Bolts of lightning strike from
the heavens above, shimmering across the waters. Crackling fires and
black billowing smoke erupts from many of the thatch houses, burning
them to their timber frames. Solid stone from siege equipment smashing
into the enceinte, shaking the towers, crumbling the stone. The outer
rings of the fortification fell hours ago, either a mass of rubble, or
claimed by the ruthless oppressors. Villages beyond the walls are all
smoldering remains, men butchered, women and children to be sold as
slaves. Townspeople from the inner city rush for the safety of the
cathedral, scattering livestock and chickens. The harbor city is a
key.locationer, nestled on a hill towering over the nearby land, vast
fields of lush green grass, and cultivated fields of crops. Deep watered
ports, clear water usually reflecting the suns golden beams, but
tonight, scarlet flames and the flashes of lightning. Arrows whirl over
the heads of Knights and sergeants followed by a series of curses as
they get suppressed. Mangonels push forward and harder, catapulting
round after round of crudely shaped rock into the heart of the city,
sending shards of stone and woodwork flying. A small team of 3 knights
and 4 sergeants huddled into two towers gather swords and shields in a
haste to get off the battlements. Horns sound from nearby towers,
signaling a breach into the enceinte, alerting fellow knights of the
danger.
"Saddle those horses! Sergeants, hurry, give him a hand,
jump to it lads!" the leading knight of the small company, a man named Gérard has a broad frame, with muscular
limbs, dark brown sweat covered hair hanging to his shoulders. His dark
eyed stair makes even the higher ranking knights avert their gaze, he is
however, inexperienced in siege warfare due to his youthful age.
"Sir,
the horses are ready, what next?” the youngest of the sergeants asks.
“Mount
up, and draw your swords!” the three knights jump gracefully onto their
lean warhorses, whilst the sergeants and the groom mount onto palfreys.
“Where
do we join the front line, sir?” inquired another of the sergeants. One
of the two other knights strains his neck to see behind him.
“We are
the front line.”
“Come on men, Charge!”
The small company of 8
rides forth to engage the heavily clad attackers before them, meeting
in a clash of blades. Face to face, with the heartless monsters,
whirling swords and prayers upon the foes before them. Within seconds
the groom and two sergeants are dismounted by the initial clash, being
hurtled to the dusty ground. The dismounted run for the cover of an
intact wine merchant’s house, being struck down with javelins from a
fast approaching infantry unit. Gérard’s
surcoat is sprayed with blood, his left arm broken and severed where
his shield crumpled under the strain of a two handed sword. The knights
swing their weapons at the attackers, arcing it down upon their steeds,
fighting with passion, and their oaths of loyalty to the Grand Master,
and the all seeing God. Another sergeant disappears from sight, his
white mare collapsing on top of him.
“Retreat! Fall back to the Temple!” Gérard’s shout spurs on the attackers, swinging their
swords and maces in a frenzy to prevent them from running. The remaining
four dig their knees into the horse’s sides, slapping their flanks with
the blunt of the blade. The sound of the hooves echo up the cobbled
road, towards the Temple, encircled in stone walls, and towers with
golden lions emblazoned upon them. Sharp shards of masonry shower the
street, the closest tower of the preceptory collapses onto the road,
blocking the path.
“The path is blocked! Sir, what shall we do? We
are surrounded!” the remaining sergeant, just aged 15 is a small child,
with long golden hair, caked in blood, and sweat sitting upon a small
black palfrey, struggling under the weight.
“Two choices, stand,
fight and die valiantly in the name of God, or clamber over the rubble
and lose our dignity with a small chance of surviving?”