Shadow of Doubt: The Prolouge

Young men die to the follies of the old, or so it is said. Here, that was not the case. Both young and old lay side by side scattered across the square shaped courtyard, arrows sticking out occasionally. The bodies hang in all possible positions, and filled the small courtyard with the stench of death. The dead, the wounded and the dying, they all looked the same, except the rare few who could still stand. Gadros looked around and found his sword stuck in a corpse. Tired he pulled it out. He was tired. Tired in both mind and body. His face was covered in the blood of both friend and foe, some of it, his own. His beard was crimson red and his helmet had been lost somehow during the fighting. It was all so foggy, all he wanted was to lay down and die. His survival instincts did not allow him that comfort. He stumbled across the courtyard towards the battered down gate. Here a wall of corpses had mounded up. Once proud men-at-arms and footmen now lay face down in the mud, smeared in their own intestines. Gadros looked over his shoulder. A few men were still left standing, they were all in the same condition as him, or worse. Gadros was bleeding from atleast five different places. His sword arm was dripping with blood. There were about a dozen men left who were still able to fight in the courtyard, and the archers still alive in the central tower. He doubted many were.

The enemy had come down the shore in the blackness of the night, and the following morning they had attacked. The lucky ones were the ones who got shot off the wall whilst still unaware to the presence of the enemy. Gadros had been playing cards with a few other guards in the guard house above the gate. All but him remained now, the rest had been killed by an axe wielding fanatic who had rushed in. He had managed to kill the man and raise the alarm but it had done little good. More enemies scaled the wall in hastily made ladders. Gadros had pushed down one but another was quickly raised in it's stead. The guards had been little match for this surprise attack and had been driven from the wall, or cast down. The gate had been battered down with a tree trunk and the enemy troops had flooded in. The defenders had been swept away. The only resistance had been the reinforcements from the tower. With their help they held the courtyard but with decimating losses. Gadros had fought along with all the others but he was unlucky. He had not died. The world he had, was now in ruins.

His friends and lord were all dead. Holran, that guy who always smiled and joked around had been with him in the guardhouse as it was assaulted, he had tried to catch an axe with his teeth. Gandon, the best darn swordfighter in the whole garrison, his sword fighting had done him little good against a few stampeding horses. Felmyr, the grumpy sergeant with his lordly mustache and his forsaken metal staff, mustaches and a staff hadn't protected him from a spear trough his chest. Finally there was his Lord, Lord Yldar, for all his fancy armour he had worn, it couldn't protect him from that javelin to his throat when he was rallying the men in the gate...

Gadros climbed, with much hardship, up to the narrow battlements. It was a treacherous path up. The stones were slippery from the blood and bodies obstructed his path. He made his way up to the battlement. The sky was clear and the sun was peeking out from behind a few clouds. The village near the sea was smoking, most likely it had been reduced to a smoking pile of ash by now. There was a patch of wood between the village and the lords tower. The village couldn't be seen, but in case of an attack the village had a bell, he could faintly remember he'd heard the ringing of the bell during the attack. He wondered what was going trough the minds of the men who had actually believed it would've done any good. The village had probably been attacked by the same time as the lords tower. Gadros wondered if his old man had received a quick death, he had been a fisherman in the village. Then his toughts trailed to his sister, who had moved to a city who's name he couldn't remember. He was glad that atleast she was not going to die, atleast not yet. If she'd have stayed in the village, instead of moving away with their mother she would've most likely been raped like the rest of the women and girls in the village. He wished he was far away, in a green country with rolling hills, or perhaps a shore with waves rolling in gently and a warm breeze blowing. It was to no avail, he was stuck in the grim reality, where all men die like the rest.

The unknown attackers had pulled back for some reason, their victory had seemed inevitable. Yet they were gone. The dead and the ladders had been left as a sign of their visit. They might come again, and if they do, we are finished. He stumbled down the same way he had come and said to the demoralized men who were sitting with their backs against stone or flesh.
"I didn't see anyone outside, it looks like we are clear for now. I suggest we hold the tower, we are too few left, and if they come back, we may prolong our suffering if we hold the tower." Said Gadros with a tired voice.
"What for? We are all doomed anyways! We might aswell lay down and die! I suggest we yield." Said one of the wounded men who was lying ontop of a pile of corpses. Filn had been a well known coward, and a thief.
"Hah! Yield? Alot of good that did to Hamlar and Aguy! They were cut down before they could lay down their arms! No, these brutes will not show mercy." Replied Timot, a veteran of the wars against Vaelan.
"We do little good wasting our breath, let's head inside the tower, there might be more survivors there." Mocklyn said, with a hint of hope.
"Doubt that, I saw a few of them run in there during the battle, and I don't doubt more did when I wasn't looking." Said Timot, the ever pessimistic.
"We can try atleast." Said Gadros

With a muttering of agreement from the rest they made their way to the foot of the tower. The door was wide open and they entered. Gadros knew all them men still alive, he had served with them for a few years now, but it all seemed so distant now. Most of them had been with the guard for longer than him, and for good reason. The less experienced ones had died off first. The experienced ones were the ones who survived a few seconds more. Mocklyn had been lucky, though he was one of the newest additions to the garrison, he had gotten knocked on the head and had hidden under a cart. They made their way trough the tower spotting dead friends and foes. On the top floor they found a group of five archers, most not wounded physically. A first battle can do much to a man, and even if it wasn't your first, watching your life get crushed in a single morning can crush lesser men. Gadros was not mighty, nor strong, he was but a normal man but he had noticed very early he didn't feel emotions such as fear. His father said he had been born to be a soldier, well now he was one and wished he hadn't become one. Though he was still alive, whilst the ones who weren't soldiers lay dead.

The archers who they found told them of what had happened inside the tower. The archers in the tower had been attacked by a few enemies, but being archers they didn't have much in terms of melee prowess they had been slain, or most of them. They had been forced to the upper level where they had a good vantage point of shooting any enemy coming up the stairs.The tower had a good view of the area and Timot suggested they go scout for enemies. Mocklyn and Gadros went up to the view point on the roof. Here they saw the surrounding lands. To the east, the great sea, to the west lay the village and green forest covered fields. The north and south were shores or cliffs. Down by the southern shores ships had landed, he could see men unloading supplies onto the beach and other men marching of into the direction of the village. Gadros was looking towards the village when suddenly he noticed movement in the underbrush. A glimmer of steel reflecting sun caught his eye from another part of the forest. Shapes were rushing trough the underbrush. He and Mocklyn hurried down.

"They come for a second attack!" Gadros shouted as hurried past them and down the stairs.
He heard the rest coming after him, atleast some of them. He reached the courtyard before the enemy had come to the gate. He could see them though as they hurried towards the fort, shouting their battlecries. Gadros was surprisingly not afraid to die, he was only tired. So tired. Some of his fellow guards joined him. Mocklyn was there, Timot aswell, Filn had probably crept down into a corner somewhere. Damn that coward, hiding won't save him, atleast not for long. Curse this day, everything he had known was gone, now he too was about to die. The enemy was crossing the gate, their surcoats, with that blasted red fist on a black field which had become only too familiar in the last few hours, could be seen. The weapons of the enemy blazed in the sunlight and the mail was shining. The first two fell to arrows into their chests. Mail wasn't such a good protection against arrows in point blank range. The archers from the tower picked up some weaponry from the ground and joined the rest in a small square formation.

"For the king!" The shout deformed itself in Gadros' dry throath.
What he wouldn't do for a drink right now... Or a bed. He raised his sword and pushed his body forward to meet their charge. This is how it ends then...