The day dragged on into late afternoon and the tension within the walls of Canthia was almost palpable. The remaining inhabitants had, as advised by Haarlan Greenwood, retreated to their homes. Inside every building stood furniture and scrap lumber to barricade the doors closed. The archers manned their posts, occasionally peering out of hiding then darting back into cover. Periodically each would glance over at Eirik, waiting for him to give the alarm.

From his vantage point, Eirik watched the remaining soldiers seated in clusters near the gate. They had gradually adjusted their position, following the patches of shade as the relentless sun tracked across the sky. He envied them, having sat in his spot on the wall all day. Sweat soaked his clothes and his exposed skin felt hot and tight. He uncorked his canteen and cursed under his breath when he found it empty.

A slight tickle in his right ear made him sit up sharply, his heart beginning to beat faster. A flash of crimson caught his eye and he saw Haarlan Greenwood climbing the ladder to the parapet, a short bow and quiver slung over his shoulder. At the top, the agent ducked below the wall and scurried to Eirik's side.

"Thought you might need a top-up," Greenwood said, handing over a full canteen. He sat down on the edge of the mat, his bow at his side.

"Just in time," Eirik replied, immediately taking it. The water was still cool and soothed his dry and sticky mouth.

"I take it there's nothing to worry about at the moment?"

"Nothing just now, but they know where to come,"

There was a brief pause, and Eirik felt Greenwood's gaze upon him.

"What happened after we left you yesterday? Holgrim only told me that everything went to plan, so I didn't press him."

"I cut back to the point where we veered off the trail. There's a path that leads straight to the mine running over the mountains, so I followed it. Couple of look-outs were stationed where the path drops down to the compound so I figured I should get their attention." Eirik paused for another drink.

"I presume you did?"

"Yeah, but not how I intended. It was getting dark and I was too far away for them to see me, so I started stamping down the middle of the road. Some guy came out of nowhere and took a few swings at me. Seemed pretty pissed off that they left someone alive down here."

Greenwood sat upright and half-turned to face him. "He assumed you were from here?"

"He did,"

"Did you kill him?"

"No, but I doubt he'll be walking far on the leg I stuck an axe in,"

Greenwood's smile widened and he chuckled under his breath. "One less for us to fight,"

"I told him that Canthia wasn't finished yet, and pissed off before the sentries got to him. I imagine he passed the message on."

"I imagine he did.

They sat in silence as the shadows lengthened, and Eirik suspected that Greenwood's patience was starting to wear thin. Every few minutes he would look sideways at Eirik before pressing his eye to the narrow gap between the planking of the wall.

"You know they'll probably wait until dusk, don't you? If they're as pissed off as we want them to be, they'll have travelled down during the heat of the day and taken a rest among the trees before closing in."

"I know, I know. I'm just a bit antsy. We're short on fighting men and I still don't know what to expect from Lorcan Astralis."

Now it was Eirik's turn to chuckle. "Do you seriously think this man can create fire out of nowhere?"

Greenwood shrugged. "The eyewitness reports I read came from people I know and respect. They weren't prey to myths and fables nor were they disposed to hysteria. I believe what they saw appeared real in the moment, but I'm reserving judgement until I see for myself."

"Let's hope you live to tell the tale,"

"I'm very much in favour of that. Besides, it's a tale my daughter would probably enjoy."

Eirik watched Greenwood's expression soften and his smile become warmer.

"How old is she?"

"She's twelve. I've just sent her away from Patra to the Silent Isle to be educated,"

Eirik narrowed his eyes, picturing his homeland in his mind. "Long way to go to school,"

"It's the best place for her. She's not going to be a languid, compliant noblewoman when she grows up - she's got too much fire in her. The Order will help her channel her energy into useful, practical talents. And besides," Greenwood paused for a moment, his expression becoming serious, "another family wants me to betroth her to their son, and I don't hold with using children as political tools. Sending her to school will get her away from their eyes until she's old enough to make up her own mind."

"I thought that kind of thing was normal for the upper echelons," Eirik said, a little surprised by Greenwood's attitude.

"Generally speaking, it is. That doesn't mean it has to stay that way. My father sent me to school on the Silent Isle, and I leaned many things. One of those things was that tradition is not inviolable. Just because we've always done things a particular way, it doesn't mean it's the best way and shouldn't be changed. When the time came for me to marry, I married the woman I loved. My father was doubtful at first - my wife came from Patra's merchant class - but when he realised that her support made me a better person, he understood. I want my daughter to have the choices that society says she shouldn't. I look forward to seeing her with a book of philosophy in one hand, a sword in the other, and sharp words for anyone who tells her those things are just for men."

