“I found five bodies upstairs near the Count’s apartments,” offered up Sir Aaron. “They looked much like the ones you fought down here. They were already dead though, with burns and marks all over them. We aren’t sure who dispatched them.”
After a brief exchange of descriptions, Cyhan offered his opinion, “Sounds like Mordecai, and perhaps Penny or some of the soldiers stopped them.”
“Where are they now?” asked Harold.
Dorian took up the question, “The Count had his own plans for evacuating his family. Wherever he has taken them, I sincerely doubt we need to worry about it at this point.”
“I hate to ask the question then,” said Sir Thomas, in a quiet voice, “but what is our purpose here then? There are none left to guard but soldiers and perhaps twenty or thirty of the townsfolk.”
All the knights looked at him then, and the Grandmaster of the Knights of Stone squared his shoulders as he stared back at them. Dorian waited until he was sure everyone was listening before he spoke and he made sure his voice was loud and strong when he did, “We are here, to be last. We remained so that others could escape. We were not given our strength to save ourselves, but to protect our fellow man.”
“There’s almost no one left to protect,” said Sir Edward from across the room.
“Then we’ve already won the best part of this fight, but so long as there is even one man, woman, or child remaining, our fight is not done. Do any of you feel differently?” questioned Dorian bluntly.
Sir Edward had always been a bit rough around the edges but he was a solid knight through and through. “Nah, you know better than that, Your Lordship. I just thought Sir Thomas had a good point. We aren’t really fighting to protect very many people, now that most are gone.”
“And what if all of them were gone?” asked Cyhan suddenly.
Sir Edward smiled, “Then I’d fight just to be stubborn. I didn’t take the oath to die old and in my bed.” A chorus of laughs and words of agreement went up among the knights at that remark.
“They’re on the move. I see men running toward us now, from the courtyard gate,” announced Sir William from the doorway.
“Close the door,” commanded Sir Dorian, preparing to order them into defensive positions. His command was interrupted by a deafening noise, followed by stone and dust falling to the ground outside.
The sound was so unexpected that everyone stood still for a second, unable to comprehend the source of the cacophony. Harold was quickest to recover, but his speed was almost his undoing. Leaning out, he looked up to find the source of the sound. Only Cyhan’s good sense saved his life, for he hauled the younger knight back just as a colossal piece of stone masonry passed through the area where Harold’s uncovered head had been but a second before. It crashed to the ground sending shards and splinters of stone flying in all directions.
“Son of a bitch!” yelped Harold, in a voice that was half curse and half startled cry.
“How did they get siege weapons this close so quickly?” said Cyhan, ignoring Harold’s yell.
Dorian grunted, running his hand over his short beard, “I don’t think it was a siege weapon. I’d put my bets on Karenth. He’s following behind his boys there.” He pointed to indicate the well-dressed man following the charging invaders. “Not much point in barring the door, leave it open,” he added. Raising his voice, he began barking orders, “Step away from the doors! Weapons out! One of the gods is with ‘em, so it’s time to die… anyone need to take a piss first?!”
Only tense laughter answered him as they moved back from the entrance, a nearly ten foot wide opening framed by solid stone walls. The hallway that led into the castle was over thirty feet in length, before reaching the doorway that led into the great hall, where meals and most large events were held. Two doorways on either side of the entry hall led into other parts of the castle. The first two doors, a few feet in on the right and left sides led to small rooms; the one on the left being the chamberlain, Peter Tucker’s office. The one on the right led to a foyer that had been repurposed as a cloak room. The next two doors led into hallways that ran on either side of the great hall, connecting it to various servants’ quarters, the kitchens, guard rooms, and the corner tower stairs.
They had only scant seconds before the enemy would be upon them, as Dorian bellowed out positions, “Cyhan, Jeffrey, take the chamberlain’s office to the left, Harold and Brian, take the cloak room! Grant, Egan, you’ll be in the left hall, Edward and Phillip, the right… everyone else with me!” That left Dorian standing with Sir William, Sir Thomas and Sir Aaron just inside the great hall doors, directly opposite the main outer entrance. The other eight men were located in two’s behind each of the other doors leading into the entry hall. “Wait ‘till we have them piled up in the entry before you open those doors… if you’re unsure just wait till you hear me call for flames!”
As quick as the Knights of Stone were, they barely reached their places before the first of the enemy leaped through the open entryway. Fearless, the man seemed to have no caution or instinct to preserve his own life as he ran toward the entrance to the great hall, where Dorian and three of his fellow knights stood waiting. As he approached, his eyes darted left to right, noting the lack of visible defenders to his sides, before he threw himself bodily toward the four men blocking his path.
Sir Thomas took a single step forward, lowering himself as he did to slip beneath the high swing of the attacker. His great sword came up in a reverse swing that might have lacked the power to cut, if wielded by a normal man. Sir Thomas was not however, a normal man, and neither was the enchanted blade he carried. The blade’s mystically sharp edge was driven by his enhanced strength, and its edge took the invader from groin to shoulder, cleaving bone and muscle with equal ease. The warrior was already dead, as his momentum and the upward swing of Thomas’ blade sent his bisected body over their heads… to land with a sickening thump behind them.
“You certainly haven’t lost your enthusiasm for your work,” commented Sir William, who stood beside him.
Sir Aaron felt a bit differently though, “Damnitt Thomas! Every time! Every damn time! Look at me!”
Dorian had already noticed what the other man was complaining about. While Thomas’ cut had sent blood flying in all directions, Sir Aaron had been covered in gore and the unspeakable contents of the man’s stomach, as he had flown over his head.
Thomas apologized quickly; a soft spoken man despite his deadly prowess, but Sir William had begun giggling with what some might have termed combat induced hysteria. Not for the first time, Dorian wondered if the effects of the violence they had seen over the years, had finally unhinged the man. “Don’t be so damned prissy!” chided Dorian with a half-laugh, to distract Aaron from his predicament, “We’ll all be covered in that and worse before this is over.”
“At least these are fresh,” noted Sir Aaron as he wiped some of the gore from his breastplate. “They don’t stink near so much as the shiggreth do.” Although they all agreed with that sentiment, they had no time to respond, as the main body of the attackers began to pour through the entrance.
Those that followed the first, entered without even glancing to the sides, moving in perfect coordination, they assaulted the four armored knights guarding the great hall entrance. The ones in the front attacked in pairs, lunging forward two at a time at each of the defenders and making little, if any effort, to protect themselves from the deadly blades wielded by Dorian’s brother knights. In that first rush, the knights were nearly overcome, as their foes abandoned their lives to tangle and bind the sword arms of the armored defenders.