HE knelt in the tower of the Chapel Gate surrounded by foreign idols. This was a holy place, albeit neglected in recent years, and despite the fact he did not recognise the statues that surrounded him, Laigon was at peace here. He had always been a pious man, had always worshipped his gods as much as his emperor, but now Demetrii was gone and the gods were all he had left.
Laigon felt the pewter figurine, cold in his palm. It was reassuring to have it so close – something familiar in this strange place. Portius the Trickster was not a god soldiers would pray to in times of war, but Laigon had long since chosen him above all others. Better Portius’ cunning than the strength of the war god Galles. Especially now they were so sorely outnumbered.
Laigon gripped the tiny figure and invoked his ancestors, invoked the gods, invoked the memory of the emperor, anything he thought might help. He and his men faced impossible odds and they needed all the help they could get. If there was the slightest chance any of the gods were listening he had to try.
All the while he tried not to think about his family back in the White City. He could only hope that Verrana and Petrachus had been spared. That the Iron Tusk had not seen fit to make an example. He prayed for that hardest of all. Laigon didn’t care if he fell in battle as long as his family was safe.
‘Centurion, my apologies.’
Laigon recognised the voice of Primaris Vallion. He stood, slipping the figurine into the pocket at his belt.
‘No need to apologise, Primaris. I was just taking a moment.’
‘I understand, Centurion. But you are needed at the gate.’
‘Today is the day?’ Laigon asked.
Vallion nodded.
They both made their way down from the chapel and out onto the courtyard. As they walked through the fort of Dunrun they could see preparations for battle still frantically being made by the Cordral militia. Some men lugged fallen blocks of stone to erect makeshift barricades while others sharpened weapons or practised their swordplay.
At the Sandstone Gate, Marshal Ziyadin gave Laigon a nod of respect. It might not have meant much, but still Laigon answered in kind.
‘You know your orders, Marshal,’ Laigon said.
‘Yes, Centurion,’ Ziyadin replied.
Laigon was pleased that any doubt as to who was in charge had now been expunged.
Ziyadin and his militia were to wait at the Sandstone Gate. The Red Standing would have the honour of being the vanguard.
As Laigon walked through the Sandstone Gate, his legionaries were waiting for him in the courtyard beyond. Every man was bedecked in red, shields and spears at the ready. High atop the Eagle Gate was a single legionary watching the Skull Road.
Vallion took his place with the men, and Laigon observed them for a moment, all those faces he knew so well. He had led them to this, and they had followed. A more loyal group of soldiers he had never known and it made him proud to be standing beside them.
‘The enemy is coming,’ Laigon announced. ‘And we are all that stands between them and this foreign land. We are all that stands between them and the slaughter of innocents. Every man here knows what the Iron Tusk will do if he is allowed to pass through these gates. We have seen it. We have lived it. And so we must stand as the last barrier. We must hold this place. We must prove to him that not everyone will kneel before his tyranny. The Shengen we knew is lost. All that remains of it is here, the ground upon which we stand, for we are the last true warriors of the empire. This is our homeland now. Who will help me defend it?’
As one, the Red Standing began to beat their shields against the ground. Laigon wanted to say more, wanted to tell these men of his faith in them, that their sacrifice would not go unnoticed by the gods, that they were the pride of the Shengen and the Emperor Demetrii. But none of that seemed to matter now. All that mattered was they were fighting for the right side. Not one of them doubted that.
The legionary at the top of the gate began waving his hand frantically. Their enemy was coming.
As one, his men turned to face the gate. They locked shields, spears thrust forward. There were forty-two men standing between an empire and a country they didn’t know. Forty-two men willing to fight their brothers to face down a tyrant. Laigon knew they would most likely die here. He had no doubt it would be glorious.
Arrows began slamming into the gate with an unmistakable thud. Each one was followed by the splash of oil as the bags that were attached to each arrow burst. More arrows followed, flaming tips igniting the oil that had soaked the dried timbers of the gate. Before long the first lick of fire appeared as the gate took. Still the Red Standing stood and waited as the flames turned from a flicker to a roaring inferno. The heat was intense but still they waited, shields locked.
It seemed to take an age for the gate to burn, but eventually it began to split and crack, crumbling in burning embers. Laigon could see past the fire now, see an army on the other side of that burning gate. He knew his men could see it too, and only hoped their resolve was as sturdy as their honour.
A warrior burst through the gate, body in flames, set alight by the firestorm still burning around him. He ran forward screaming, throwing himself at the shield wall. With a single spear thrust, the screaming was silenced and the body fell, but it was quickly followed by a cacophony.
Savages, half naked and armed to the teeth, threw themselves through the burning gate, heedless of the danger. Laigon recognised the tribal scarring of the Hintervale. These were warriors from a province beyond the north-eastern border of Shengen. Tribes that had never been subdued by Emperor Demetrii. Clearly the Iron Tusk had used other methods to bring them to heel. Now they fought for him with a fanatical zeal Laigon had never witnessed before. The warlord was throwing his expendable minions into the vanguard. Of course the Iron Tusk would not sacrifice his elite. Not yet anyway.
