Monastery
The sky was turning gold and red, washing the hills in a bright, crimson hue. One by one, fires began to flare outside the Monastery walls. Camps and fences had been erected, and more than a thousand men prepared their meals in the open. Smoke drifted low carrying the smell of fat, grain, and burning wood. Meanwhile, above the walls, facing the cold wind, the Monastery Guards wrapped themselves in wool cloaks over their armor and braced for the first night of the siege.
From the battlements, they had seen their opponents’ ingenuity in building their camp. The terrain just outside the Monastery was steep, slippery, and unforgiving, yet the Lord’s men had conquered it. They felled trees and set them as a barrier, then filled the enclosed space with rocks and rammed earth. Upon this foundation, they fashioned a camp for themselves, beyond the effective range of the defender's crossbowmen.
Inside the Monastery complex, the halls fell into an eerie quiet. Voices, even chants, dropped to whispers, as if the Lord’s men were already within the walls. Doors were closed. Many corridors were locked and purposely kept dark. Armed patrols made their rounds with torches and lanterns.
Under the tense and uneasy air, the gray robes gathered for a meager supper of watery oats with dried anchovies and onions, courtesy of the Sisters in the Inner Sanctum. Yet even that did little to help. Many had lost their appetite in the face of the impending attack. Only now did the Candidates truly feel despair.
The Caretaker and his vice, along with several other prominent members, were missing. Some reported they went to explain the incident to the Saint and would likely face consequences.
Even after an hour, the hall that was usually packed with over a hundred now felt nearly empty. Dozens had joined the guards, rushing through the basics of spear and sword. Others were too disturbed and instead chose penance, retreating into silent prayer and self-punishment, believing it would make a difference or at least ease their personal path to salvation.
Meanwhile, over a hundred survivors from the day’s defeat languished in the hospice hall. Even after their meal, many were too weak to do anything but rest. They startled at every sound, at every scrape of a chair or passing footstep. Only a few still tried to chant, and even that came out in weak, bitter tones.
Just like that, the day slipped into night.
Darkness settled over the hills, heavy and absolute.
But there was no comforting silence and peace. From the besiegers’ camp, noises rose in waves. Bodies of men shifted and moved in the darkness. The clatter of armor and the stamping of boots carried through the night. Shouted orders followed, and several horns sounded briefly before falling silent.
Then, suddenly, long torches were lit, and the ground a hundred paces from the walls was swallowed by the glow of fire.
The Monastery Guards responded at once, alerting all their men. The clanging of metal echoed through the compound and carried tension and fear with it. Men in ringmail and gambeson rushed to the battlements. Crossbowmen raised their weapons, squinting against the sea of men and torchlight below.
“Look! The siege ladders,” one man cried out, and many saw them being dragged forward from where they had rested.
“Get everyone on the wall!” the second in command barked, as they had men taking turns to eat and rest.
As if in answer, another sound rose from below, long, powerful, and raw, like the mournful call of a vast beast. It came from a bronze buccina.
To the Monastery men, there was no mistaking it. The assault had come.
Over two hundred and seventy-odd guards and auxiliaries, half packed along the battlements, towers, and other defensive structures, waited with bated breath. Many had never seen a siege before and relied on older guards for guidance.
They found leadership in the Captain of the Guard. Even in his age, he stood tall among the men, quietly and watchfully observing the enemy’s movements. He had ordered shields to be piled up alongside other wooden contraptions meant to block and repel siege ladders.
Below, the activity grew more intense.
Shouting was heard clearly. The Lord’s men were seen forming battle lines. When hundreds began roaring their battle cries, everyone could feel it. The entire hill seemed to shake against their resolve.
They could see the formation was divided into columns, likely meant for phased assaults.
Watching this, and at the urging of his lieutenant, the Captain of the Guard sent a messenger to the Inner Sanctum, calling upon the promised aid of the Brothers and Sisters of the Cloth. Against their expectations, the assault had truly come on the first night.
Soon, the area beyond the walls was filled with movement. Armed men shifted in groups here and there. More yelling, more rallying.
The Monastery guards waited, jitters in their hands, sweat on their faces.
But then, every now and then, there came a long pause in the enemy’s movements. Crossbowmen on the walls removed their bolts and rested their strings. And when peace almost seemed to return, the activity would flare up again. In response, the defenders readied themselves once more, only for it all to ebb away again.
It happened dozens of times over the span of a few hours, eroding the defenders’ nerves to the breaking point.
Many were tired and frustrated.
In that moment, two pairs of Saint Candidates arrived like a breath of fresh air. Wielding long, barbed iron spears, chants rose as the Brothers and Sisters reached the battlements and scanned the darkened horizon. Their voices were calm and soothing, steadying the nearby guards.
After a brief exchange, they confirmed that the activity below was real and that there was a genuine risk of attack.
“I see knights, crossbowmen and their pavises, men-at-arms with shields, even rough men with bows,” reported one of the Brothers. He was in his prime, strong and tall, with a thin face and a neat goatee. His eyes, glowing faintly gold, remained fixed on the enemy lines as he spoke.
