his tongue.

“Climb the ropes! Quickly!” Warned Falric.

The approaching force was a mob. By their footsteps he could tell they brought no horses, nor did they march in cadence. Ruling out an orderly formation of sentient humans or incoming cavalry. That left several options, a defeated band of humans, the militia, or the enemy. Baker street led to the wall, the same wall that was crawling with the dead. Falric climbed faster.

An unusually fresh zombie tumbled end over end. Flopping three stories onto the cobblestone. It landed with a squelch, similar to the sound fresh grapes made when you crushed them underfoot. Falric recognized the zombie by the armor it was wearing. Once, it had been a knight under his command, a man by the name of Perseus.

A nearby knight brought his mace to bear, smashing through the skull that had once been Perseus. Another zombie fell past the climbers. Falric only caught a glimpse of her familiar blue dress, the one that made her look pregnant. It had tumbled in the air and landed foul, splitting it’s skull against the cobblestones.

Fury burned within Falric’s soul. No matter the cost, he would make them pay.