The night was black as the bottom of a river, the silence broken only by the rustle of grass as their horses moved through it. Iñaki could see but dimly, when the moon scudded between cloud-banks. It did so, and he was treated to a glimpse of their small party: fifteen strong, all the youngest new warriors of the Zerui. Xanti, Mikel, Peru, Argi, Garaile, Beñat, Ion, Unai, and a few other friends of his brother or Mikel. And of course, Iñaki himself.

"This is the worst idea you've ever had," Peru commented quietly, glancing over at Mikel.

The other boy only shot him a glare and rearranged his bow on his back, urging his horse forward. "And if we succeed we will be named the greatest warriors of the tribe, and our families will be honored. Besides. We all know that the Warlord requires a sacrifice, and the Spirit-Worshippers are no longer to be touched. Pagh!" He spat on the ground between their horses, and Iñaki pulled on Untxi's reins. His horse was nervous, eyes rolling. But Untxi was always nervous. Iñaki could handle the young stallion anyway; it was the one time he felt calm, really--when he was on horseback.

He looked away from his quarreling friends. Peru had subsided into glowering silence, but Iñaki knew what he really felt was not anger, but fear. And Mikel rode along with a forced stoicism that was likewise born of fear.

They were all terrified, except for Xanti. Xanti, impassive Xanti... casting a glance at his brother, Iñaki could not imagine that he had ever felt the same self-doubt to which he himself awoke every day.

The unholy behemoth of logs that was the interloper's garrison rose before them, a black shape against the silver-blue of the cloudy, moonlit sky. So clumsily constructed! Nothing like their own elegant longhouses. And these heathens did not praise Eguzki by opening their doors only to the East. He would be on the side of the Zerui, and they would have their sacrifice.

"The grappling-hooks?" Mikel demanded, looking over at Iñaki.

Iñaki nodded, taking the long ropes, with heavy bronze hooks at their ends, out of his pack. Untxi snorted again, tossing his head, but he calmed the young horse with a squeeze of his legs and slid down.

Mikel took his hook from Iñaki and nodded to the others. "Txiki here will hang back and take out any of the guards stationed on the wall." Txiki--'little one'--was Iñaki. Though he was the smallest and weakest of the group, he was known as an accomplished archer. Besides, went Mikel's implicit message, Iñaki wouldn't be of much use on the wall. "Come on," he called out to the others, taking the rest of the grappling hooks and handing them out. "We will scale their walls and kill the rest of their sentries quietly. Keep your knives with you and save your axes for the real combat--first we want to slit throats and then we can begin breaking skulls." His eyes darted to Xanti, the real leader of the expedition, and he stopped speaking. His expression turned obsequious instead of bossy. "That is, if it's all right with you, sem'Zeru?"

It was not lost on Iñaki that while his brother merited being called sem'Zeru (son of the Warlord, son of the Zerui), he was still only Txiki.

It was a dark night, although the moon was still present in a sliver both it and the stars were hidden behind clouds for most of the time. Occasionally the clouds would move, allowing the faint light to show a vague array of shapes in the darkness. The clouds moved, masking the land again before any clarity could have been gained. When he was younger and couldn’t sleep Fergus used to find a window if he could, and try to match the dark shapes outside to what he knew was there in the day. After years the teasing and scolding from his family and nurses had put an end to this practice, as had the level of work he had to do. But this night, he was standing by an arrow slit, watching the shapes again.

In Scalia in peaceful times, he’d been told, the arrow slits were so decorative that their original function wasn’t clear in them. Being newer and insecure there was no building on Thiasa which matched this supposed level of architecture, certainly not this place. He’d arrived with a party of armed men a few days ago, soldiers he’d worked with before in small incidents close to the city. It hurt to think that Aedan might tell him to get them all killed one day, once he had a son and heir. Even a daughter maybe, although Fergus doubted it. Considering that women were too incapable of ruling to be much of a threat the move wouldn’t be sensible until she was older, married to a man Aedan trusted. Even the barbarians knew that, from what he’d read on the very rare occasion when they had a female ruler she was required to pretend to be, and was officially as far as the tribe was concerned, a man. At first he’d thought it was simply stories, but enquiries to others who knew the culture had told him that it was true.

The garrison building was squat, ugly and made of wood. Stone would have been better in his opinion, and already he was discussing plans to build in a stronger material if they could. War hadn’t broken out yet, there was time to try and become as reinforced as possible. As his eyes drifted over the black shapes, twisted beyond recognition, it was that which he was thinking about. How long would it take? Did they have the resources? What sort of defences would they need? He doubted that the ones traditionally used in Scalia would all be appropriate, the armies and styles of fighting were so different. If it was so different, would they actually have to build in stone? Setting the place on fire would be something he’d have tried if faced with it, even stone keeps could be brought down if you tunnelled underneath and set the wooden foundations on fire. He’d never seen it done, but he’d heard stories. Maybe the barbarians wouldn’t try it, but in any case he’d feel safer in stone. Did they treat their log houses with something so that they wouldn’t burn?

Every other thought seemed to be a question. Behind him several guards, two who’d come with him and three who’d been here before, walked past. One of the ones who he didn’t know started to ask a question, but one of the others shushed him quickly and told him to leave Fergus alone. He hadn’t gazed at the black shapes around them before, but they knew what he looked like when he was thinking about something and probably didn’t want to be disturbed. From where he was he couldn’t see much of the sky, the sliver he could see was covered by cloud in any case, so the only method of telling the time available to him was the changing of the guards. Soon others would stomp down here, cold and tired, possibly bored, and go to find a drink or food or a bed.

