Clang, Clang, Clang
Edwin shot awake, startled by the sudden sound. His tired ears didn't understand what he was hearing for a moment,
"Bells," with his ears slowly adjusting, he could make out that the ringing was bells. It was much too early for the church bells, signifying prayer time, to be sounding off, and the bell ringing wasn't distant, towards the church. That left one option: the bells were coming from above him, which meant it was an alarm.
Had the Dunvarrians come? Edwin was doubtful; not even the dukes' much quieter scouts had returned yet.
Arthur was still comatose; he had yet to wake from his sickness. It had been going on for three days since he had been in a coma.
His friend hadn't been showing signs of getting sicker; he was moving more in his coma, and his body heat was no longer soaring. Edwin took this as a good sign.
Edwin pulled on his shirt, a scratchy but light white tunic. He was quick to put on the rest of his outfit, eager to see what was going on.
He pulled the door of his room open, and the ancient iron hinges groaned with the effort; they would need replacing soon.
The hallway was a scene of chaos. A servant girl ran by him frantically, her hands barely managing to keep the mass of cloth bandages together without falling to the floor. Further down the hallway to his left, soldiers and servants ran toward the courtyard; the tight confines of the passageway meant that, with so many servants suddenly rushing forward, they had to practically climb over each other.
Edwin lurched forward and hit the ground with a thud. He felt his lip begin to bleed from the impact on the floor. His face turned red with anger. Turning on his back with his fist clenched, he prepared to face the person who had hit him.
"Sorry," The man who had knocked him over held out his hand for Edwin, "I was in a hurry, didn't even see you."
Anger left Edwin; he was not so prone to rage that he couldn't see the man's sincere apology.
The man lifted Edwin off the floor with ease. He was a truly large man, though not nearly as large as his father was.
"It's ok," Edwin said, "Do you know what has happened?"
Edwin followed the man as he continued down the hall in a hurry. He was attempting to tie the strap of his iron helm as he ran.
"Only what I was told," He started, "That mayor the duke sent out, what was his name? Braydon?"
"Brendon." Edwin corrected
"That's the one," he continued, "His levy arrived half an hour ago from Stamford, or what remains of the levy at least."
Passing the reinforced, thick double doors that guarded the entrance to keep out of the courtyard, he found a scene much worse than the chaos of the hallway. A morass of havoc filled the courtyard. Dozens of men lay on makeshift beds of hay under an equally makeshift canopy tent. Some clutched wounded limbs, others groaned in pain as the medically trained scribes stitched wounds with the help of servant girls. Worse than that were the ten or so men Edwin spotted; each was unmoving, pale, their eyes lifelessly staring up at the roof of the canopy.
"Damn it!" A voice cut through the wails and sounds of the courtyard, "How could this happen?"
So much time spent around the duke had made his voice easily recognizable. Edwin broke off from the soldier and headed towards his lord.
Duke John was standing by a section of the wall, shaded by an overhanging room a story above him. Finchley, somehow always stoic looking in his armor despite the missing arm, stood next to him.
In front of the pair was the man they were talking to, or more accurately, were taking their anger out on.
Edwin walked up to the group, making sure to stay silent and not interrupt the conversation.
The man they were talking to was armored in thick plate armor; this was no men-at-arms. It took a moment to notice the similarity between the armored man and Branden Rees, the Mayor of Stamford. Perhaps a son or brother of the mayor.
"They came upon us suddenly; we stood no chance," he explained.
"And your father?" John asked, anger still in his voice.
The man shook his head slowly, "He was the first to fall. An arrow took his horse in the eye; it reared and knocked him off. The fall broke his neck."
John grimaced, his tone shifted to sorrow, "Branden Rees was a good man. I am sorry for your loss." He said, confirming Edwin's suspicion about their relationship.
"How many were there?" Finchley asked, "Oliver, any information you have may prove vital."
Oliver frowned, "They came upon us at dawn, right as we began the last stretch of the march here. Maybe two hundred, maybe three, it happened suddenly." Oliver's gaze turned to his men, "Maybe one of them saw more. I will have someone question them."
John nodded, "See it done."
Oliver hurried away quickly, doubtlessly eager to get away from his superior.
"When did you get here?" Finchley asked, turning to see Edwin quietly standing behind them.
John joined Finchley in looking at Edwin.
"A moment ago, I didn't want to interrupt, so I stayed quiet," Edwin answered.
"Good lad," Finchley praised, "I'm off to organize the militia, my lord. I'll have the report about their readiness by tonight."
"I don't have to tell you the urgency, Finchley," John said
"No, sir," Fichley said before walking off south towards the city itself.
John led Edwin to the city, Finchley had disappeared to his job some time ago.
Curtain walls surrounded the city just as they did the keep across the Merrow River. Unlike the three-layered honeycomb design of the keep, only one wall circled the city. No duke of Blychester had bothered to build more; the theory was that the keep, located on the Dunvarrian side of the border, would bear the brunt of any siege. History had repeatedly shown this to be the case; in total, Blychester had suffered eight sieges over the centuries. Each siege brought the Dunvarrians down upon the Keep of the city, sparing the city from the effects of the siege.
Alexander III of Dunvarra had broken this tradition; he marched to besiege the city itself. With control of the crossing upstream, he would be free to keep his army supplied.
"Have you ever watched the common people practice their archery?" John asked, passing several longbowmen on the walls of the castle. Blychester city was divided into four separate districts by an old cobblestone road. They found themselves facing the west district, by the city's only church.
"I have not," Edwin answered.
John watched as more archers took positions on the wall, each of them drawn from the poorest of the militia. "No other people can claim to have so many or as great an archery as we do." He praised.
Three generations ago, King Henry II issued the Arms of War, A decree affecting every male in Anlett. Edwin had been made to study it religiously; the document had an outstanding effect on the population. King Henry had listed which people were required to maintain which arms, such as wealthy militiamen, who were required to maintain, at a minimum, a chainmail shirt for defense. Most importantly, there was a law on archery. Every capable male from the age of seven onward was to practice every seventh day with a bow. When they reached the right age, they would be able to wield the powerful Anlettian Longbow. This ensured a national reserve of highly trained and useful archers was always maintained.
"I will admit," John began, "I have never been on the receiving end of a siege."
Edwin wasn't surprised. Besides border raids with the Dunvarrians or skirmishes with the Freidan's on the Continent, the last war to have been fought was the Ducal rebellion nearly two decades ago. "Do you think we will win?" Edwin held his doubts
John gave Edwin a puzzled look, "Of that, I have no doubt." He answered confidently.
Edwin felt reassured by his confidence, "Why are you so sure?"
"I have faith in my people," John explained, "My militia is strong, loyal, and large. I have capable subordinates. Our food stores and ammunition stock will last us months, over a year if we need to stretch it." John smiled, "Most of all, His majesty will come to our aid. You have not met him, but trust me when I say this, he is as regal a king as any from the legends."
A glint caught Edwin's eye. Curious, he looked out west over the wall. West of Blychester was a small forest of thin birch woods that covered the dirt trail leading west.
"What are you looking at?" John asked. He followed Edwin's gaze to the distant forest.
Edwin squinted his eyes as he continued to scan. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary, but he swore he had seen something.
There, again, his eye caught a flash of light; it was the sun glinting off something shiny.
"Do you see that?" Edwin pointed towards the forest.
His question proved to be unnecessary. Slowly, the shadow of the forest crept towards the city, growing larger and larger with every passing moment.
John gasped, "So soon, that's impossible."
Behind them, the bells of the church rang along with every other bell throughout the city.
The Dunvarrian army had arrived.