Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king - Chapter 319

Chapter 319: Treachery Chapter 319: Treachery As the next day dawned it marked the ninth assault on the small castle, and the peasant prepared themselves for yet another grueling attempt to breach the walls.  The sun cast its early rays over the battlefield, illuminating the makeshift ladders leaning precariously against the weathered stone ramparts.

Shouts began to rise as they formed into disorganized but determined clusters.

The defenders atop the walls were already in position, their eyes bloodshot from days without proper rest.

They gripped their weapons tightly, each man knowing that they did not have much fight in them.  For more than a week they had been fighting , repelling attack during the day while trying to take as much sleep as possible during the night, only to be weakened by the sound of horns on men on the wall that discovered a small assault being made in the dark.

”Those bastards are going to try again” A weary soldier commented to another who simply nodded  ”How much do you reckon until they actually manage to get inside?”The second asked ignoring the fact that what he had just said could be interpreted as self-sabotage,but at that moment everybody was too tired too care.

”Not much, I have made my peace long ago.

I just went to the priest yesterday , you should have done the same.” The men on the wall watched tiredly as the rebel started their attack , a sea of worn faces like theirs, carrying their ladders on shoulders and slinging stones with desperate fervor.

Their war cries mixed with the dull thud of projectiles striking the castle walls, as both sides started shooting at each other from the distance.  Finally ladders thumped against the stone, clattering as they were hoisted upward by teams of rebels under a storm of arrows and rocks from the defenders above.

The more daring climbers scrambled up, shields held awkwardly overhead, though some lost their grip and fell screaming to the earth below, cut down by blades or struck by defensive missiles.

The attackers pressed on, their resolve unbroken despite the carnage.

Sweat and blood slicked their hands as they pushed forward, attempting to scale the walls.

Above, the defenders fought with the energy of cornered animals, knowing they only had themselves that they could trust.

The battle was fierce and unrelenting, each side throwing all they had into the fray.

For the attackers, it was desperation; for the defenders, survival.

As the sun climbed higher, its light gleamed off blades and bloodied stone, illuminating a struggle neither side could afford to lose.

 One rebel, his tunic soaked with sweat and blood, lunged at a defender with a crude axe.

The defender parried with his shield, stepping back before driving his sword onto the rebel’s throat with a trust , sending him tumbling backward off the battlements.

Nearby, a desperate attacker grappled with a defender.

The defender snarled, shoving the attacker back before thrusting his spear onto the rebel’s gut, causing him to scream and fell, blood pooling beneath him.

As the day went on as it usually did, with savage fights going one on the walls, suddenly, a voice broke through the chaos saying something that ringoverated more to any man atop the wall than an entire week of rest could have done.

“Dust!

Dust on the horizon!”  The defenders, weary and battered, turned their heads in unison, peering into the distance.

At first, it was just a faint smudge on the skyline, but as the seconds passed, the outline of a mounted force became clear.

A ripple of excitement spread through the garrison.

“It’s the prince’s cavalry!” Someone shouted ”We are saved !”.

A wave of cheers erupted from the defenders.

Men raised their swords to the sky , their exhaustion momentarily forgotten as hope surged through them like a flood.

As the cavalry drew closer the cheers grew louder.

The thunder of hooves echoed across the battlefield, shaking the earth and the resolve of the attackers.

On the ground, the attackers faltered.

Those nearest the walls turned, their eyes wide with fear as they caught sight of the incoming cavalry.

A murmur spread through their ranks, followed by panicked shouts.  Without waiting for contact, the attackers broke.

First in small groups, then en masse, they abandoned the ladders and siege equipment, fleeing toward their camp.

The defenders on the walls watched, their cheers turning to victorious roars as they saw their enemies rout.

The cavalry continued to advance, their polished armor glinting in the sunlight, a promise of death to any who dared stand their ground.

By the time they reached the walls, the field below was already littered with abandoned weapons and scattered rebels fleeing in every direction, the remnants of a broken assault.

The sixty men-strong force rode ahead , their chaimail making them appear much bigger than bears .

At the forefront was a man with an imposing presence, his axe resting easily on his shoulder.

His curly blonde hair tumbled wildly across his face, half-concealing piercing blue eyes that surveyed the castle with a chilling calm.

As they neared the gate, he raised his voice, a commanding shout that echoed off the castle walls: “Open the gate!

Welcome the prince’s vanguard!The prince’s relief is coming!” The castle’s defenders, still riding high on the wave of their perceived victory, rushed to comply.

The garrison commander barked orders eagerly, his voice thick with relief.

“Open the gate!

Let them in!” He descended the stone stairs at a brisk pace, anticipation brightening his features.

The gate groaned as it lowered, and the cavalry entered, their horses snorting and stamping, their riders silent .