Fergus almost wished that he could join them. His legs and arms felt stiff from too long standing still, his face was cold from the air blowing through the slit. He’d managed to avoid anything but watered wine for a week in attempt to acclimatise to an environment that wasn’t going to have anything but bad ale, and frankly the longing for some sort of strong spirit was scaring him. That wasn’t the only thing, the lack of being able to get properly drunk was making him irritable and he was certain that it was one reason why he wasn’t feeling well. Strangely he didn’t feel tired, perhaps not the most awake he’d ever been but not tired.

The clouds moved again, and the dark shapes gained a little more clarity. Only a little, they were still unrecognisable black shapes in a dark world, but the outlines were clearer. So clear that he could see one moving. Instantly he felt more awake, frowning and looking harder. Nothing. Then another movement. Indistinct, he couldn’t tell what it was. Maybe it was a tree or something blowing in the wind. But then, it might be something worse. Pessimism did come in useful in manageable doses when dealing with warfare, or so he’d been told. “John, come here.” His voice, though soft, carried easily to the guards. One looked round startled, but Fergus was still staring at the shapes. Still moving. A brief patch of darkness, and the movement couldn’t be seen. People attacked under the cover of darkness, and while it could be an innocent tree things were tense enough to be careful.

John glanced uneasily at the other men, then walked back to the younger man. The other guards trailed along in a small huddle behind. None of them were quite sure what to make of Fergus, even the ones who’d worked with him before. He dressed too smartly for them in well cut clothes of material of the best quality, even if the tones were dull greens and browns compared to the wine coloured velvets and cloth of gold they’d been told about, but he was too plain for the nobles they’d encountered. His cloths were of good quality, but they could hardly be considered decorative or flashy. He also isolated himself from everyone. He never sat with his men, nor did he frequent the company of those closer to him in rank. Anyone who got close met a cold wall hidden behind a tolerant mask. As John stood beside him he might have thought the man was shy, if the idea of any member of the nobility being shy could have been taken seriously.

“Watch.” Fergus said, not looking around but sensing the man at his side as he nodded to the inky blackness. Nothing could be seen now, and he could tell that the man was puzzled by this command. They’d have to wait for the moonlight. At least it was dark enough in the corridor for him to not have to worry about them tellingly blocking the light. A gust of wind, and the cloud moved. His eyes instantly hit on the patch of darkness it had before, for a second nothing happened and he wondered if he’d been mistake, but then something moved. By his side, John breathed in sharply. “You see it?” The man probably had no more idea of what it was than he did, but at least it wasn’t just him being silly.

Like an obsidian abyss the night stretched out before him, its blackened claws raking away all signs of light if it were not for the bright and sun-like moon above. Clouds drifted among the stars, occasionally and momentarily covering their only source of seeing clearly. He travelled at the front of their throng, unfortunately Mikel beside him, it wasn't like Xanti disliked the other man, it was just he had a habit of almost worshiping him. His back was rigid as he swayed atop the horse, a beautiful mahogany bay mare who seemed to tolerate his pathetic excuse to which he called riding. Unlike most if not all of the Zerui he was not a talented horseman, however slowly he was getting better with the help of Euria his steed.

The other boys around him bickered in whispers, commenting how this whole thing would be dangerous and reckless. Practically questioning Xanti's role as their 'leader', for he eventually had accepted Inaki and Mikel's arguments as to why it would be a successful raid. In truth Xanti was silently excited about it, as of yet he had not been able to fight against their foes. His father had proved his worth and of course had battled heroically, now it was his own turn, spill some blood and see the white men in battle for the first time. Although many felt bullied under the tyrannical reign of their friend Mikel, he was a good warrior and loyal to the Zerui, following his fellows into battle without a second thought. They were lucky he was not of the interlopers blood.

Adrenaline coursed through his body as they moved forwards under the cover of the shadows, thankful that with what light they were offered he could then see the men. However as he gazed around a thought struck him, if he could see then surely the guards of the flimsy watch tower could also? Suddenly feeling vulnerable on the back of Euria his brow furrowed into a frown, he would not show fear, he would not allow fear. Swaying slightly as the mare danced away from another agitated horse he held on fast with his thighs, he'd be damned if he would ever fall again from a horse.

Things calmed, they strode onwards, silently doubted by the forlorn thoughts that plagued some minds. Eyeing the large wooden structure before them he, in his mind, snorted at their lack of talent and intelligence when building it. Sliding down from Euria as they halted he knew he would allow someone else his mare if the need arises to run. The horse was as quick footed as he, both some of the fastest within the Zerui. Ignoring the way Mikel spoke of his brother Xanti knew Inaki was man enough to take care of himself, and if he wasn't then did he have any hope of ever leading the Zerui one day?

As the eyes of the warriors fell on him after Mikel's commands he eyed Inaki, if some guards escaped their clutches they would go for the archer slowly picking them off. Nodding his aproval Xanti took a grappling hook before speaking. "I want Luken to stay with Inaki, one man is not enough if many rush him. Also if one of us is injured we need someone to keep us alive. That Luken will be your duty. However pray to Eguzki that you will not have to fulfill your role." One last look at Inaki, brief though somewhat meaningful he stalked forward, the others at his back and around him.

Niggling somewhere in the back of his mind was a thought, buried deep and struggling fervently to get out. Suddenly it struck him and he stuck out a hand to stop his fellow warriors from proceeding. Straining his gaze he was gifted with sight as the moon reappeared from behind darkened clouds. A glint hit him from the barracks, the interlopers were clever enough not to sleep at least. "When we see each other, they may see us. Keep quick on your feet and watch where they could pepper us with arrows. Stay, if you can, to the darkness."

With an impassive facade he loped onwards, smoothly he came to the wall, striking to the shadows and gazing for whatever holes he could see which would give their foes an advantage when firing. Nodding he and his men threw their grappling-hooks, whisking into the air and snagging tightly into the wood, making thankfully little to no noise. Putting his boot dagger between his teeth and making sure both his short swords were secure at his hips Xanti put both hands on the rope. Before he began scaling the wooden structure Xanti offered a silent prayer to Eguzki.