There was passion in the agent's voice along with obvious love for his child. Eirik wondered what emotions his own father displayed when talking about his son. He wiped his hand on his kerchief and extended it. Greenwood clasped and shook it firmly.

"I used to think the aristocracy were stuck-up arseholes" Eirik said with a grin, "but you're a pretty regular guy."

"Oh, I can play the stuck-up arsehole when I need to. Sometimes I have to fit in around -"

Eirik's eyes snapped wide open and he pressed his face to the gap in the wall. He saw nothing but the back of his head itched like a flea-ridden mongrel.

"We're on," he hissed under his breath, snatching up the red rag and flapping it to and fro. "They're still in the trees, but they're close by."

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Greenwood took a turn at the peep-hole then reached for his bow.

"Let's hope there aren't too many."

The archers in the watchtowers held their bows ready. They watched the tree line, waiting for the first of the enemy to appear. It wasn't a long wait. From their hidden vantage points they watched as the first of the armoured men emerged from the forest.

Clad in a mixture of plate and chain mail, the smugglers looked more like hired professional soldiers than a rag-tag bunch of opportunists. Approximately half carried long swords and shields, the remainder short swords and bows. From where he watched, Eirik calculated that the enemy outnumbered them two to one. He wasn't worried by this. Many times, back in his homeland, he'd seen his group outnumbered by bandits and yet still triumph. He passed his gaze over the soldiers waiting inside the city and hoped they were ready.

A silent signal passed along the parapet and the archers - still out of sight - began to nock their arrows in readiness. The group of armed men coalesced into a unit as they crossed the open grassland toward the gate. Eirik could see their heads tilting up at the wall as they walked and began to have misgivings. To walk in the open like that when they had no idea what was waiting for them was either supreme confidence or outrageous stupidity.

A bugle blast rent the air and Canthia's archers stepped out of the shadows and loosed their arrows earthward. Shouts and screams confirmed that their presence was unexpected and, as the archers continued to fire, the enemy soldiers began to sprint toward the road. Eirik risked a peep over the wall and managed to count five corpses lying in the grass. It's a good start, he thought. An arrow embedded itself in the wall with a thud, narrowly missing his face, and he ducked back down quickly. More missiles hurtled over the wall, driving the archers back into cover and forcing the soldiers waiting below to form up and hold shields above their heads. Eirik glanced through the peephole and cursed to find the main body of the enemy out of view. He checked his weapons and scuttled along the parapet to the tower above the gate for a better look. He found Greenwood there already, his bow lowered and a look of suspicion on his face.

"They've backed up out of range," he said, his eyes narrowing, "so how do they intend to get through the gate?"

Eirik didn't have time to answer him. A roaring, rushing sound burst from the trees and a roiling, crackling ball of flame hurtled through the air, striking the top half of the gate. The blast blew the parapet to splinters, hurling Eirik and Greenwood to ground beneath. Dazed, Eirik lay on his back, blackened by smoke and with wood fragments in his hair and skin. He coughed soot from his lungs and rolled onto his side to see Greenwood in a similar position. They stared at one another, then at the burning remains of the gate. The sound of booted feet running through gravel caught Eirik's ear.

"Keep firing!" Holgrim bellowed to the archers. The men shook themselves, rocked by the explosion, before taking position at the gate and opening fire on the mercenaries charging toward the town. Their opponents responded in kind and a volley of arrows rained down on everyone at the front of the marketplace.

Eirik picked himself up, still shaken by the explosion, and pressed himself to the wall. Greenwood joined him, rapier now drawn.

"He's waiting in the wings, waiting for his boys to do the work for him," he said.

"Why wait?" Eirik asked. He could still feel the heat of the flames on his skin.

"He doesn't want a stray arrow in the eye any more than you or I do,"

Another flurry of arrows came and the body of an archer dropped to the dirt from the parapet above with a feathered shaft through his neck. As the body hit the ground, the first of the swordsmen pushed through the burning gate shouting obscenities.

Eirik's comrades responded immediately. The first and second rows engaged with the enemy while the rest kept their shields raised to deflect the sporadic bursts of missiles. They fought hard but the unit gradually edged back from the gate under the onslaught of a superior force. Eirik joined the front line on the right flank, leaping into action in time to deflect a blow aimed at Ruefin's neck.

"Nice timing," Ruefin shouted, chopping through the arm wielding the sword.

Eirik didn't reply. A bald-headed swordsman with a gap-toothed grin had launched himself into the fray with a savage enthusiasm. He ducked under a wild swing, parried a more calculated thrust, and managed to tear the man's buckler away with the pick of an axe. The mercenary's grin became a snarl.