However, tens of minutes passed, and there was no advance. Then an hour slipped by, and the activities below actually slowed to almost a crawl, as if the besiegers were hesitating.
It became so anticlimactic that the pair of Brothers excused themselves from the wall, reasoning that they should patrol other parts of the vast Monastery, fearing it might be only a diversion. Certainly, the Lord was no stranger to such tactics. They knew they had been used to devastating effect in the raid of Lubina. Otherwise, the Saint Candidates would not have armed themselves with iron spears made specifically to counter flying vessels.
Before they realized it, it was near midnight, and the men on the walls were growing tired. Eyes were red, stomachs growled. There was some bitter hot drink to fend off sleep, but it was made available only to the officers. A few brought bread from the kitchen, their night ration, yet it had to be shared among the hundreds, and each received only a bite’s worth.
Everyone assumed the attack had been postponed.
Men freely whispered that the Lord’s forces must have thought they lacked the strength to carry it through and had called it off.
Some even joked that the attackers had forgotten something in their camp, which led to quiet mockery and laughter.
The night wind was cold, and the stars were bright. The hooting of an owl perched on one of the towers could be heard.
As if bewitched by magic, tired and hungry men fell easily into slumber.
But then, after what felt like an eternity, there were sudden movements. In a sharp flurry of activity, ladders were thrust against the walls and landed with a crash, shocking everyone.
“They’re attacking!” one guard shouted, his voice shrill with panic, and everyone rushed to counter.
Sharpened steel bolts from below came flying toward them and struck several in their armor. One unfortunate man was struck in the eye and was quickly dragged away, screaming and wailing in pain.
“The sacred wall must not fall!” cried one robed volunteer clad in ringmail as he and his brothers struggled to push the ladders back with pikes and their bare hands.
Their fellow crossbowmen caught brief flashes of movement below and unleashed their bolts. Amid the screams of the wounded and the crack of crossbows, the fight for the Monastery broke out.
Above the walls, the Monastery Guards strained to force the ladders away. Below, dozens of men braced each ladder with ropes and timber, shields raised over their heads, while groups of hardened attackers stood ready to climb. Their crossbowmen worked methodically to thin the defenders.
The sharp sound of bolts cutting through the air was everywhere.
Amid the chaos of battle, the Captain consulted the two Sisters who remained. “Reverend Sister, what do you see?”
Behind the guards' shields, with only a narrow gap to look through, the oldest Sister, nearing forty, answered nervously, “They are truly attacking. I see columns after columns. Also, a lot of crossbowmen and their pavises. If I could use a crossbow, I might have taken one of them.”
“And below us?” the Captain asked.
"I saw scores of men, with shields and planks of wood over their heads. They’re like ants marching at a table leg."
"Large forces?"
She nodded.
It was all that he needed to know. “Throw the stones,” the Captain commanded, intent on stopping the enemy’s advance and forcing them to reconsider.
Stones were hurled from above, plunging into the darkness below. Soon they landed with crashing force, and screams and cries rose in response. More followed, thrown again and again with brutal effect.
The guards cheered when they fended off one ladder that gave way and collapsed to the side, sending panic through the Lord's men below.
Seeing his men cheering loudly, the Captain shouted, “Don’t cheer yet. Keep it up. Get the rest of the ladders.”
“Don’t rest, or they’ll climb when you least expect it,” his second in command shouted in support.
And so the men fought on.
After concentrated attacks with crossbows, stones, and heavy blocks of wood, they managed to force another ladder away. But no sooner had they begun to cheer for their second success than the main assault finally came.
At once, six ladders were rushed by columns of climbing men. Bolts slammed into the battlements like water bursting through a shattered dam. Only through sheer effort and sacrifice did the defenders break each advance and drive them back.
“The sacred wall stands!” one of the robed men called out as he lifted his spear, blood streaked across his face, splinters still clinging to his armor. The wall answered him with cheers.
Below, the siege ladders were slick with blood. Even clad in armor, the attackers suffered head wounds and broken bones.
The defenders nearly succeeded in holding all sections of their exposed walls when a few ladders were raised in the dark and crashed against the stone at several points.
“Captain!” a guard shouted as he and his group strained to dislodge the new ladder.
Amid the onslaught of crossbow attacks, the commander rushed dozens of his best men to reinforce those sections. Soon, the bloody fighting in the night erupted again. Bolts were exchanged, rocks were thrown, and men clashed, one side straining to climb while the other fought desperately to hold them back.
In the thick of the fighting, the old Captain led a detachment of axemen himself, hacking at the upper sections of the ladders in a desperate bid to stall the assault.
It took a long time, with many defenders suffering bolt wounds to their limbs, before the attack finally stalled.
The fighting had been so lengthy that the crossbowmen on the walls began to rely on the enemy’s retrieved bolts to refill their quivers. Yet, the shafts were heavier, of different lengths, and naturally caused accuracy problems, especially in the dark and without proper adjustment, but they needed them to keep the attackers pinned down.