My high God Eguzki, give strength to my men and aid them where necessary. Allow them not to falter if i fall.

Placing one foot unto the wall he began to make his way upwards.

"Then the the Scalian said 'those aren't scholars, they're sheep!' " With that the soldiers gathered around the large oak table burst into laughter, one who had drank a little more than his fair share fell backwards over one of the benches surrounding the table. The men were mostly from the other garrisons along the border, the second or third in command from each, although a few of the assembled officers were from the fort where the assemblage took place. The man who had requested representatives from the different forts sat at the head of the rectangular table. The general had a grin on his face, something that rarely happened when he was away from military men.

In fact he had been smiling more frequently, which wasn't really saying much, ever since he had returned to the border. He was always guarded with his emotions at court, although he had little to guard. But when he was in his element, back in the order and obedience the military provided, the general seemed to enjoy himself more. Much more. Or at least he felt safe to express it more. While he knew the cost of being the general of the king's army was attendance at court that didn't mean he was comfortable with the life of a courtier. He was constantly interrupted from planning and research by silly court functions or petitions from one person or another. But amongst the army he had full control over his schedule and timetables. Court social functions had no place amongst the muck and mire of military life. But for all his time away from the border he was surprised how quickly he had returned to a more tactical and relaxed mindset. He tried not to think about the fact he was leaving it all in two weeks to return again to to the keep. Really he was only here to assist Prince Fergus with a few matters and make sure everything was moving smoothly at the border. Well as smoothly as it can go when barbarians are involved.

The general lifted his second wine skin to his lips as he watched his subordinates hob knob and laugh with each other. He knew most of them had been under significant stress as of late so he was glad to see them at ease, getting some much needed rest and relaxation. When he called them to the fort for status reports from all along the border, he hadn't expected to receive bad news. Maybe the time he spent at court would be better used at the border.

Barbarian attacks had only been increasing and morale was suffering because of it. The soldiers of the border garrisons were the most experienced and well trained men that the Thiasians had to offer. All of them had seen combat once or twice, many of them serving in the last war. Having plenty of time on their hands training and drills were a constant. This kept the soldiers ready and eager for combat, but more importantly it kept them out of trouble. But unfortunately those battle hardened men were slowly but steadily leaving the army. Many retired and after years of obedience and waking up to the possibility of a border raid none could blame them for want some peace in what was left of their lives. Many also left the army against their, both the hands of the natives and diseases that their age made them more susceptible to than the younger soldiers. The militarizes numbers were not dropping however for these losses were replaced with fresh recruits. Unfortunately these young soldiers lacked the discipline, skill, and most importantly battle experience that had allowed the previous generation of soldiers to hold the border against the grind of barbarian advances. Laurent wasn't sure if the green recruits would be able to continue to guard the border as the previous soldiers had or if they would slowly be eroded away until the barbarian horde swept into Thiasa.

Fortunately for the Thiasians General West had no intention of loosing the island to any one, much less barbarians. If all went to plan the barbarians would be dealt with within the next two years. A time frame that would ensure at least some veterans remained within the army, a strong backbone to support the rest of the host, many of whom would be conscripts and tourney knights. Unfortunately it would also mean the Baskar would still have some veterans forms the barbarian wars as well. But they were defeated once, they could surely be defeated again. Especially since the Thiasians had spent the last fifteen years training while the barbarians had most likely returned to their fields and families. A standing army, while expensive, had its advantages. And the general needed every advantage he could get in dealings with the barbarians. But for tonight he was content to know that the hurdles of managing the army and leading it to war were still years away.

On the wall of the fort, Private Cai Mulligan sighed. He hadn't quite been able to pull himself out of his grump over such an unfortunately-timed sentry duty--with the General and the Prince visiting!--all night. But a flash of movement caught his eye, and he shook off his brooding gloom and stood peering out into the darkness. Had he just seen something?

"Hey, Ardal, do you--

A whistle, a fleshy thud, and then gurgling--Ardal was on the ground, an arrow in his throat, his hands scrabbling desperately at the shaft. For a moment Cai stood silently over his friend, then knelt, his hands twitching helplessly over his friend's writhing body, as he tried to think of something to do, but there was nothing... nothing..... Ardal opened his mouth, and seemed to try to speak--and then his eyes went dead. There was so much blood. Cai squatted, transfixed, unable to comprehend what he'd seen--it was a nightmare, surely, it was--

A sound, nearby. He leapt to his feet and saw a grappling hook, lodged into the wall, and leaned down to cut it off--but a painted barbarian faced loomed up at him from the blackness, its eyes pits of shadow, and he ran.

He struck the bell they kept for sounding alarms, and struck it again--he could hear shouts from the other pair of sentries, and the humming whisper as more arrows flew. He should've expected this--the Lieutenant always told them the barbarians would use bowmen to cover their backs if they ever mounted an attack--he struck the bell again, and again.

It was the brassy reflective surface of the bell that saved him, as it glowed dimly in the gloom. He caught a glimpse of a barbarian figure behind him, and threw himself out of the way. The axe thudded against the brass bell, which clanged, and Cai slid backwards, groping his way toward the wall, fumbling with the sword at his belt, and now the barbarian had turned to advance on him...

Lieutenant Tremaine lounged at the end of the table near the General, nursing a frugal pint of beer and listening to the exuberance of his men. He was proud of the show they'd made for the General and the Prince... good lads, all of them, and if they were a little young, well, he'd been a wee thing when he'd joined up himself. Digby knew they'd yet to be tested in a full-on attack, but the lads on the wall were solid. All were, really.