"Fuck you, shit bag," he hissed through gritted teeth, "I'll see you in chains in our mine with the rest."

Eirik parried a flurry of hacks and slashes, his anger bubbling over. He caught the incoming sword with his axe, flicked it from the man's grasp and swiped an axe across his belly. Steel screamed as the blade passed through it and a hot tangle of bloodied intestines slid down the armoured legs.

"And I'll see you in the fucking ground," Eirik retorted, spitting in the steaming mess.

The formation had already fragmented and the marketplace had become a battleground. Blood pooled on the hard-baked earth and bodies lay silent and still. Shouts and screams resounded over the clash of swords and the thud of steel on flesh. Eirik kept to Ruefin's side and wielded his axes with increasing intensity as his rage made him reckless. He sliced the braided head from an enemy before him only to feel a bright stab of pain in his right calf muscle. Looking down he saw a familiar face, the gleam of dagger, and a trail of guts and gore. He stamped his boot down on the gap-toothed face until the hideous gargling sound stopped.

Around him Eirik saw his comrades giving their all to good effect. Training and discipline pulled the tired soldiers together and they managed to regroup in the marketplace. Having survived the initial charge, the defenders had whittled the enemy down until the numbers were roughly equal. Desultory arrow fire came from the parapet as the archers continued attempting to tip the balance.

Greenwood joined Eirik on the flank, his longsword gleaming with gore and a trail of blood running down the side of his face. The agent panted with exertion but a gleam in his eye suggested that he was a long way from finished. He flashed Eirik a grim smile.

"The report's going to be really interesting," he said, raising his sword and stepping forward to engage.

Eirik made to follow but stopped short. A sharp stinging in the centre of his forehead had him convinced he was shot. A hand to skin found no blood. He stared toward the gate and heard a roar. On impulse, he leaped to his right, snatching hold of Greenwood and dragging the agent with him. As they tumbled to the ground, a ball of fire sailed through the open gate and struck the melee with a dull whump.

Bodies flew left and right in a gout of bright orange flame and fell to earth in charred, bloodied scraps. Smoke stung Eirik's eyes and he became aware of a high-pitched whistling in his ears. A hand grabbed his arm and he saw Greenwood's mouth moving but he couldn't hear what he was saying. The agent pointed to the gate and Eirik's eyes followed its trajectory.

Billowing clouds of smoke and dust filled the air and the outline of the shattered gate was barely visible. A figure strode through the gloom, a tall figure clad in leather with a shining scimitar hanging at its side. Still stunned by the explosion, Eirik watched as the figure removed its helmet and drew the scimitar. The hair was dark and smeared back with oil and the eyes a dark and brooding blue.

Lorcan Astralis entered combat by slicing down one of his wounded men who was trying to drag himself to safety. His tanned face sweated profusely but showed no emotion as he cut down those nearest to him. As Eirik watched, he raised a hand and pointed it off to the left flank where the defenders were getting the better of his men. An orange light formed in his palm and began to spin. Round it spun, faster and faster until, with a word, Astralis sent it into the melee, heedless of his own men's lives. Like leaves on the wind, the soldiers were scattered and blown until coming to rest against the bottom of the wall.

Enraged now, Eirik got to his feet and ran at Astralis. He heard a faint shout of warning from Greenwood but ignored it, keen to remove the threat to his comrades.

Astralis turned sharply at Eirik's approach, the palm of his hand already gleaming with a fresh flame. Time seemed to slow as Eirik closed the gap and fireball launched towards him with a roar. Too angry to think, instinct took over and Erik raised his axe and swung downward as the fiery missile burned the air around him. A shock run down his arm and Eirik screamed in pain and rage as the fireball struck the blade. With a hiss it separated and streaked across the marketplace in two pieces until crashing into the wall.

The face of Lorcan Astralis fell and his eyes betrayed shock as Eirik neatly bisected his fireball and kept coming. He hurriedly raised his other palm and the orange glow was already forming when and arrow took him in the shoulder.

Eirik screamed in fury and struck off the hand and its nascent flame. Astralis respond by snatching up his scimitar and parrying a second strike. His riposte cut through Eirik's mail and laid his right forearm open. A follow up attack put a dent in his cuirass and pushed him back. He slipped in a pool of blood and went down on one knee as the scimitar came down again. Instead of parrying, Eirik lunged forward with the axe in his left hand, his fingers gripping just below the head. The blow struck Astralis in the throat as a flash of light and a thunderclap of pain erupted in the centre of his forehead.

Everything went black.