The clammer and flash of sparks rose from a hammer clashing against red, hot metal. Strong, rhythmic slams continued against the molten metal, as the blacksmith wiped the sweat off his forehead with his arm. A hiss came from the water, as he dipped the dull spearhead, letting out a slight whiff of smoke.

“I’m here for the sword, requested by the chief marshal.” a brown-haired boy with violet eyes said, “He put it under my name, Gale since I was recently conscripted.”

The blacksmith did not even turn to look at Gale, only continuing to hammer away at the heated metal after having pulled it out of the water. His eyes focused on what was in front of him only motioning with his hammer for a second toward an almost empty weapon rack near the entrance to the forge.

“Thanks…” Gale said to himself, as he grabbed the shortsword, and dropped a pouch of coins on the anvil.

He looked once more at the blacksmith, before turning to the road and walking towards the village gate. The smithy was located near the exit of the village, and as such made the walk to the gate much closer. Across from the smithy was a small hut around eight hundred square feet in size. It housed the armor and weapons of the village so that the guards or militia could quickly get ready if a scout reported an attack or raid.

As he reached the village gate, the crunch of dirt came from underneath Gale’s feet. The gates were made of stone and wood and were around sixteen feet in height and eight feet in width. Two towers were connected to the gates itself to which there would be two stationed guards for watch. There was a gate from all four directions, and roads connected to each. Gale was on the east side, where the militia would train.

“Gale, newly conscripted of the village Metz, please open the gate,” he shouted, waiting for the wooden doors to open.

“The marshal is currently out, with the village, Gloff’s marshal, he won’t return for some time. He told me to tell all of he militia they are free today, as it will most likely be your last chance before our war with the village, Lecce.” the guard replied down, “Our rivalry will end with conquering them or being conquered.”

Gale looked down at the grass and looked back toward the guard, “Very well, then I’ll see you tomorrow, Leif.”

Gale sheathed his sword beside his waist, before strolling towards the village’s center. His gaze shifted back and forth from the people passing by and his direction. The village buildings were mostly made of stone, straw, and wood. The housing resided around the middle of the village where people would come to converse with one another. To the west of the village square lay the market, where most would find trade. The wind whispered against Gale’s back as he reached the village square. The sun had begun to set by when others gathered.

“Gale!” exclaimed a teenage boy around his age, “Did you hear? I got conscripted!”

“So was I, Liam,” Gale replied as he turned to show his sword.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

“So you asked for a sword?” Liam eyed the sword, “I chose a spear, more range.”

“Don’t trip on it then.”

“Anyways, how is the village leader?” Liam asked, “I heard he’s not doing well.”

“My father… I don’t think he will last much longer…” Gale’s eyes wandered before becoming resolute.

“My condolences.”

“Don’t worry, he’s not dead yet and he already passed the Metz longsword.” Gale stated, “As long as we survive the war against Lecce, I will still be alive and soon after leading.”

“I’m sur-” Liam stopped as the village bell rang.

“Attack! We’re under attack!” exclaimed Leif as he rode around on a horse, “All militia are to assume their position at the east, the village chief will meet you there.”

“My father? Is he not in bed, sick?” Gale shouted back toward Leif, who didn’t reply as he had already ridden off to rally the rest of the militia.

“Gale wait for me!” huffed Liam as he ran after. A small crowd slowly gathered around the two as more and more militia found out and ran toward the east gate.

“Have you rounded up everybody Leif?” asked Gale’s father.

“I have, we number around a thousand.”

“And of Lecce?”

“They number fifteen hundred.”

“Father! What are you doing here!? You should be resting, you shouldn’t be here.” Gale exclaimed gasping for breath as he arrived at the front of the east gate.

“Son there is something I have to tell you… I’m not sick, I’ve been poisoned…” The village chief, looked up at the moon, “I don’t have much time left, and it’s incurable, let me-” he coughed up blood, “Let me die knowing I protected my village…”

“Fathe-” Gale was cut off.

“Everybody in formation! The village of Lecce has decided to send the entirety of their forces for a surprise attack, so now is our day. If we defeat these, our rivalry ends, and we can swiftly take their land. This our fight, our chance to have taken another’s village, and this is our last chance to defend ourselves from what may occur. If they take us, they could hurt our families, our friends, and even our-” Gale’s father coughs, “Our homes. Don’t fight to survive, fight to protect our loved ones!”

Torches were lit and held across the east wall. Few stars twinkled in the sky and the moon cast its’ gaze down toward the village, and the incoming army. Two hundred archers stood atop the east wall. Three hundred calvary resided to the front of the gate, behind it the five hundred foot soldiers. This made the Metz army. Outside of the gates stood the Lecce Army. Five hundred calvary stood toward the rear of the army encircling a tent where the Lecce Marshal lay, strategizing the attack. In the middle of the of army stood two hundred archers, and in the vanguard stood eight hundred foot soldiers, primarily spearmen with shields.

A messenger rode off towards the gate looking up at the archers aimed toward his head, “A message from the general of the Lecce army, surrender without violence, and we will spare putting your heads on a pike, however if you make us fight we will kill everybody.”

“Make their army fourteen hundred and ninety nine men,” the archer division commander Leif raised his hand watching as the messenger got shot.

“Attention!” exclaimed a Lecce spearmen attachment officer of two hundred.

The men shouted as loudly as they could before getting into position to slowly march. The loud thud of the hundreds of feet came from the spearmen as they advanced toward the gate, their shiny armor now visible to the eye.

“Hold… Hold… Fire!” Leif shouted to the archers as arrows had begun to rain upon the battlefield.