Thelvyn, there wasn't much he could do.
*****
In the city of Braastar, matters had long since taken a turn for the worse. The bells of the city had begun to ring early that morning, signaling an attack, and the word quickly went through the streets that an invading army had been spotted several miles to the east. The people of the city began preparing for an attack, sealing the heavy shutters of their windows and quickly filling buckets and barrels with water in anticipation of damage caused by dragonfire. Soldiers strapped on their armor and collected their weapons, hurrying to defend the east wall.
The first attack came only minutes later, and in a way unlike anything the people of Braastar could have anticipated. Everyone of Flaemish descent became aware of some odd presence forcing itself upon their minds. Most found the sensation vaguely uncomfortable and compelling, speaking to them in a voice that was too soft and distant to understand. But to some, the words were clearer, so that they understood yet could not easily refuse the commands spoken to them by the mysterious voice. Pain grew steadily more intense with each passing minute until some people could no longer resist the voice's will. Others endured the pain, as if they were being
punished for fighting for the possession of their own minds.
Even so, there were still many people in Braastar who were willing to try to defend their city. One such defender was Mayor Kervaal. Upon first hearing news of the impending attack, he hurried through the chaos of the streets of his city, desperate to find soldiers to man the east gate. The confusion in the stricken city made it impossible to hail a carriage, and he found it faster to go on foot. The strange voice calling to him inside his mind made it difficult for him to think clearly, but he knew that somehow he had to reach the main garrison and find the captain of the city guard. With any luck, the garrison was already on its way to the east gate, but the mayor had to be certain.
"Look! It's the mayor!"
He stopped and turned abruptly toward the caller, thinking that perhaps it was someone who could help who had found him. Then he hesitated, sensing trouble. Several yards away, a young man was staring at him through the confusion in the crowded street. The face was one that the mayor did not recognize, although he could tell from the person's mad stare that he had fallen under the influence of the mysterious voice.
As the young man stood and pointed like a hound flushing its prey, a couple of his companions turned and stared as well. They, too, had the look of madness about their eyes. Then they slowly began to advance. Mayor Kervaal drew the sword that he had belted on hastily; he doubted his ability to outrun these young pups, so it seemed wisest to stand and fight. The Flaem were not in the habit of wearing heavy weapons such as swords. These three carried nothing more than a couple of knives and a heavy stick that could be used as a club. The mayor had been a soldier in his younger days, although he hadn't used a sword in a real fight in almost two decades.-Still, his past training and the fact that he had a real blade gave him some advantage.
People began clearing the street, wanting no part of a fight. The mayor realized, with some misgivings, that he was going to be on his own in this encounter. Suddenly one of the young attackers shouted a battle cry and rushed forward, holding his knife out before him. It was a bold but utterly foolish tactic. Kervaal had one tense moment as he feinted to one side and then darted away from his opponent's naive attack, then placed the point of his sword firmly against his attacker's shoulder, just enough to penetrate his skin, to force him to drop his knife. The young man cried out, seemingly more in fury than in pain, but his cry turned to one of astonishment as the people in the crowd swarmed over him and pulled him down now that he was disarmed and wounded.
Now the remaining pair of attackers began to move in, but with far greater caution after they had witnessed the fate of their companion. They seemed to sense that they were at a disadvantage with only a knife and a small club between them. But the mayor could not count a victory just yet. His long, two-edged sword was not a proper weapon for taking on two widely spaced opponents, and his older muscles did not respond as fast as they would have in former days.
The young attacker with the knife suddenly lunged at him, and the mayor drew back quickly from the glinting point of the small blade. He responded by raising his sword and driving it directly at the knife-wielder, forcing the young assailant backward so quickly that he almost tripped and fell. The mayor knew he was exposing his back to the man with the club, and he could hear him advancing from behind. But the man to his rear had forgotten that a hostile crowd was behind him; someone tripped him from behind, and he went down. That was just what Kervaal had hoped for. He continued to force the last attacker backward until he finally lost his balance and fell.
Leaving his attackers to be dealt with by the crowd, Mayor Kervaal sheathed his sword and then stood for a long moment leaning against the wall of a building to catch his breath. In spite of the attack, he was encouraged about one thing. Most of the people of Braastar still retained command of their will, and in spite of the stress of fighting for possession of their own minds, they were still able to defend themselves. He might save his city yet. Suddenly he heard the ring of heavy boots on the cobblestones and turned to see the crowd parting to allow the passage of the city garrison. The soldiers stopped, and the captain of the city guard hurried over to him.
"Mayor Kervaal, are you all right?" the captain asked.
"I'm fine," the mayor insisted. "I was just coming to make certain that you were taking the garrison to defend the east gate. Do you have all of your soldiers?"
"Only those I could find," the captain answered. "Some were too distracted by the voice to be of any use in a fight, and a few have already disappeared. I was hoping the wizards could protect us, but they seem to have fallen victim to this magic as well. What is happening to us, anyway?"
"It must be the gemstone dragons," the mayor said ruefully. "Come on. We have to secure the east gate and hope we can hold on until the Dragonking can get here."
The mayor strode along beside the captain of the guard as they led the company of soldiers through the streets. It gave the mayor a chance for a quick assessment of the condition of the city. In spite of the apparent chaos, many people of Braastar were preparing their homes and shops for battle. Windows were tightly shuttered and doors were being locked and boarded; wooden roofs were being drenched with water, and every container that could be found was being filled with water that might be needed to fight fires started by the invaders. The mayor was reminded of the previous summer, when the cities and towns of the Highlands had to be prepared for the possibility of attack by dragons. The irony was that only the dragons could save Braastar now.
The captain of the guard brought his troops to a halt the moment they came within sight of the east gate, gesturing for his men to remain quiet. A battle was already being fought here; the small gate garrison was quickly being overwhelmed by a crowd of people from the city itself, men of all ages as well as women and even children. Already they had the gate partway open and were attacking the hinges and locks, trying to damage anything they could in at attempt to prevent the gate from being secured. At least for the moment, the gate still seemed to be intact, mostly because this crowd lacked the heavy tools or weapons needed to destroy such massive metal parts.