Sons of Ymir by Alaric Longward

Author:Alaric Longward [Longward, Alaric]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781982968137
Google: WGnHuAEACAAJ
Amazon: B079KHLHP9
Publisher: Hardhill Productions
Published: 2018-04-14T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

That night, very few people slept. Instead, we prepared. The captains were building new defenses inside the main hall, ones that faced to the east. Wood, stone, and debris were being heaped into a wall. Men would face that way, as well as hold the breach that already had claimed so many of the enemy.

Maggon, muttering, was sure the whole thing would fall on our heads.

It was possible.

The siege would bombard us mercilessly. It seemed impossible the enemy could set them up in the snow, but magic helped, and we had watched the draugr casting fire fields to clear the snow and ice, and so, it would all start soon. Walls around the fort would go down, and the fort’s side would crumble. In places, there would be more breaches, and so, the captains were trying to teach our companies how to disengage in an orderly fashion, so as not to get trapped by the enemy that would try to enter from the gates and the breaches at the same time. When the battle would move upstairs, we could make them pay.

Of course, the draugr and the jotuns would not let spears and pikes butcher their men like we had before.

They would be involved and, inside, calling for spells.

Oil, stones, and what arrows we had were ready. On the roof, hundreds would make life terrible for Lisar’s legions, and inside, others would try to hold the gate. The archers were now arming themselves with spears and swords looted from the dead, and the ballista, which had but few scavenges spears left, had been redeployed strategically.

Everyone prayed, save for me. I felt Bolthorn watching, and I knew it was alert, and waiting.

We would have to beat them. Surrender was not an option.

The prospect seemed dubious. My newly found mentor was silent. It had left me with Bolthorn, and I was terrified to ask it for anything.

This time, I’d not be below. I’d fight on top. The jotuns, I was sure, would come in that way.

I walked the roof. I watched the enemy preparing, and I watched the land beyond them.

We would have to last one day. At least that long.

I heard warning shouts.

“For Hillhold,” echoed below, and then from every throat.

I saw why. There were enemy rushing around the ten catapults. Officers were yelling, and then, men pulled at levers. The weapons made an eerie sound as they tore through the air. The enemy began hammering the outer wall of the fortress, their crews working in the cruelling cold like ants, likely trying to keep warm.

First, they took down the city walls, to make it easy to shift from one breach to the next.

We heard the outer walls falling apart and saw how the huge stone-shots arching through the snow-fall and rolling in the courtyard.

Then, they began breaking down the outer wall of the Ugly Brother.

It was thick. It took time.

Most hit the fort’s eastern walls, near the second floor, and dust was falling with each strike, and the fortress was shaking like a man in fever.

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