Raiders From the East

His head smashed into the low wooden doorpost of the Flagon Inn as he was leaving. All eyes were on him as he rubbed his head, trying to suppress the throbbing pain. He noticed the awkward glances he was receiving and smiled.

“Ouch!” he said, amusingly.

Several men laughed as they returned their attention to their gambling. A serving girl smiled and resumed her duties. The innkeeper nodded sympathetically.

“Watch yer head ther’ mister,” he said, “it’s a bit low.”

Alan smiled as he closed the door behind him and started down the dirt street, his head still throbbing. He passed several people heading for the inn. It was a busy place he thought. Especially in the early hours of the day. They always had a pot of stew or a leg of lamb that would satisfy any man’s hunger.

Alan headed for the training grounds. He would be working with a few of his men on sword combat. Their small city didn’t have many trained soldiers, except for those that he taught.

His men were there practicing as they awaited his arrival. They greeted him, then resumed their positions. He demonstrated a new maneuver with the sword. He then observed as they applied it to their previous training.

The blunted swords rang all morning as the trainees attacked, blocked, and counter-attacked. As soon as the sun was directly above them, the practice was over. Grabbing his bow, Alan started for the city gates.

The best place for archery practice was outside the city. No need to accidentally hit an innocent bystander inside the city. He enjoyed the woods more anyhow. But, as he reached the wooden walls of the city, a horseman came galloping through the gates. He pulled his steed to a halt. He didn’t bother dismounting.

“Sir Alan,” he began, out of breath “their coming!”

“Who?” He asked.

“Raiders! From the East!"

“What do they want?”

There was a moment’s silence. “To raid us, I guess,” observed the rider.

"Huh? Oh, yeah. Alert the city officials."

“Yes sir.”

The horse’s hoofs thudded on the ground as the horse galloped through the street, people scrambling out of the way.

Alan turned ‘round, heading for the barracks. This was the time that he had been training his men for. And he hoped that they’d prove worthy.

Two hours passed since the first sitting of the raiders. The city had been fortified to the best of its abilities. The walls were manned by the seventy men-at-arms and the thirty-odd archers.

The raiders had formed a line of warriors, just outside the forest edge. Far enough to ensure that arrows were not a threat.

“What are they doing out there?” asked William. A well-trusted archer who Alan could always rely on.

“How should I know?” he said with mock disgust, “Feel free to go ask ‘em.”

“Ha, only if you’ll come with me.”

“Ah no. Your the one who is so anxious.”

“Not Anxious, just, curious.”

“Same thing," Alan said mater-a-factly.

William silently mouthed the words “Is not” but made sure Alan wasn’t looking.

They both stood staring at the enemy wondering what would happen next.

“Do you think they will take the city?” asked a young soldier standing next to William.

“Na,” Started Will, “they don’t stand a chance. Look at ‘em out there. They don’t know the first thing about fight’n.”

The young lad didn’t seem convinced. He stood glaring at the forest edge.

“Ah come on Al. Tell him there’s nothin’ to fret about.”

Alan leaned forward, looking around William. “Well, we haven’t had to face a threat like this before. This is the time to use all that you’ve been taught and use it well. Or else,” he paused before continuing, “we’ll all end up lying on the ground with our throats slit.”

The young man swallowed hard and nodded. William heaved a sigh and nodded as well.

“Oh come on. It’s not the end of the world. No need to get all huffy puffy,” put in a passing serving boy who was bringing water to the men.

William whirled around and gave him a playful, kick in the pants. Then realizing that he had water, ran out after him, longing to quench his thirst.

Everyone who had witnessed the scene busted out laughing.

It was nice, thought Alan, to have a local comedian to cheer up everyone. Despite his tendency to make a fool of himself, he was an excellent marksman with a bow and a good soldier to have watching your back.

Another hour or two past and yet, the raiders were still waiting. They had now started fires and were cooking what smelled like stew. Somehow Alan knew that they should be using this precious time sparingly. But there was nothing that he could do that would make a difference.

