The Siege

The old bastard

Darius Juska burped loudly and lowered his empty jug on the dirty wooden table. “Time for a piss,” he grumbled, slowly standing up. Groaning, the old guard started to stretch his back which cracked like an old screeching door as if the spine and joints were sliding back into their respective places. Darius wiped drops of ale from his short beard and added, pointing the finger at the young man sitting on the opposite side of the long inn table, “and you go fetch me another ale.”

“Are you going to piss off the wall again, old man?” Marek Finn asked in return. He just recently joined the town’s guard and had to endure the usual bullying from the older soldiers. That included cleaning the barracks and serving drinks between duties. He was assigned to Darius for training and quickly learned the old bastard’s habits. And the old bastard took the full advantage of his superior position.

Darius grinned back at him, banging his fist against the table, leaned forward and said, “All the bloody time, boy. That’s my privilege until the day I retire or die, whichever comes first.” He paused and burped before continuing, “And one day will be yours too. Maybe. So less talking and more ale fetching.” He straightened himself back up, turned around and started walking to the door, whistling some out of tune melody. At the entrance, he glanced back to check if the young soldier complied and was pleased to see Marek already standing by the counter and talking to the tired innkeeper.

“Ah heck with it,” Darius barked across an otherwise empty tavern, “get one for yourself too. It’s about time you learned to piss like a real man.” Laughing out loud, he slammed the door behind him.

The crisp evening's air was refreshing as Darius strolled past the garrison barracks, home to him and other seventy men guarding the western gateway to the city. The sizeable two-storey building was conveniently adjacent to the local tavern where he would spend most of his free time between the guard duties. He waved to a trio of soldiers playing cards on the bench by the entrance, but they ignored him too focused on their game. Darius couldn’t care less. He had more pressing matters to attend to, and that involved climbing up two flights of stairs leading to the top of the eight-meter high city wall. His old bones and joints didn’t appreciate the upcoming exercise.

Nevertheless, Darius was adamant about sticking to his habit. He crossed the open square in front of the Western Gatehouse; it’s thick wooden doors already shut for the night and guarded by two sleepy watchmen. Darius briefly stopped by the stairs on the left side of the gatehouse and waived to the watchmen. One of them nodded in return, grinning. He knew what the old bastard was up to, but didn’t care to say anything, despite strict Captain’s orders not to urinate from the top of the wall. One can’t teach an old dog new tricks, and Darius Juska was an ancient dog who earned respect and privilege to do as he pleased.

After a few stops and lots of puffing the old soldier finally reached the top of the wall and leaned against the defensive parapet to catch his breath. He waived to a snoozing guard some distance away and glanced over the edge to see nothing but darkness.

“That’s strange,” he mumbled. Usually, they had torches burning throughout the night on the outside wall by the entrance, illuminating the immediate area around the gates, but now it was pitch black down there. “Idiots must have forgotten to replace them.” Darius thought to himself as he approached the gatehouse tower. He went inside the tall stone structure and pulled a little patch of cloth with something wrapped in it from his leather jacket’s inner pocket. The old guard unwrapped the cloth and smiled looking down at the two pieces of bread and cheese in his hand.

“Sorry buddy, next time will bring more,” he said quietly wrapping the bundle up and placing it in the cavity above one of the defensive embrasures. He then turned around and left the same way he came in to attend to his ever more pressing business.

As his footsteps faded away in the shadows, a small dirty hand reached down from one of the ceiling beams, gently took the bundle and pulled it up. Soon chewing and slurping sounds followed as the little hungry mouth started to eat.

Darius chuckled standing a few meters away from the tower, far enough not to be seen but close enough to hear the munching sounds inside. He didn’t even know the kid’s name, just that the little boy was an orphan and made the Western Gatehouse his home. Darius lost the count of times he and other soldiers chased the little rascal away, but he was always coming back. Eventually, the old guard gave up trying and left him be. Even started bringing him food. Maybe growing old and having no family of his own made this otherwise crude and rough soldier somewhat sentimental? Over time he developed a particular bond with the little squatter and was glad to have someone to look after. However, the kid was timid and wouldn’t let anyone close enough. But the old bastard had patience. He would wait.

Darius quietly walked further away from the tower to his usual spot between two tall merlons, by the edge of the deepwater moat below and undid his leather trousers, whistling the same old out of tune melody he heard in his head for the last few days. Reluctantly looking around he noticed that the guard to his left was gone, just his kite shield lay by the parapet.

