He lost track of time, even lost track of his breath. All that mattered was blocking, bashing, thrusting, and dodging. At some point he realized he was bleeding, a shallow cut along the cheek, but he barely registered it as a problem. He heard Zlodey roaring somewhere to his left, followed by the sound of crushing plate, and the way men shouted when bone broke beneath armor. Jaros kept pace at the rear, barking orders, repositioning people, filling in gaps with whoever he could pull from the line.

And then, above it all, the shadow of another incoming boulder. Paul ducked, this time with less reflex but more fear, and the shot sailed over the wall, landing somewhere deep inside the village. All the sound that followed was pure destruction and screams of villagers who feared for their lives, some already crushed to death.

Instantly after, the wall shook again. A ladder broke under the weight of too many men, the top half collapsing onto the line below and scattering knights in every direction. Paul rolled free of the tangle and found himself face to face with the merchant’s son. His helmet was off, and his eyes could barely be recognized as awake.

“Get back to the inner wall!” Paul ordered him. “Run!”

But the boy only stared, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water.

Paul grabbed him by the collar and shoved hard, toward the gap behind the barricade. The boy ran, but not before a black iron soldier vaulted the gap and landed with his blade drawn in the boy’s path.

Paul saw the intent in the man’s stance, how he lined up the blade for a clean thrust, and time appeared to stop. He moved out of habit and into something like rage and instinct. Paul’s sword met the other man’s just above the hilt, then slid down and off. The soldier tried to recover, but Paul had already stepped in, catching the man’s wrist, then twisted, and drove the edge of his blade into the thin spot between the breastplate and throat.

It wasn’t a good place to die. The soldier went down hard, his limbs twitching, blood already running dark between his fingers. Paul didn’t wait to watch; he dragged the boy behind him and away from the killing floor before running back to the battle.

Back at the frontline, Zlodey stood over a pile of bodies, breathing in harsh and uneven gasps. His armor was ruined with blood and ash, and the hammer in his hands oozed with something Paul didn’t want to think about. For a moment, the enemy hesitated, maybe surprised to see so few defenders left standing.

“We’ve got one more push before we fall back,” Paul said, accepting their reality.

Zlodey grinned with his teeth pressing against each other. “Then let’s make it worth their trouble.”

They braced as the next wave hit. This one was larger, angrier, men who had seen their friends die on the wall and wanted to pay it back. Paul’s arm went numb from the force of the blows, but he kept the shield up, blocking each impact and trying to bleed off the pressure, letting his body react on its own before his mind could freeze. He caught another blade and deflected it, before using the shield’s side to break a kneecap of the attacker, then finished him with a short yet brutal thrust to the gut.

Paul glanced over his left, just in time to see the enemy’s engineers moving up a mobile ramp. It was enormous, covered with spikes and shields, and it rolled with a sick inevitability toward the main gate.

Captain Jaros was waiting. He had a fresh cut along his scalp, blood running into his right eye, but his grip on the pike never loosened. “They’ll break through in minutes.” He said. “We need to hold them at the gate for as long as we can.”

Paul nodded. “If we can buy time for the others to get out…”

“That’s all that matters.” Jaros finished. He didn’t smile, but his eyes said he meant it. This was likely the end for them, but as long as everyone else managed to escape to the west, all was fine.

“Sir, please escape with your life as well.” One of the royal knights said to him. Truth was, Jaros was an experienced and important asset to the kingdom. Losing him would be a blow to the entire force.

“Are you mad?! I refuse to abando-” He let his anger at the man show, but was cut off.

“And who will be protecting the villagers? As far as we know, bandits or any beast at all are having their way with them right now.”

The man spoke true. There was no guarantee that everyone who ran was safe. The closest town, Zakria, was a long walk away. Jaros pondered to himself, still furious at the current dilemma.

“Just go,” Paul said. “We’ll hold on as long as we can.”

“…” The captain really couldn’t see the situation as anything other than running away from the battle, but deep down, he knew he should accompany and protect the escapees.

“You two, come with me.” He ordered the king’s men, even though they technically outranked him. Before leaving, he left a message to the remaining soldiers, even though there weren’t many. “Everyone! This is the moment you protect your families. Prove to the invaders how wrong they were to come here. GIVE THEM HELL!”

The men shouted their war cries as Jaros left with the two guards. He knew those men would die, but reporting the attack personally to another Captain in the next town would make things easier to organize further defenses and put the kingdom on high alert.

Paul and Zlodey formed up with the last of the village’s fighters, twenty more men, battered and bloodied, shields already crushed and arms wrapped with bandages. The air behind them flickered orange from fires in the village, and Paul could hear, somewhere in the distance, the screams of civilians trying to escape.

He set his back against the wall, secured the strap on his shield, and waited.

The ram finally hit the large door, sending a concussion that drove the wind from Paul’s chest and set his skull ringing. The second blow broke the lower beams, and pieces shattered onto the defenders, forcing them to cover their faces.

“Brace!” Zlodey shouted. “Steady!”

The third hit broke through, and the first wave of black-iron soldiers poured in, blades drawn, the discipline of their ranks unbroken even as they trampled their own dead.

Paul lost himself in the work. There was no time for thinking, only the pattern of repeated battle. The world collapsed to noise and color, flashes of orange and red, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth, along with the stench of burning cloth filled with sweat.

At some point, Zlodey got struck in the leg, falling backward, but still took three men with him. He caught Paul’s eye as he fell, a brief flash of relief, as if to say, “At last.” He wasn’t dead, yet Paul wanted to shout, wanted to grab him and pull him up, but another wave hit, and he was forced back, step by step. Paul didn’t count the seconds of battle. He just kept moving, falling back until his heel caught on the uneven paving stones, causing him to nearly tumble.

“Stop!” A deep voice could be heard just by the gate, and Paul’s eyes widened as he took the scene in. From it, a man entered. His hair was dark with a red hue, his body slimmer than most soldiers but still manly. He was followed by a gigantic wolf, with features that sent fear through anyone who saw it. Limbs and body several times larger than possible, dark fur that let out something similar to smoke, and saliva dripping from its jaws, hungry for blood.

“General Enor.” The enemy soldiers saluted.

“Take the remaining alive. They shall be of good use.” The man ordered the attackers, and they obeyed without question.

Paul, Zlodey, and the rest of the knights got pinned down by multiple soldiers that quickly tied them up and gagged their mouths with rope. They couldn’t move or speak, fully at the enemy’s mercy. They now realized the boys had spoken true about the wolf, but it didn’t matter anymore. They were taken out the gate and into the forest where the army had first appeared, away from everyone and everything they loved.