There wasn’t any way for them to get help. Even if they were able to get a messenger past the enemy, it probably wouldn’t amount to much. Even if the nearest city did send troops, it would be too late. A fifty-mile march would take more than two days. By that time they would surely be defeated.

All he could do was position his men in the best positions possible. He put men on all sides of the city walls. Although the majority was facing the oncoming enemy. If he had more men he would have fortified the entire city with plenty of men. But the circumstances called for risks.

He placed the locals, who weren’t official soldiers, on the undermanned walls. It was better than no men at all. However, if they were counter-attacked from behind, they would be at a major disadvantage.

“Why don’t they just attack?” asked one of the soldiers.

“Yeah,” started William, “I think I’d fare better fighting a man than facing this dreadful waiting.”

Several men chuckled in agreement. “I think they are waiting until they get their food,” put in an older man, “I get the impression that they’d rather fight on a full stomach!” He stated with a stout laugh.

The ranks of men boomed with laughter.

How could men facing potential death be so eager to laugh and make jolly? Perhaps it helped put their minds at ease, or maybe it was a way of getting ready for what awaited. Whatever the cause, whatever the reason, they were laughing and having a good time.

“Or maybe they’re…”

The still air was disrupted by a blaring horn near the forest. A battle horn. It meant something.

The enemy ranks formed quickly. The rattling of swords and equipment was audible, even from such a distance.

There was another horn blast, and the enemy began to advance. Suddenly, another rank of warriors appeared from the forest, then another. They had kept their true numbers hid until now. Alan knew that the morale of the men had dropped slightly.

The raiders advanced steadily. He estimated two-hundred fit and fighting men. He judged the distance between the city and the advancing army.

Taking an arrow from his quiver, he nocked it on the string, singled out a single man in the middle of the group, pulled back, and loosed.

The arrow arced across the sky; a blur, as it sped towards its target. He was rewarded by a cry of pain that echoed across the, to be battlefield. He had hit something. They were in range!

“Archers!” he shouted, “Let loose!”

Showers of arrows rained down upon the enemy. One after another. An ever-present threat. A never-ending fear that would discourage those advancing.

Soon, the raiders had crossed more than half of the field. Perhaps an eighth of them were lying on the battlefield. Stuck with a mortal shaft.

A heavy log, with rope handles, was brought to the city gates. They smashed it into the gates time after time. Each time the gates shuttered.

“Archers,” Alan shouted over the chaos, “aim for those on the battering ram!”

Arrows took out a dozen or more men, causing the heavy log to drop to the ground. The log was later lifted, reaping havoc on the gate once more. More arrows rained down on them.

Men climbed up crude, wooden ladders, making their way over the walls. Alan shot an arrow through the first man, who crashed onto the ground, landing on his own men. The next man on the ladder hesitated, wondering if he would meet the same fate. William grabbed the top of the ladder and pushed it off the wall.

The log crashed into the gates again.

The ladder was back on the wall within seconds. Warriors clung onto each rung; heavying themselves up.

Grabbing a battle-ax, that had been dropped by a raider, Alan smashed the top rung of the ladder.

William pushed the ladder down again. The ladder was turned around so that the missing rung was near the bottom.

Alan made an out-witted gesture with his hand. He hadn’t thought of them just switching it around. He put an arrow in the man who had had the idea.

“Shoot those who are on the ladder,” William shouted.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?”

“Quite your complaining.”

Three of the five men climbing the ladder fell to the ground, stuck with an arrow. William grabbed the ladder and turned it over, dumping the remaining men. He then hauled the empty ladder up and over the wall, throwing it down below, inside the city embattlements.

“Climb the wall now!” shouted William.

“I guess you can be useful at times,” Alan said, staring in amazement.

“Yeah, at times.”

There was a loud crack as the gates gave way. Then a bang as they smashed onto the ground.

“Archers! The gates!”

He loosed an arrow into the flooding mass of warriors who swarmed through the opened gates. He had positioned forty of his best men to guard the gates, in case they were breached.

A volley of arrows met the advancing men, bringing down over a dozen. Steel rang on steel as the two foes made contact. The raiders gained ground for the first few seconds. Alan feared that the frail line would break. But instead they began to make headway; pushing the attackers slowly back.