He sat back and loosened his belt a notch--the food had been unusually rich tonight, in celebration of the General's arrival. And, of course, in order to impress him... Digby'd stayed quiet, though, and watched. This General was no slouch. Obviously a sharp man with his head in the right place, and he worked for a living. And the Prince was on the wall with the common soldiers... there was hope for Thiasa while such men ruled. Digby had just begun to slide into a sleepy post-prandial stupor when the bells sounded.

At once he'd leapt to his feet, his hand at his sword, his expression entirely changed.

"Move out!" he roared. "To the walls, all available to the walls!"

"Form up orderly now," he heard Sergeant Hawes bark out behind him, but Digby's only thoughts were for the men on the wall--young Avery and Mulligan and Tiernay--Mulligan was fifteen if he was a day, for all he'd claimed to be older when he'd joined up--hardly older than Rick...

A red haze of rage had already formed over Digby's vision by the time he'd made it to the wall. Cai, by the bell--a barbarian before him--Digby didn't hesitate, but grabbed one of the spears leaning against the back wall and threw it. He caught the barbarian in the back, and glimpsed Cai's bloody, terrified face. In a few rapid strides he was beside the boy, checking briefly for injury, but the blood wasn't his. Digby caught the unmistakable scent of piss, and ignored it. Behind him he could hear the rest of the men catching up, and saw that the barbarians had gained the wall already...

"A-Ardal," Cai stammered, blue eyes wide in his pale, boyish face. "They j-just--"

There was Ardal, on the ground, and Digby had seen enough dead men to know one.

"NO! God damn you!"

As if in answer to his anguished howl, the rain of arrows stopped...

Iñaki squinted through the blackness. The interlopers' fortress, lit faintly by torches within, became a basin of dim light--which looked brilliant against the prevailing blackness. Stupid of them--didn't they realize keeping the thing alight like that both blinded them to the darkness without and created an illuminated target for archers? Yes, it made his job much easier. He and Luken waited until they could see the dark shapes of their fellow warriors drawing close to the top of the wall. Then they nocked their arrows.

"One, two, three," Luken whispered.

The shadow of a Zerui head loomed above the wall, and Iñaki caught a glimpse of polished interloper helmet. He nodded, and fired. The sudden disappearance of the helmet indicated he'd hit home, and he quickly grabbed another arrow out of his quiver. His legs began to carry him toward the wall as he shot--with more wild abandon this way. They wanted to give the impression of great numbers by firing as rapidly as they could, and he felt his arms were almost a blur as he drew forth arrows and let them go, drew them forth and let them go. Accuracy wasn't important--the warriors on the wall could do the killing. What they ought to do was simply avoid any Zerui and scare the enemy as much as they could.

At last they reached the wall. The grappling-hooks were still in place, and Iñaki and Luken both darted forward, planting their feet against the rough wood of the wall. In the dark, pulling himself up hand-over-hand, Iñaki almost felt he was traversing a great distance underwater. He felt as though he weren't moving upwards but sideways, with a great weight pressing him back.

When he tumbled over the wall it was like falling from a clear, calm sky into a roiling Hell of chaos. Iñaki had to fling himself forward under a swinging blade, and fumbled for the axe at his belt. He raised his weapon just in time to meet the flat of an interloper's sword. He kicked out desperately, catching the man in his mail-clad stomach. There was no time to hesitate, and Iñaki would later recall his first hand-to-hand kill as a moment of odd silence amidst noise, as though everything had slowed down. Blood fountained. His opponent's mouth gaped silently, his head lolling to one side, half-severed by Iñaki's axe blow.

And behind the crumpling man, Mikel--his white teeth stained red with his or someone else's blood--grinned at him.

"Txiki!" he gasped, his mouth still held in the bloody rictus that approximated a friendly smile. And then he lunged at Iñaki, bearing him toward the ground. At first Iñaki thought he'd been trying to sweep him out of the way of one of the interlopers, but no--Mikel's knife was out and his eyes were far from mad--they were calm, focused. Iñaki raised one arm to ward of the blow; the knife descended, and grated against the bone of his forearm.

"Mikel--no--"

"Abomination!" Mikel's knife plunged unerringly toward Iñaki's unprotected face--trying to stab through his eye to his brain--Iñaki twisted his head to one side and he felt a hot, searing, gushing pain, and his left eye blinked out, and his cheek was a mass of fire--and he raised his legs, rocked back, and with an almighty howl he kicked Mikel off of him.

And there--above him, in the space Mikel had left--was an interloper.

The shapes disappeared into the darkness, as if they'd never been. If the guard hadn't seen them as well Fergus knew he would have tried hard to rationalise them away the same way he'd done years ago when there was a creature under the bed and his nurse refused to believe that it was there. Perhaps he'd have decided that it was a tree moving, a wild animal perhaps. A barbarian. They moved like animals, predators, you'd never know until it was too late.

This could be all the warning they got, and already Fergus was wondering if it was enough to rouse the whole keep. Yes, there'd been shapes out there, but two of them had seen them for a number of seconds, they could have been anything. The darkness was offering no more clues, and the prickling feeling that told him John and the other men were looking to him for orders was starting to get oppressive. By isolating himself he avoided most of these decisions, he just did what Aedan told him to.

It could be nothing, but he wasn't going to take that risk, and he took a deep breath before speaking. "Sound the alarm." The men nodded and moved instantly, quickly deciding that three of them - John included - were going to ring the warning bell, while the other two stayed with Fergus. Moving in groups was a lot safer, there was more chance of one of them at least making it through. The two men who'd stayed were one he'd worked with before, and one he hadn't. He'd have rather John stayed, but the man was already hurrying away and Fergus didn't want to raise his voice. If the barbarians really were here, it might just make him a target.

Gesturing for silence, Fergus started moving slowly towards the stairs to the roof. The obvious entry point was over the walls, because he was confident that the barbarians didn't have the strength to break through the walls. Not knowing where they were, they could already be up there and about to be down. Wishing that he had time to go and get his axe Fergus drew his sword, holding it in a low guard. The poleaxe was his favourite weapon, but it was much more of a nuisance to carry round.