The garrison commander stood at the base of the gatehouse, bowing deeply in gratitude.

“You have our thanks for aiding us in our hour of need,” he said earnestly.

The blonde-haired leader moved his horse closer to the man, the captain trembled thinking that he was about to be honored for a job well done.

He had after all kept the castle standing under a week-long assault of a force three times their size.

His men did the opposite and instead dismounted , silent and efficient as they slid from their saddles.

Feeling the presence of the knight above him, the captain started ”I-” -Swick- Without a word, however the knight swung his axe .

The blade cleaved into the commander’s skull with a sickening crunch, splitting it cleanly in two.

Blood sprayed as the commander’s lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

The people around watched in confusion for half a second, not comprehending what was happening, nor moving nor screaming.

.  The leader’s horse suddendly reared, and he spurred it forward, charging deeper into the castle courtyard.

His men, now on foot, moved quickly to seize control of the gate.

They drew swords and axes, striking down the defenders who were woke from their reverie The startled cries of “Enemies!

Enemies within the walls!” finally rose as the garrison realized the horrifying betrayal.

Chaos erupted as the defenders scrambled to react, but the surprise was complete.

The assailants overpowered those nearest to the gatehouse, cutting them down with ruthless efficiency as they kept the gate open.

One of the attackers away from combat pulled a curved horn from his belt.

With ease, he raised it to his lips and blew a long, resonant note that echoed across the castle courtyard and over the surrounding fields.

The mournful sound carried to the rebel camp, where men who had hid in their tents since morning, finally burst into action.

”Get to the castle!The gate is open” one shouted as he lead the charge toward the castle ”Avenge our comrades” another shouted as he followed, several other cries following behind.

”Kill the bastards”  ”Take the fucking castle!” Weapons clanged as they were drawn from makeshift racks and scabbards, and a surge of rebels poured forth, armed with axes, spears, and maces.

Their eyes gleamed with excitement as they charged toward the now-lowered gate, their war cries rising like a deafening roar.

Inside the castle, the garrison was thrown into utter chaos.

Men who had moments before been celebrating their salvation now found themselves embroiled in desperate combat.

A young defender, his face pale with fear, blocked a slash from an attacker’s axe with his shield, the impact reverberating through his arm.

He pushed back with a cry, driving his blade into the enemy’s exposed side, wounding him .

Before he could rejoice however another rebel rushed him from the flank, bringing a mace crashing down onto his helmet and sending him crumpling to the ground.

At the main gate, the rebels flooded in.

One defender tried to slam the gate shut, but a rebel spear pierced his side, dropping him instantly.

The gates swung wide, inviting the full tide of insurgents.

Amid the clamor, the man with the curly blonde hair that fell the commander, stood tall on his horse.

His axe now red with blood stood calmly on his shoulder.

The castle’s inner walls turned into a brutal melee.

Defenders fought desperately in narrow corridors, their backs to the stone as they held their ground.

Rebels met them with raw aggression, axes battering shields and spears thrusting past guard positions.

With a grim sense of satisfaction, the man reached up and removed his helmet, shaking free his blonde , sweat-matted hair.  He tugged the reins, turning his horse in a wide arc to face the now bloodied and battered gate.

Behind him, rebels flooded into the castle, their triumphant cries echoing off the stone walls as they claimed their prize.

 He raised his voice, firm and commanding, addressing the chaos around him.

“Marcus!” he shouted, his tone sharp enough to cut through the din of victory.

Marcus appeared moments later, his own blade sheathed, and a look of satisfaction still lingering on his face.

He approached Lucius with steady steps, his boots crunching against the blood-slicked stones of the courtyard.

Lucius gestured toward the rebels swarming the castle, their shouts echoing as they scavenged anything of worth and hunted down the last of the defenders.

His expression was as impassive as his tone.

“Our part’s done,” he said, his voice calm but edged with finality.

“This place belongs to them now.

Let them have their fun.

We’ve played our role.” Marcus glanced at the scene, raising an eyebrow as he watched a rebel kick down a door before disappearing inside.

“You’re sure?

No interest in joining the feast?

There’s plenty to go around-maybe a trinket or two to keep things lively?” Lucius’s lips moved into a sneer as he touched the haft of his axe.

“We are above that, we will be rewarded handsomely at the end of it. No use taking things of no value; you shouldn’t let greed dictate your actions especially given our circumstances.

” ”Yes, yes sire!” Marcus groaned as he cracked his neck, mounting on a nearby pack-horse and following his friend closely behind.

The castle was now in the hands of the rebel, conquered not by sword or strenght of arms, but through the treachery of a man who cared not one bit about both sides.

His only task being to stoke the flame of chaos with every action that he could muster, no matter how much blood and cadavers would be required for that.