Tales of the Vangen: The Siege of Middengard (Book 2)

Chapter 25: Battle of the Breach (Part 3/4)

{The Art of Stelecasting has made Middengard somewhat of a wonder in the Cont. Apart from their ingenious oligarchic rule over its citizens, the city boasts a number of amazing innovations in both metallurgy and masonry. To describe Middengard's brutal and efficient architecture would be like trying to count the stars in the sky. A near impossible undertaking.}

-Lobis Corefellow, an excerpt from his traveling tales, "The Diamond in the Rough."

"Look! The gates are opening!"

Civis put a hand up to shield his eyes. It was slow going, but the facts were clear. The doors peeled back in a steady rhythm, a sliver of carnage peeking through, growing wider and wider into view.

It was as if the gates of hell had come open. The Warhost surged out in chained packs of ten or more, swords fused to their gauntlets, eyes and mouths wide in a feverish bloodlust. The Vangen meanwhile came thundering at them like angels of death, their axes sweeping, cutting, tearing through the Warhost ranks like they were paper.

But there were just too many of them. No matter how much the Vangen killed it seemed like more of them just kept boiling out, slipping past the shanties, surging from the streets, rattling and screaming like a deranged circus performance. Something had to be done and soon.

"Charge!" Civis screamed, pulling out his sword and making damn sure he was ahead of the pack. Who best to lead a charge but him? The faithful Legate. The people's voice. If only his damn mouth would help him keep it that way. Twice now he'd embarrassed the Captain, first in front of Regis, the second in front of everyone else. But not today. Oh no, today he would let his actions do the talking and leading a charge would be a damn fine conversation starter.

"Kill them all!" He smashed against the Warhost's wavering formation, drove his sword into the guts of the first man, lifted his shield up just as a hammer came crashing down. His arm buzzed against the impact and he winced, turned, rammed his sword into the attacker's chest. The rest of his boys were reaching him now and making corpses of the other slaves, driving them back, pushing them aside like angry, armored cattle.

Civis could just make out Regis over the chaos before him. He was standing with his back against the breach, him and the rest of his vanguard, swinging that sword of his with the type of savagery only a Northman could possess. Bodies were being flung about like sack dolls, crushed under foot, but it wasn't enough. Slowly, dangerously so, Regis and his men were being pushed back. One of his boys in particular stood overwhelmed as he fended off wave after wave of crashing blades and crashing halberds. Another was not so lucky, dropping his ax to clutch at his throat, a well aimed spear splitting his throat open.

"We have to help them!" Civis had to shout in order to be heard. Some of his boys closest to him nodded, started pushing, cutting, killing anything that stood in their way towards Regis. Civis made his own effort taking the legs out of one slave, felt his guts turn cold as a child little more than thirteen came charging at him with a knife. He blocked the wild thrust with his shield, smashed the kids face in, hard enough to hurt, soft enough not to kill him.

They continued to cut and carve, shoving anyone aside until with an almost bone jarring effort, they broke through the Warhost, pouring towards the breach to give Regis aid. The look in the big Northman's eyes said it all. Reinforcements had finally arrived.

"Glad you could make it!" Regis bellowed, his deep, bellowing voice cutting through the battle with ease.

"Culter took his bloody time!"

"Doesn't he always?"

Civis managed a shug. "So, What's the plan now?"

"Keep killing till they get the point, I suppose!"