The warning bell hadn't sounded by the time Fergus reached the bottom of the steps, there were no sounds of alarm. But then, there wouldn't be - the barbarians were known for moving silently, and Fergus wasn't stupid enough to expect the men on guard to be able to see and hear everything. The first sign of there being something wrong would be approaching the gates of St Peter, and it was a little late by then. Trusting the men to follow him he continued moving softly upwards, ready to fight on the stairs if it came to that. It didn't, and the small party made it to the roof unscathed. Then all hell broke loose, and the alarm sounded.

Some instinct in the man following Fergus caused him to grab him and pull them back under the doorway and what shelter it provided. How many of them were there? From the doorway, breathing heavily and trying had to push the shock away to be dealt with later, it seemed to Fergus that there had to be a small army of them out there for the number of arrows that were coming down. Some of the best Thasian archers could get up to around ten arrows a minute, so perhaps it was only a small party, but leaving the shelter would most likely result in death. Already there were people screaming and a few thuds out there. Clout shooting, and very high clout shooting at that.

As suddenly as it started, the rain of arrows stopped and an unnatural silence fell over the area. Apart from Lieutenant Tremaine yelling. Around them men started moving out onto the walls, but with no clear idea of where the enemy was Fergus moved at a slower pace. His paranoia paid off occasionally, and now seemed to be one of those times. Around him the barbarians were springing into action as well, a number of men had gone down already. As much as Fergus disliked them, part of him did admire their skill. They were causing a problem, and they had such inferior technology. He almost wanted to laugh manically at the thoughts running through his head as he ducked to avoid an axe blow, bringing his sword up and round, feeling it slice into flesh and a scream as he finished the stroke. Not fatal, but he didn't want to get the blade stuck in someone, he could quite easily be caught unprotected while trying to pull it clear.

A second stroke saw the Barbarian lying on the floor, in the dim light Fergus couldn't see if he was dead, mortally wounded or not so badly wounded but definitely down. There were warm drops on his face that felt unpleasantly like they might be blood, and he wanted to wipe them away but there were two barbarians replacing the one on the floor and there was no time.

He was moving forwards, sword ready to strike, when one of them suddenly turned on the other. It was enough to make Fergus pause, even in the middle of the fighting. One of them really looked like he was going to kill the other one, and the one having a knife waved in his face seemed to think that this was serious. Really, he knew that the tribes didn't traditionally get on, but even if they were from different tribes - there was no way Fergus knew of telling - this was really just ridiculous.

Later on he wouldn't be able to say what made him act instead of leaving the barbarians to tear each other to pieces, which would have been sensible. Instead he lunged forwards, blade swinging through the air in an arc which, he calculated, would connect with the aggressor’s head. If the man below hadn't kicked his attacker out the way it might have done, as he had the swing went wide. Recovering fast Fergus moved forwards again, the man had a fast recovery time as well and it was only the air having been knocked from his lungs that gave Fergus the advantage he needed. Even so, when the blade bit into the man's flesh and he howled, Fergus didn't think the wound itself was fatal. It had hit his shoulder instead of his neck, and the bone had stopped the blade from doing any real damage, although if the shock running back to Fergus' arms was correct, it had been at a cost. He was certain that at least part of the shoulder had been broken, and the man went down.

The blade was hauled free by a mixture of Fergus pulling one way and the man the other, and the man jumped to his feet and fled after it was clear, one arm wrapped around his chest to support the weight on his bloody shoulder. Fergus watched him go, quickly losing sight of him in the crowds. The area around him seemed strangely calm, the shouts and clashes from the other combatants strangely distant as he turned to look at the man on the floor. Fergus didn't know enough of the barbarians to tell the difference between one person and another, so he'd no idea if he'd ever seen the man before. There seemed to be blood down the whole side of his face, so the knife had obviously hit home. In the darkness Fergus couldn't see how bad the damage was, but it didn't matter. Beside him someone shouted, and with the spell broken he turned to parry a short sword coming his way.

One never underestimated Warlord Zeru sem'Zigor.

At the head of a pack of a dozen mounted warriors, Zeru rode, his black eyes flashing in the darkness. The horses pelted helter-skelter through the pitch-dark forest, their pounding hooves thunder in the ears of Zeru and his men. And all because his sons, his bloody sem'Zakur sons, had decided that they were going to pull some sort of... suicide attack!

Zeru was fairly sure that it had been Xanti's idea, and he was a little proud of his son's leadership, but mostly amazed at his stupidity. Of course, Mikel and Peru and the rest of the obnoxious bunch had probably egged him on -- including Iñaki. The boy was constantly trying to prove himself, which just made Zeru wonder what in Eguzki's name he needed to be proven. As a second son, he'd be made a chieftain someday! But there were rumors about his second son... rumors that made Zeru's blood boil.

No time to think of it now, for as the men drew closer to the interloper's great, gallumphing fortress, the sound of wildly clanging brass bells assaulted their ears. "Quickly now!" the Warlord shouted over his shoulder, eyes striking like lightning at the amorphous shape of a dozen or so of his finest warriors. "If they've already rung the bells, then our stupid boys will be in some trouble. Get up the walls fast. We'll hack those palefaces to pieces if we have to." And as the horses drew closer, the noises of struggle were quick to fall from the log partition.

Though Zeru was past his prime, he leapt from his horse and was running as soon as his feet touched the ground -- though, granted, his knees were a little worse for wear because of it. The men behind him quickly followed; those who couldn't find an empty rope already used by the boys pulled grappling hooks from their saddles and swung them in lazy circles before hurling them at the palisade. And up the wall the men went, hand over hand and foot over foot, their fists already gripping the hilts of their brass short swords and knives as they came over the edge. From somewhere nearby, the cry of "Abomination!" hit Zeru like a blow, and he turned in time to avoid the human body that catapulted onto the ground at his feet. By the accent and the movements, he knew that the body was one of his own, and was kneeling to check on the boy when a snarl from above and beside him brought Zeru's sword up, clanging against the hard metal of an interloper's sword.

