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"Fire! Fire! Keep firing!"
Lando ran back and forth across the gatehouse, gripping a crudely made tin horn. Each time he blew into it, his voice carried far across the walls and the city, cutting through the cacophony of the approaching enemy. He moved urgently, shouting commands, sweat streaking his face, his nerves taut.
For a brief moment, he missed the white-haired, boisterous old man, McKen. If McKen were here, Lando thought, he wouldn't need to strain his voice like this. Damn the Reach! Why did they have to attack precisely now, when everything was so tense? How unlucky.
Outside, the deafening roar of the ballistas filled the air. "Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!" Arrows screamed toward the walls, striking wood, stone, and occasionally flesh. The Reach archers pressed forward in dense formations, splitting into three teams as they advanced. Behind their massive shield walls, they readied longbows, aiming skyward. At the officer's command of "Fire!", a dark, relentless rain of arrows rained down upon Twin River City's walls.
"Take cover!" Eddard roared. He barely had enough soldiers to defend the walls, let alone trade volleys with the enemy. Even if his archers killed ten for every one of his men lost, it would still be a grievous loss. The moat, swollen by the Green Fork River, stretched nearly a hundred meters wide. Let the Reach fill it slowly; every wasted moment was a victory for him.
Soldiers dove behind battlements and into watchtowers. Those with the skill to shoot arrows peered through narrow observation slits, picking targets through the small gaps. These murder holes, at most ten centimeters wide and twenty centimeters long, were lined with iron bars in a crisscross pattern. From inside, the view was perfect. From outside, it was merely a blur of darkness. Only a master archer like Angai, armed with a dragonbone or goldenheart longbow, could strike with accuracy.
Even the ballistas, shielded behind protective covers, shook under the rain of enemy fire. Splintering wood and cracking bolts caused inexperienced operators to freeze in panic. Harwin, the man responsible for aiming and firing, shouted in frustration, "Damn it! Stop standing there like fools! Load the bolts, now!"
The threat of combat brought out raw potential. Shaken militiamen snapped into action, loading bolts as fast as their trembling hands would allow. Harwin aimed, kicked the trigger, and with a satisfying "whoosh," the bolt flew, piercing a shield and two men beyond it. His face lit with grim joy. "Quick! String it again!"
To operate a ballista efficiently, four men were needed: one aiming, two cranking the string, and one loading the bolts. Eddard had no idle soldiers for such simple work. Instead, he promised gold dragons to the brave and compensation to the families of those who fell. He trained them tirelessly over the last few days.
The Reach unleashed another volley of arrows, aiming to destroy the sixteen ballistas. Hailstorms of iron struck the arrow shelters. "Ah!" a militiaman cried, clutching his wounded arm, pale with fear. Fellow soldiers carried him down the scaffolding to be treated by Scholar Bennett's medical team. Dozens of women, trained in nimble movements, tended to the wounded quickly.
Outside, four shield formations of House Tarly's heavy infantry advanced into the moat. Their shield carts, carrying skirmishers, began filling the shallow water with soil and stones. Each soldier darted forward, dropped his load, then retreated into the shield walls. The process was deadly but necessary. With surrounding villages deserted, there was no time to train farmers or dig trenches slowly. Dickon Tarly pressed forward, exploiting sheer numbers to fill the ditches.
Eddard couldn't draw a longbow effectively, so he grabbed a crossbow, using both arms to pull back the heavy string. A bolt flew through a murder hole, piercing a skirmisher's chest before he could throw his stone. Old Frey's warehouse supplied fifty to sixty crossbows, which veterans quickly learned to operate. Bolt after bolt thudded into the attackers, sending them wailing into the mud and river. Some skirmishers, desperate, even pushed bodies into the water to cover their advance, only to become the next targets.
"Whoo! Whoo! Whoo!" The horns of the Reach sounded again, sharper and more piercing. More skirmishers charged forward, carrying rafts and scaling ladders. Eddard noted some were Northerners—tall, broad, wearing wolf or bear fur. Old Flayer's men had joined this assault, their hatred of the Northern defenders burning bright.
The front of the city gate now bristled with shield formations, guarding a constant flow of skirmishers moving soil and stones. On both sides, rafts and ladders advanced toward the city walls, threatening a multi-pronged assault. Dickon Tarly's strategy was clear: use overwhelming numbers to attack simultaneously from multiple angles, leaving defenders unable to respond to all threats at once. He aimed to seize Twin River City in a single, crushing strike.
"Damn it! Has the probing already ended?" Eddard bellowed, surveying the enemy. "Abel! Sound the alarm! Tell Karas and Matthew to bring up the reserves! The enemy is committing fully!"
Abel sprinted to relay orders, and soon, piercing bells rang across the city walls, tightening the defenders' resolve. "Charge! Whoever climbs first gets a hundred gold dragons and a land grant!"
Five Dreadfort soldiers were the first to launch rafts into the moat. Stepping onto them, they paddled furiously with shields, but the river's width and cold slowed them. Harwin aimed at the red-flayed men, firing bolts with deadly precision. Neck and chest strikes split bodies; rafts splintered, and survivors struggled in icy waters.
At least thirty to forty rafts were thrown in, carrying roughly two hundred men. Ballistas and crossbows struck swiftly, yet some reached the far bank and huddled under the walls, shields raised. Scaling ladders were then hooked onto the city, each over ten meters long and a meter wide.
"Throw stones! Crush them!" Lando's horn blared again as Freya commanded defenders to drop heavy objects. Stones shattered shields and helmets, battering rams smashed through armor, and in minutes, over a hundred attackers lay broken at the wall's base.
Eddard moved like a gust of wind along the battlements, swinging his "Heartbreaker" sword to cut grappling hooks and push down scaling ladders. A crossbow bolt narrowly missed him, but he pressed on, shouting orders. Lando's horn blared continuously, relaying commands to every corner of the wall.
The Reach commander, seeing heavy casualties, ordered archers to fire anew, while skirmishers continued assaults across the moat. Karas Snow and Matthew led the reserves onto the walls, joining the defenders to repel attackers climbing ladders. Every moment was deadly, every decision crucial.
The siege of Twin River City had truly begun. And Eddard knew, as long as the walls held, as long as courage and skill endured, the defenders could turn even overwhelming odds into a desperate, bitter victory.
Füll bōøk àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)
If you purchase this book, I will send you a gift. You will receive access to all the stories on my page up to the Silver Tier for one month. Once you complete the purchase, I will email you a coupon."