Like a wave of fury they hit the shield wall, snarling, screaming. Bone weapons clanked against shields like a relentless storm, but still the Red Standing held. Spears thrust out, the naked flesh of the Hintervale’s tribesmen easy meat for sharpened steel. Before long a pile of bodies lay dead and dying in front of the wall of armour, and Laigon felt himself swell with pride once more. Forty-one were all he had, but he could have been commanding an army for all the courage and discipline they displayed.
Before he could shower himself with further platitudes, a tribesman burst through the wall, laying low one of the legionaries. Laigon’s blade was already drawn, his legs already pumping as he sprinted to defend the rear of the shield wall. Just as the shields locked together once more, blocking the way, Laigon hacked down at the interloper, splitting him from shoulder to abdomen. It took a foot planted on the body to release his blade.
‘Step back,’ he bellowed.
As one, his shield wall retreated a step away from the burgeoning pile of corpses. If the men of the Hintervale were affected by the sight of their fellow tribesmen being butchered they didn’t show it. More of them poured through the Eagle Gate until the courtyard was a clogged mass of screaming barbarians.
Another tribesman leapt over the wall, his feat of strength exemplary. Laigon rewarded him with a sword to the chest, impaling him before he could think about attacking.
‘Step back,’ he ordered again.
Once more the Red Standing retreated closer to the Sandstone Gate, closer to Ziyadin’s waiting militia.
Laigon allowed himself a brief glance back, seeing the men of the Cordral watching in fear and awe. It would be their turn soon enough. Best they saw what they were letting themselves in for.
Laigon ordered his men back another pace, and again they obeyed him with uniform precision. To his right, he saw one of his legionaries go down under a torrent of violence. Instantly the men to either side of him locked shields to plug the gap, and Laigon ran forward. The young soldier clutched his side. To his shame, Laigon had forgotten his name. He had always prided himself in knowing the name of every last man, but in the heat of battle this one escaped him.
He dragged the boy back from the wall, but before he could begin to assess the extent of his injury, two militiamen had rushed forward to help. Laigon was pleased to see that one of them was Eyman.
‘We’ll take him, Centurion,’ Eyman said, and together the men dragged the legionary away.
The shield wall was wavering now. Sheer weight of numbers was becoming too much for forty men to bear.
‘On my mark, retreat,’ shouted Laigon.
At that order his men began to fight all the harder, spears thrusting forward maniacally, slaughtering the tribesmen like they were livestock, easy for the kill.
‘Mark,’ Laigon bellowed.
With that, the shield wall broke. The Red Standing retreated back the ten yards to the Sandstone Gate and Laigon ran with them, keeping a watchful eye for any man who might falter. To his relief they managed to retreat beneath the gate tower without another casualty. There the shield wall reformed and was instantly battered by the pursuing Hintervale tribesmen.
‘Marshal Ziyadin,’ Laigon shouted above the cacophony. ‘Now would be a good time for your men to begin.’
Ziyadin nodded, shouting orders to his dumbfounded men. Some of them obeyed immediately, others having to be nudged into action by their fellow militiamen.
The Sandstone Gate housed a portcullis, but try as they might the militia had been unable to release the ancient iron barricade from its housing. Laigon had decided the archway itself would act as a barrier, and for the past days the militia had worked frantically at undermining the gate’s foundations. Now the Sandstone Gate stood on a few fragile stone blocks.
As Laigon’s men held the narrow gap through the gate, the militia went at the blocks with their hammers. Laigon only hoped that his rudimentary understanding of siege engineering would be enough that the gate did not come crashing down on all of them.
‘Hold,’ he shouted to his men, as the tribesmen battered themselves against the shield wall in a last-ditch attempt to break through. As far as the tribesmen were concerned, their enemy had retreated in front of them and the savages of the Hintervale could now taste victory.
The Sandstone Gate suddenly shifted as one of the blocks was smashed to dust. Laigon looked up, for the first time doubting his plan. Another block cracked, giving way under the weight of the gate, and Laigon could delay no longer.
‘Full retreat,’ he cried, and just in time.
As his men moved back from their defensive position, the gate gave way. The huge portcullis came crashing down, flattening the tribesmen beneath it. Immediately after, the gateway itself gave out, blocks toppling down, smashing to the ground, crushing their enemy and blocking the way through.
Laigon and the rest of the defenders rushed back to the safety of the Tinker’s Gate, closing the wood and iron doors behind and barring the way.
As his men regained their breath and inspected their wounds, Laigon could only watch in relief.
‘You think that will hold them?’ Ziyadin asked, panting all the while.
Laigon shook his head. ‘They will move the rubble aside before the night is out. Then we will have another gate to defend. For now, Marshal, you should prepare your men. Before long they will see real battle.’
The solid oak barrier that was the Tinker’s Gate would certainly hold better than the other two had, but Laigon knew it would not keep the Standings of the Shengen out for long.
He could only hope help was on its way.