Struggling to push up against the blade, Zeru heaved with all his strength and disengaged the blade holding his, making a quick slash just as soon as the metals slid apart. A gurgling sigh met his cut, and a hail of warm red rain sprayed against Zeru's shoulders before the satisfying thud told the Warlord the man was dead. He tried to kneel again, but one of his men was crying his name from further down the barricade, and Zeru sprinted across the flat log platform, stumbling on bodies and slipping in slick pools of blood, to get to the man that was calling his name.

The sight that greeted him in the dim firelight of the watchtower made Zeru's blood turn to ice. One of his men was attending his son -- his son! -- Iñaki, the left half of his face a streak of blood. The hope lit in Zeru's heart that the blood belonged to an interloper, but there lay the truth in Iñaki's ruined left eye. "Iñaki," he said, nearly choking on the bile that rose in his throat, but there was nothing he could do right there, and the sounds of battle were behind him, and if Iñaki was wounded then the other boys could be dying...

"Stay with him," he commanded his warrior in Baska. "I need to gather the other boys." And then Zeru turned and ducked back into the skirmish.

Digby shoved Aelfric back--the boy, young enough to have been named for the old King after he was truly king, had no place on the wall.

"Get down!" he roared, and whirled, his blade slicing through the air in the place where Aelfric's head had been one second before. His sword screeched and grated to a halt against another, and, pop-eyed, he found himself face to face with one of the barbarian warriors, who had gotten a steel weapon somehow--a shoddy blade but it held against his.

"Be damned," he spat, and kicked out. The barbarian doubled over and rolled away before he could finish him. The flash of metal behind him made him turn, and he raised his sword again, only to relax when he saw it was Hawes. His sergeant was bleeding from a dozen small wounds, but he smiled, chipper as ever he was on the training fields.

"Giving 'em what for, ain't we?" He raised his bloody sword in a salute to Digby and plunged back into the fray. "Back 'em up against the bloody wall!" Digby heard him roar, as he tried to organize their men in the close quarters that didn't favor organization. Digby smiled to himself, but there was no time to appreciate the sergeant and his parade-ground bellow now.

He spotted a big barbarian, his dark skin a mass of scars. It was a barbarian he thought he recognized from the old campaigns--but no--it was his head-band he recognized--this was their Warlord.

He must have made an involuntary noise, because he could tell the man noticed him, and he raised his blade. "Coward!" he flung at him, noticing he appeared to be trying to duck through the crowd. It was a goad, calculated more than angry, but Digby was angry, his head buzzing with the rage of years and the new protective anger that came when he thought of the young soldiers he'd come to call, privately, his boys.

Thomas was not used to violence. He'd seen it, very occasionally, but until the very recent past his mother or father had been quick to turn his eyes. He'd certainly never been in the thick of it before. But he'd been training hard for this very moment, harder than anyone in his group, and the sound of the bells had stirred a rush in his blood. He readied himself for the coming battle swiftly and focused on the sound of his heartbeat drumming in his ears. There was only one enemy here, and that enemy deserved to lose as many of their soldiers as possible. None of them were innocent.

The angry thunder in his blood stilled for a moment as Renna's face flashed into his mind, and he let his eyes close in hopes of forcing her away. But as always she refused to leave him. The clang of the bells woke him from his reverie, and the adreneline surged again. Swiftly he drew his sword and held it aloft, eyeing the bright blade a moment. He whispered to it, bowing his head. "Sister, I dedicate this to you."

Then he was on his feet and racing to answer the call, his mind working lightning-swift and speeding far ahead of his body. Thomas swept over the entire chaotic scene in a glance, then ducked out of the way as a man in armor stumbled and fell just in front of him. The man responsible was dark and riddled with scars, and the Thiasan lad grinned. That would be wonderful, if he could claim such an obviously experienced warrior as his first kill. But this man was fast-sweeping ahead of him and then pausing over one of his own. Tom growled in frustration and shoved his way through the crowd, blocking and cutting when situation called for it. But he'd already chosen his quarry, and now he was on the hunt.

The young man allowed himself a grin at a loud voice cursing over the crowd and shook his head. Lieutenant Tremaine was every bit himself even in the thick of war, and it was rather reassuring. Good, the commander was calling him coward. Coward like they all were. Thomas danced away to place himself at the dark warrior's back, settling firmly into stance with eyes sharpened for the kill. "Coward," he repeated, very softly. "Where is my sister?"

As Zeru slipped through the mass of writhing shadows, the wall under his feet slippery with spilled blood, the harsh clang of metal on metal and the sounds of dying rang in his ears. He was half-delirious with the image of his son's bloodied face, and barely heard over the battle noise the dual cries of "Coward!" Instinctively, the wizened warrior's head swung to the source of the noise, lighting first on the illuminated edge of a steel sword and the silhouette of a sturdy interloper. And then he turned to his rear, and saw that another of them had come up on his back.

Zeru swore in Baska, cursing himself for his own stupidity, and his bronze blade was a strike of lightning as he swung it, dancing backwards, trying to knock the interloper's blade aside. Slowly it dawned on him that the interloper had asked about a sister, could it be that the interlopers practiced the custom of taking their sisters as wives?

But there was no time to think about it as he realized he was cornered between two of the interlopers. As the smaller of the two swung at him, he ducked, rolling out of the way with enough time to recover and sweep his sword out in a wide arc, aiming for the legs of both the men. And as the bronze blade swung back around to where he crouched, he was on his feet again and backing up to a better distance, settling himself into a carefully placed stance to wait.

