struck by opposing Lianese soldiers, but each time the Lianese were repulsed, although one encounter had hung in the balance until Rhocas had gathered his talents and sent a jet of flame across the front lines. Their moral broken, the Lianese tried to flee, and were slain by the charging Veryan forces.
Each skirmish brought Rhocas, Rhyfelwyr and their forces closer to the warehouses, and now they could see the bulky shapes only a few streets away, promising food and sustenance for weeks to come. Calling his troops to rally, Rhyfelwyr trotted round a corner to find himself in a market square, still filled with the stands and stalls of hawkers. Cautious for an ambush, he gestured left and right, sending Taflen and Gwyth to scout through the remains. The other soldiers tucked themselves in tightly, forming a small square of shields at the edge of the open area.
Taflen advanced cautiously, his sword and shield at the ready, eyes as much on the roofs around him as they were on possible foes hidden behind the stalls. Gwyth strode forward, openly challenging any who would dare to come stand with him, using his shield to swipe stands aside. After both had passed through two-thirds of the square, they glanced at one another, then nodded at Rhyfelwyr. The sergeant led his forces forward at a steady pace, until he glanced upwards and saw Llofruddiwr standing on the building opposite, waving and pointing down at the street below. The sergeant cursed, then shouted. “Square, form a square! Pull the stands in as barricades! Now!”
The Veryan soldiers leapt to obey, with Gwyth picking up two stands at a time and stacking them into a deep wall in the direction that Llofruddiwr had gestured. Within moments there was a shielded square of Veryan forces, wrapped around by an outer barrier of wooden stalls and market detritus. As they finished readying themselves, Lianese forces poured from two streets into the market. Combined, the forces outnumbered the Veryans four to one, and Rhyfelwyr steeled himself for what was to come. Leaning over, he tapped Rhocas on the shoulder. “Don’t bother using your magic until we’re engaged. Otherwise, you’ll be a pincushion.” Turning to bellow to the soldiers around him, the sergeant cried out orders for the defence. “Grab spheres! Meet their charge at five paces! Then swords!” The soldiers readied, their faces showing the strain of half a day fighting in the alleys of Horaim. Here and there, a shield or a sword sagged towards the ground, but their comrades would jostle the arm back to its proper place.
A trumpet rang out from within the Lianese, and Locsyn saw javelins being readied. His arm pained him greatly, but he had been able to sling his shield from his shoulder and strap it to his upper arm. He could barely move it, but it protected half his body. Wordlessly, he took the sphere of glass that Rhocas proffered him and tucked it away in his belt pouch. A second trumpet sounded, and Locsyn ducked down as the Lianese assault began and the javelins flew overhead. Most were deflected away, caught in the barrier or glancing off shields, but a few pierced through, opening small holes in the Veryan forces. Men stepped forward to fill the gaps, leaving an already thin line even thinner. Soon, Locysn knew he would be called to step into the line, and do the best he could with but one arm.
As the Lianese soldiers reached five paces from the barricade, Rhyfelwyr cried “Throw!”, and the glass spheres were hurled, smashing into the faces and shields of their foe, shattering into clouds of abrasive shards and cutting splinters. The front lines of the assault collapsed, blinded Lianese soldiers crumpling to the ground with bloodied faces. Those behind tripped and fell, leaving the attack a ruin before it reached the barriers.
The Veryan forces watched as the Lianese withdrew, pulling back to gather against the edges of the market, building courage for another thrust. Rhyfelwyr wished they had
Each skirmish brought Rhocas, Rhyfelwyr and their forces closer to the warehouses, and now they could see the bulky shapes only a few streets away, promising food and sustenance for weeks to come. Calling his troops to rally, Rhyfelwyr trotted round a corner to find himself in a market square, still filled with the stands and stalls of hawkers. Cautious for an ambush, he gestured left and right, sending Taflen and Gwyth to scout through the remains. The other soldiers tucked themselves in tightly, forming a small square of shields at the edge of the open area.
Taflen advanced cautiously, his sword and shield at the ready, eyes as much on the roofs around him as they were on possible foes hidden behind the stalls. Gwyth strode forward, openly challenging any who would dare to come stand with him, using his shield to swipe stands aside. After both had passed through two-thirds of the square, they glanced at one another, then nodded at Rhyfelwyr. The sergeant led his forces forward at a steady pace, until he glanced upwards and saw Llofruddiwr standing on the building opposite, waving and pointing down at the street below. The sergeant cursed, then shouted. “Square, form a square! Pull the stands in as barricades! Now!”
The Veryan soldiers leapt to obey, with Gwyth picking up two stands at a time and stacking them into a deep wall in the direction that Llofruddiwr had gestured. Within moments there was a shielded square of Veryan forces, wrapped around by an outer barrier of wooden stalls and market detritus. As they finished readying themselves, Lianese forces poured from two streets into the market. Combined, the forces outnumbered the Veryans four to one, and Rhyfelwyr steeled himself for what was to come. Leaning over, he tapped Rhocas on the shoulder. “Don’t bother using your magic until we’re engaged. Otherwise, you’ll be a pincushion.” Turning to bellow to the soldiers around him, the sergeant cried out orders for the defence. “Grab spheres! Meet their charge at five paces! Then swords!” The soldiers readied, their faces showing the strain of half a day fighting in the alleys of Horaim. Here and there, a shield or a sword sagged towards the ground, but their comrades would jostle the arm back to its proper place.
A trumpet rang out from within the Lianese, and Locsyn saw javelins being readied. His arm pained him greatly, but he had been able to sling his shield from his shoulder and strap it to his upper arm. He could barely move it, but it protected half his body. Wordlessly, he took the sphere of glass that Rhocas proffered him and tucked it away in his belt pouch. A second trumpet sounded, and Locsyn ducked down as the Lianese assault began and the javelins flew overhead. Most were deflected away, caught in the barrier or glancing off shields, but a few pierced through, opening small holes in the Veryan forces. Men stepped forward to fill the gaps, leaving an already thin line even thinner. Soon, Locysn knew he would be called to step into the line, and do the best he could with but one arm.
As the Lianese soldiers reached five paces from the barricade, Rhyfelwyr cried “Throw!”, and the glass spheres were hurled, smashing into the faces and shields of their foe, shattering into clouds of abrasive shards and cutting splinters. The front lines of the assault collapsed, blinded Lianese soldiers crumpling to the ground with bloodied faces. Those behind tripped and fell, leaving the attack a ruin before it reached the barriers.
The Veryan forces watched as the Lianese withdrew, pulling back to gather against the edges of the market, building courage for another thrust. Rhyfelwyr wished they had
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