Surprised by the unexpected success, Alan and the other archers continued to rain arrows down from the embattlements. He knew that the forty men down there couldn’t hold on forever. He had to do something.

William threw down another ladder that he had wrenched from the wall. The heavy oak wood crashed into several men, sending them sprawling.

Alan looked at him briefly, “Keep ‘em coming Will.”

He reached for another arrow. His hand didn’t find anything in his quiver.

“I knew I was running out,” he murmured under his breath.

Throwing down his bow he drew his sword. He glanced at William, who was fighting two men who had made it over the wall. Alan darted forward, thrusting his sword through the first. William took care of the other.

“I’m going in,” shouted Alan, “they need help down there.”

“I’ll keep ‘em off the wall,” said William, “Good luck.”

“It’ll take more than luck,” he said as he descended the steps to the ground.

He picked up a wooden shield that had been dropped as he charged into battle. He caught a blow from an ax on his sheild, then thrust his sword at the man, who crumpled to the ground.

Ducking a sword, he rammed his shield into a man. Then blocked another sword with his own. Keeping his shield poised in front of him as best he could, he traded blows with the enemy.

He parried, then attacked. Ducked and counter-attacked. Charged, only to retreat.

He could feel his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought on. He could hear his fellow comrades breathing the same way. The enemy was tiring as well. But there were more of them. Lots more.

Dodging a sword, he swung at a large raider, missing him by an inch. A young lad, seeing his chance, darted in and sliced the man's leg. The man fell to the ground grasping his leg. Alan finished him off.

He and the lad continued fighting this way. Alan, a trained warrior, would attack a man; leaving him open for the lad to get a blow in. Alan could then put him out of commission.

An ax swung at Alan's head. Jumping back, he avoided the deadly blow. Hiding behind his shield, he advanced. He felt his arm give as the axe came down on the shield. Then, quick as lighting, the lad lunged forward, stabbing the man in the stomach.

The axeman, big as an ox, swung his ax at the boy despite the wound. The back end of the ax sent the lad hurling back. Crashing to the ground.

Filled with rage, Alan advanced once more, his shield raised. The ax splintered the wood as it smashed into the shield. Ignoring his throbbing arm, he dashed forward, taking a chunk out of the mans arm with his sword. He then smashed the pommel into the man's face. The man fell to the ground.

Soon his lines began to give ground. Little by little the raiders moved farther into the city. Then, in a sudden burst, his lines gave way! Raiders surrounded him on every side as he fought for his life.

He managed to get the upper hand with the first two, but the other men were giving him some serious trouble. A metal blade sliced through his cloth armor and cut deep into his arm. Warm liquid ran down the length of his arm.

A shield hit him in the face, throwing him back a yard or so. Blood blurred his vision as he regained his feat.

It was evident that they were loosing the battle. He was grateful that they had sent the women and children, along with a few young men, down river. The raiders had been polite enough to give them time to do so. Unintentionally of course.

He glanced down at his arm. Deciding to ignore it, he swung his sword round experimentally. His thoughts lingered on Aliss as he made his last stand; taking two men on at once.

He heard William shouting “Look out Al!”

He ducked instinctively. A sword flashed viciously over his head. Alan dashed forward, slashing the man's legs.

A boot caught him in the ribs. Grabbing the boot, he drove himself forward, driving the man into the dirt. He rolled to the side, a sword missing him by an inch. Having dropped his sword he drew his small dagger from his belt.

He could hear William shouting something at him as he charged. Blocking a sword with his dagger, he grabbed the man's wrist, driving his shoulder into the man's chest. A sword caught him on the other arm.

He turned on the next man, the dagger still in hand. Armed with an ax, his opponent swung at him. He managed to dodge the first. But the second hit him in the chest; sending him to the ground. He struggled to get up but fell to the ground.

He could see William chopping and slashing at everyone in his path. He knelt beside him, putting his hand on his chest.

“Alan, Alan. Just hang on,” He hesitated a second, “You’ll be fine.”

Sword poised, William charged the raiders. The few men who were left rallied behind him. Alan knew it was their last stand.