A searing-hot pain cut into Zeru's shoulder, and the warlord spun around with a furious snarl, ripping the knife that had cut him out of his flesh. Raising his short sword with both hands above his head, he brought the blade plunging down into the man's soft belly. With a gurgle, the interloper fell over, providing an obstacle for Zeru to trip over if the two adversaries came after him.

Even over the din of the assembled officers the general could hear the warning bell. Based on the sudden stiffening of the others crowded around the table they too could pick the sounds out. With the new recruits they would have been a few seconds hesitation out of the disbelief of what the sound meant or the fear of what was about to happen. But no one dinning with the general froze, not even for a second. They all rose quickly, including the general, and hurried out of the room. The sooner they found out the situation the sooner they could respond. The strategy for dealing with a small band of raiders was different than the strategy for dealing with a massive horde.

As soon as the officers emerged from the hall and into the night the General was already quickly taking note of his surroundings as no doubt the others were doing as well. From his quick analysis Laurent had enough information about the scene to formulate a strategy. One section of the wall was being scaled by the barbarians, although he could only make out about ten barbarians in the dim torchlight. So it appeared to be a small raiding party. But the bell had only just tolled so more, possibly many more Baskar could be making their way up and over the walls. Or maybe they were circling around, attempting to flank the defenders with a much larger force. But even that seemed like a foolish move. Even with a flanking advantage it would require a large host to crush a fort and an advancing army of that size would surely be noticed. All of this only took a few seconds for the general to deduce and only a second more for him to formulate a strategy.

"Alright" He said to no one specifically but the crowd around him all snapped to attention, just as he had intended " They'll want us to try and fight them on the walls where our numbers will count for less. Lets not play into their hands. Form up a line of archers and crossbowmen close enough to the walls for an easy shot and form a shield wall of the greener men in front of them. Abandoning the walls would be foolish so send the more experienced men up, make sure to send some up on the other walls so as to flank the barbarians and to make sure they don't flank us. Make sure the archers don't fire unless they have a clear shot, I don't want anyone killed by a brother. I'll need all of the rangers we have assembled quickly. I want them to break off into two groups, one moving around each side of the fort, encircling the barbarians from behind. Tell them to remain hidden but to eliminate as many Baskar as they can and to kill their horses and archers. Quickly now"

Each man broke off from the group when he received his orders until only a fraction of the officers remained, those being the men from the other garrisons. Laurent knew he couldn't convince any of them to remain inside until the fight was over, on the border one doesn't receive promotion for playing it safe. "The rest of you go help where you can, but don't endanger yourself."

Now the general was left alone, or as alone as he could be with scores of men running around him and the noises generated by a thousand different emotions assailing his ears. His guards had formed around him as he had given his orders and now a semicircle of ten men protected him from any incredibly lucky barbarian who had managed to reach the heart of the fort. The general was not foolish enough to believe that his presence in the fight would be vital nor was he foolish enough to believe himself to be less important than any other man on the field. But still he almost wished for that lucky barbarian to rush past the walls, soldiers and his guards and allow him to feel like he was at least involved in the battle. Although any barbarian who could do that would most certainly make short work of a single man armed with only a short sword. Of course a adequate soldier might be able to reach the walls, where a even better target than the general might wait.

"Richard" was all the general had to say and one of his guards stepped forward. "Take your men and find the prince, make sure he's not on the walls. If he is protect him if you can't convince him to find a safer place to seek shelter." The man gave a curt nod and began heading for the wall at a brisk pace, four men following him like ducks. At least they would be able to join the battle today. Meanwhile the five remaining guards made a even closer circle around the general, as much as to keep any Baskar out as to discourage Laurent from trying to get a closer look at the progress of the fight.

Thomas ducked out of the way of a bronze blade, then immediately slipped in a pool of blood. He righted himself in no time at all, but all at once the realization of his surroundings hit home. Blue eyes widened when his beleagured prey took a knife to the shoulder, and then whirled and killed the man who had wounded him. His fellow soldier fell into their way, but the young private was careful not to look down. He could do this well only if he was angry. Not if he started to think about guilt or grief or friendship-this was definitely not the time to be waxing philosophical. Still, he was too young to be completely war-hardened, and he had to soften to see the Baskari man battling off three foes at once. Even if he was a barbarian and savage and guilty of associating with those who had harmed his beloved sister, wasn't it cowardly to send three grown men armed with steel after an old one armed only with bronze? Tom had many faults, but poor sportsmanship was not one of them. He hesitated, and then waved sharply to those around him.

"One at a time. Back off, one at a time."

He allowed himself a quick glance back to check that there wasn't a barbarian sneaking up on him, then lifted his gaze to meet his quarry's eyes. A scream sounded somewhere near, but he did not turn his head to look. Instead he stood quite calmly, and addressed the man in very slow, clear Scalian. "The Lieutenant has work to do. And it is not fair to have three fighting one man. So."

He invited the dark warrior forward with a jerk of his head, taking a step back to allow the man to get over the body blocking his way. But his eyes were wary, and he watched Zeru's every movement with a cold adreneline-expecting him to strike at any given second and readying himself for it. The brash young man had no thought that he might actually lose this encounter, confident as he was in his youth, his strength, and his anger; and ignorant as he was of his quarry's status. His next words only proved his foolishness.

"One of you took my sister with him. I don't know his face, but he did give a name-sem'Hibai. She has green eyes."

He slipped again, and quickly righted himself. "I only fight you because of him. Remember that. If you'd just left us alone I wouldn't want to kill you."

His chest heaved. Air swamped him, making his lungs burn and his head throb. Blood covered his forehead and his ran down his face in torrents. Various interlopers had run at him, had come brandishing their weapons for a kill, and he had given them that of which they wished. However, his gifts to them might not have been what they wished for. Xanti moved in and out of the throngs of people, yells and cries came from every direction and he followed them.