“Lazy twat.” Darius muttered to himself and yelled louder, “Next time you go to shit, don’t forget to take your shit with you!” He giggled, feeling a pleasant relief and added, “Where is that lazy boy with my ale? Useless little prick.”

The old soldier burped a few times when he suddenly heard a quiet screeching noise to his right. Darius slowly turned his still dizzy head and noticed a small frame crawling over the top of the wall parapet some distance away between him and the gatehouse building. “Boy is that you?” he asked, straining his eyes. “Finally decided to come out?” But the shadow didn’t answer and quickly disappeared down the stairs. Darius opened his mouth to say something else when he suddenly felt a slight pinch to his left side. Instinctively, he raised his free left hand to the affected spot just in time to grab someone's slim wrist. “What the hell…” the man muttered and looked down to see the pale hairy hand was pushing the curved knife into his body. He pulled the wrist, and the goblin’s bald head appeared above the parapet’s edge. The sneaky intruder was surprised just like the old bastard that his stabbing attack didn’t yield the desired effect. Unbeknown to the creature, Darius always kept a metal flask with some booze on him, and the sharp knife went right through it, spilling precious to the old man liquid instead of his blood.

“Ah, you dirty shit!” Darius grabbed the creature by the neck with his right hand and pulled him up, tightening the grip. The goblin gasped, drew the knife out and swung the blade against the man’s neck, slicing halfway through his throat. The thick red liquid sprayed out of the wound covering the goblin’s head in blood. The old guard, still dazzled by the surprise attack, threw the squirming attacker off the wall where his yelling shape disappeared into the darkness below. Swearing Darius pressed his left hand against the bleeding cut. He was sober in an instant and tried to yell, but only gurgling sounds, mixed with blood and saliva, came out of his mouth.

He looked around to see two more guards in the distance, being tackled down by the goblins. The creatures swiftly cut both men’s throats before they could call for help and silently vanished downstairs. Darius didn’t have to guess of their intent. They were going for the gate. He applied more pressure to the wound and rushed to the gatehouse tower a good twenty meters away. Suddenly another head appeared above the parapet just in front of him. With a powerful punch to the face, Darius sent the creature back where it came from as he scrambled towards the alarm bell fixed to the tower wall. He could see more shadows crawling over the parapet along the wall by the time he reached the gatehouse.

Losing strength in his legs and gasping for air Darius reached out for the bell when suddenly the stabbing pain pierced his left shoulder as one of the creatures landed on his back. At the same time, another goblin jumped on him from the front, driving his blade through the man’s chest. Darius groaned in pain and lost his footing as all three of them fell over the inner edge of the wall to the square below. The old soldier landed on his back, instantly ending the life of the goblin underneath him. The creature spilt his guts all over the stone-paved surface in front of the gatehouse, softening the fall. Darius grunted and with his left hand grabbed the stunned goblin on top of him by his throat. The fiend, still stunned by the fall, didn’t resist while Darius slowly drove the blade of his side knife through the creature’s ribs. The goblin winced as the weapon squeezed the life out of his crocked body and slumped on the wounded man’s chest. Darius had no strength left to push his corpse aside. He turned his head to the left where Marek Finn stood with two jugs of ale in his hands, staring back at him. Darius chuckled, choking on his fluids and whispered, “I sure could use that drink now, boy…” before closing his eyes. The old bastard finally retired.

Marek starred for a moment at the gruesome scene before his brain finally added the dots. “GOBLINS!” He yelled, dropping both mugs of ale to the ground and grabbed the handle of his sheathed sword, trying to pull the weapon out. But before the young recruit could do that, an arrow zapped piercing his right shoulder through the thin leather tunic, sending him tumbling to the ground next to the wooden cart full of crates. Marek bumped his head against the big wheel of the cart and groaned in pain dazzled by the impact. Two more arrows slammed into his torso instantly forming red dots around them. Confused and shocked, the young man opened his eyes to see both guards by the gatehouse jumping to their feet and grabbing their spears. They have heard his scream just in time as the first goblins reached the bottom of the stairs.

One of the attackers plunged, aiming for the nearest guard, but the soldier noticed him, and instead of the man himself, the goblin landed on the sharp tip of the watchman’s spear. The metal spearhead bore through the fragile body of the creature. It howled in pain as the soldier pushed the squirming attacker to the ground where it splashed against the pavement with a thumping sound. Before the watchman could pull his weapon out, another goblin jumped on top of him stabbing the man through the heart, and they both fell to the ground. Meanwhile, the second guard, yelling for help and swinging his spear tried to fend off two goblins encircling him with their knives out. An arrow drilled into the man’s back, knocking him off his feet long enough for the attackers to jump on him and finish the guard off.