One angry yell burst out behind him, forcing quick responses, his own bronze rose quickly, sparks flashing between him. With a grunt Xanti threw the man off of him, his own sweat slipping down from his forehead down into the blood. It ran down his face, onto his chest as the blade in his hands shifted, slicing up into the throat of the male that was above him. Blood sprayed over his chest and throat, blinding him as it shot into his dark pools of eyes.

It was odd that all he could think of was survival. Of seeing that Ekaini boy again, of their next meeting. Why had he done this? Why had he come here? His brother had had the idea and Xanti had gone with it against his better judgment! Now, in the face of everything, he was looking for that brother.
He found his father first. "Aita!" he called out, his strong voice echoing out as his blade defended one of his brethren, sparks flying against his chest. "Where is Inaki?!" he called out.

He had to find his brother, had to know if he was alright. His brother and Mikel had become lost in the mass of bodies, had gone away. His muscles rippled with a shudder as he moved with feline grace, hacking his way through those that were battling one another. Sure, he had approved of the idea, had been excited about it before, but now he was scared. He couldn't find his brother. Somehow, he wasn't quite sure how, Xanti battled his way back to his father. To his side Xanti saw the blonde male before him. That was nothing to be worried about. The yellow haired interloper was no match for his father so Xanti wasn't afraid for him. No, rather he was worried about the one on the other side of his father.

Xanti yelled, burying the blade into the interloper to the side of his father. Quickly he turned, standing upon the edge of the castle, the river rushing below him. "They have no honor!" Xanti cried, staring down at the flaxen haired interloper that stood before his father. Green eyes...? She was..."Keep a look out for In-" his breath heaved out all at once, a sharp pain shooting through his chest. Through his shoulder. Xanti swore that it had hit his heart from the pain that rushed through him. Before he knew it he was falling. The brick behind him ended and the world was black before he hit the water below.

Gergori only wished he could truly see the melee. With shouts and screams all around him, warm liquid spattering his body every few seconds, it seemed truly amazing. Gergori wielded a weapon in each hand, waving a bronze short sword in his right and some steel hatchet he had found in his left. It was a little nerve racking, hacking blindly, feeling the weapons of the Interlopers sail by his head. Still, Eguzki favored his blades, and Gergori had to stop often to pull his sword from the ruined throat of an opponent.

"Xanti!" Gergori cried occasionally. Zeru had sent them to search for his sons, though the irony of sending a blind man to "search" had made Gergori smile. The warrior sensed the presence of someone in front of him.

"Baskari dog!" A voice cried, Gergori snorted.

"Another to feed my blade?" Gergori laughed. Even in the awful commotion he could hear the slight whistle of a sword in air. Gergori stepped to his left and slashed with the short sword. There was a gurgling and Gergori felt the weapon sink into flesh. His victim's voice was tortured, a hellish cry for escape, but Gergori merely smiled, pulling the man in close and crushing his throat with strong hands. Somewhere ahead, Gergori heard a voice swear in Baska, it was the voice of Zeru.

"Zeru!" Gergori snarled, pushing his way past a large man groaning and murmering in Baska. His warlord seemed engaged in combat, fighting, from gergori's estimates, at least two men. One babbled something about his sister, the other continued to scream about Zeru being a coward. Gergori went for the one yelling. Lowering his shoulder he charged, continuing his drive even when he felt contact. Gergori didn't stop until he felt his victim contact a wall forcefully.

"Zeru would tear your heart out through your throat! Consider yourself lucky to die by my hands instead!" Gergori growled in the language of the Interlopers.

Deora grinned at the delicious chaos. Blood sweat and tears trickled down the faces of battlemaddened men. Deora was an exception. He stood on the battle ment opposite the battle and adjusted his small fire-arm. Scalian dung but still serviceable. A good start towards his own future triumphs. But for now the small weapon worked well enough. Most individuals were inveloped in the chaotic melee where even the best native marksman was fearful of hitting an ally. Deora however was an easy shot and one such marksman tried his luck at the unmoving target. Deora also observed the archer and it was over before the poor man knew what hit him. In fact it'd be probably be a while till the natives understood the new weapon.

Holsters on his person held three other similar fire-arms ,but he was cautious and wanted to reserve some. He went through the farmiliar movements as he reloaded. Powder in ,slam the stock ,cock the flint , aim and blast another unfortunate native flew through the air. His two man bodygaurd grabbed a pistol each and the attack began. Although at the safe range the weapons were less accurate Deora did a bit more damage to the enemy then his own side. He fired at a young boy and the shot went over. He proceded to notice a target he couldn't miss. A tall man pinning a soldier against a wall. He looked to be doing a fair amount of damage ,and Deora couldn't let that continue. He loaded, aimed ,fired ,and missed ,sending a shot inches above the mans' high head. He cursed and began reloading.

Gergori snarled as splinters of stone rained down on his head. There had been a loud bang and a smell of hellfire, the blind warrior hardly had time to react before he felt an impact above him.

"What sort of witchcraft do you Interlopers have?!" He howled in the face of the man he had pinned. Gergori spun his hostage around, throwing an arm around his neck and pulling him close. The blind warrior set his back to the wall, short sword pressed against the hostage, hatchet quivering in the hand that held the Interloper to him.

"Try your witch fire now, dog!" Gergori snarled, trying to determine just where the shot had come from. "I'll make sure this man dies slow if you don't reveal yourself!" The blind warrior twisted his head back and forth, attempting to gain one of his special sights. Finally it came to him, though he hadn't seen it, he knew a man stood off to his left, fiddling with a strange device, he seemed distracted. Gergori grinned, rather like a wolf baring its teeth before it lunged on its prey.

"May Eguzki burn the flesh from your bones, Interloper!" Gergori growled. He tossed his hostage aside, leaping forward and waving both weapons.