Marek tried to warn them but just gasped, still in shock and disbelief. With shaking hands, he struggled to pull the arrow shafts out of his body, but the strength abandoned him. The young recruit witnessed as dozens of small shapes leapt down the stairs on both sides of the gatehouse when a large shadow blocked his view. Now sobbing kid, he looked up at the goblin standing over him. Marek raised his right hand, reaching out and whispering, “please, no….” but the creature just grinned at him, exposing his rotten half missing teeth and swiftly sliced the young man’s throat. Stream of blood splashed across Marek’s tidy and clean uniform, trickling down his chest, as his gaze froze staring at his murderer.

The goblin began searching the corpse for anything of value when the alarm bell, echoing from the direction of the barracks, broke the evening’s tranquillity.

The sound of the alarm bell snatched the Captain of the Western Gate Garrison Julius Mikhail out of his shallow slumber from his private quarter's bed on the second floor of the barracks building. He instinctively jumped to his feet and locked his still sleepy and foggy eyes on the shape crawling through the window of his room. The bloodlust eyes of the creature stared right at him. Both froze for a moment evaluating each other, then goblin suddenly yelled and leapt from the window towards Julius with the blade in his right hand.

The Captain glanced at his sword, resting on the opposite side of the bed, out of his reach. He quickly stepped backwards, took the trophy crossbow hanging on the wall behind him, aimed at the goblin, who by now was halfway across the room and fired. From such a close range, the heavy bolt with a metal head smashed right through the unprotected body of the attacker, sending the goblin flying backwards and nailing him to the wall. The creature groaned in pain squirming, his legs unable to reach the floor. Meanwhile, two more goblins sneaked into the room through the same window. The first one instantly rushed towards the captain while the second pulled out his lean short bow readying the arrow.

Julius had no time to reload the crossbow. He threw the heavy weapon at the approaching goblin, forcing the attacker to dodge to the left. The captain used the precious second and jumped over the bed, grabbing his sword. With one swift motion, he swung the weapon against the goblin now within striking distance. The sharp sword cut goblin’s right arm clean off his shoulder. It fell to the wooden floor still squeezing the dirty handle of the blade while the former owner winced in pain, staggering from such an unexpected outcome. Julius grabbed the shocked creature by the neck and raised it just in time to shield himself from the arrow of the third attacker standing by the window. The projectile thumped into the wounded goblin’s back as the archer swiftly pulled out the second arrow, getting ready to fire again. Not hesitating, with the trembling creature in his left and the sword in his right, Julius crossed the room before the archer could release the projectile and ploughed his sword through the archer’s chest, instantly killing him. He then dropped the wounded goblin to the floor and ended his misery.

Still barefooted and half-naked, Julius carefully opened one of the window shudders and glanced outside at the same time as the swearing and shouting soldiers poured out of the barracks into the street below, some readying their weapons while others still struggling to put their pants on. They were greeted by the shower of arrows from the direction of the gatehouse. Few dozens of goblin archers took up positions on the wall targeting the unprepared men while another group of creatures was gathering around the gates trying to open the heavy double-sided doors to the city. Screams of pain mixed with curses erupted as a handful of unlucky soldiers dropped dead or wounded, forcing others to search for cover.

“Get your weapons ready, you lazy bastards!” amid the shouts and yells, Julius recognised the voice of one of his sergeant’s Hunor Grim. Barking orders, mixed with every possible curse word known to man, he tried to restore order in the barracks. “And put your boots on, you dimwits!”

Suddenly the door to Julius room cracked wide open, and a young man in the crisp lieutenant’s uniform rushed in, followed by two other soldiers.

“Captain, we are under attack!” he addressed Julius noticing the dead bodies scattered across the room, which came to him as a surprise. What….what happened here, sir?” He asked with a shaking voice.

“House visit, lieutenant,” Julius replied already dressing up. “Report the situation,” he ordered looking for a second boot that slid under the bed during the previous fight.

“Goblins, sir. They took out our guards and now trying to open the gates.” Lieutenant Jonas Bershka barked briefly and continued, “They also tried to sabotage the barracks, but we got lucky and stopped them in time.”

“What about the gates?” Julius asked, clipping his sword to the belt.

“We can’t get to them, sir. Their archers pinned us down. We have already lost some men.”

“If they open those gates, we will lose a lot more, lieutenant,” Julius replied already halfway down the stairs. There was no time to waste.