The assault ended. By then it was only a few hours before morning.
All along the battlements, men collapsed where they stood as fatigue set in. Many hastily grabbed water or small ale to quench their thirst. It had not come without cost, as dozens were injured, and the two Sisters worked tirelessly in their roles as Healers.
Still, they were in better mental condition than before the fight.
“The Monastery prevails,” many whispered with weary gladness, faint smiles on their lips.
“No enemies climbed our walls,” the Captain muttered, and it soon became their watchword for the day.
The wild, cold wind heralded the break of day.
The Sister, weary and with tired eyes, confirmed that the enemy had fully withdrawn to their tents. Only then did the men truly rest. Those who still had to keep watch at noon took turns sleeping in the towers, battlements, and the corridors leading to them.
As for everyone else who marched back to their resting halls or chambers, they carried the good news wherever they went. They had defended the sacred walls.
“The Living Saint protects,” became everyone’s relieved and sometimes spirited reply.
The first night of the siege was over, and it had ended in their victory.
***
Forward Camp
Sir Harold sat in his cramped field tent, where space was painfully inadequate. It stood on the edge of a rocky slope, and the ground behind it fell away into a steep drop, forcing the builders to erect makeshift fences as a safety barrier against accidental falls. With him were two members of his staff, both weary and red-eyed from exhaustion. Together, they waited in silence.
At last, the vice entered the tent, escorted by Gregory in his red brigandine. Despite some rest, both still looked worn and strained from the long night.
“Well?” Sir Harold asked at once.
The vice held a parchment in one hand. He stopped before the small campaign table, cleared his throat, and began to read. “Forty-one critical. Nineteen dead. Half were preventable. Two groups tried too hard to claim the corona muralis.”
Sighs of regret passed through the staff.
Sir Harold frowned. The award was given to the first man who stepped onto the enemy’s wall. “But we are not offering that yet.”
The vice’s face softened with remorse. “My mistake. I thought we needed to be thorough with the plan, to make it as real as possible. Otherwise, the enemy might notice.”
Sir Harold leaned back slightly and exhaled. “Rectify this,” he said firmly.
“I will,” the vice reassured him. Then he continued with his report. “The medical teams were invaluable. If they had not been with us, we would have lost more than a hundred.”
At that, the mood in the tent lifted slightly.
The vice continued, “The newly introduced cuirasses helped a great deal. Countless men were saved from lethal strikes from above.”
“Indeed, it’s hard to defend against attacks from above,” Gregory muttered beside him.
“Number of wounded, if you please,” Sir Harold pressed, a hint of impatience in his voice.
“Slightly more than a hundred wounded, mostly light. All in all,” the vice said, noticing his comrades’ eyes fixed on him as they waited, “we lost less than a hundred fighting men.”
Shoulders around the table eased slightly, a mix of relief and weary acceptance settling over the group.
It was a strong result for a night attack, far less deadly than what the Lord had feared in his letters.
“This is an acceptable result,” the older esquires stated.
Gregory slammed his fist into his open palm, making a sharp snapping sound. “With three thousand men, we could do this again and again.”
The vice wasn't so sure and replied calmly, “We still need men in our camp and the barricades. And technically, we cannot place three thousand here because of the space. But yes, you are correct. We could continue the assault.”
Sir Harold studied his men one by one before speaking. “Then I shall make no deviation.” He paused for a moment, then rose from his seat. “Vice, take command. Gregory, with me. We have an errand to attend to.”
***
Monastery
The sun rose, bringing warmth, and bathed the landscape in its pale, glorious light. Yet not all of it was beautiful. The aftermath of the battle now lay exposed for all to see. The ground around the walls was littered with bolts embedded in the damp, churned soil, their white fletching glistening in the sunlight. There were hundreds of them scattered across the field, alongside broken ladder pieces, rocks, wooden logs, shattered shields, helmets, and other fragments of armor. The ground itself had been trampled into hard, uneven earth, marked by countless footprints and scars of fighting.
It was difficult to see clearly from above, but the sacred walls of the Monastery had taken on new colors and scars of battle. Darkened ochre stains marked several sections, and black soot clung to the stone from the torches that had burned through the night.
The guards stared in grim amazement at the carnage, but there was no time to rest.
Men on the walls could hardly believe their eyes when the Lord’s forces began forming a battle line.
“G-get the men. No, get the Captain,” the leading officer instructed, turning to those behind him, their faces pale and their eyes red from the night’s fighting.
The man behind him had barely taken a few steps when another voice cried out, “They’re coming!”
One guard ran for the stairs and shouted down, “Wake everyone!”
A second added sharply, “Get the crossbowmen. Tell them to bring all their quivers.”
The guards weren't panicking. They could see clearly that another assault was forming.
Below, columns of men were advancing again, hauling siege ladders forward, ready to deploy them. Only now did the defenders understand why the enemy had brought so many, so they did not need to wait for repairs.
As the Monastery men hurried to prepare their defenses, the first sharp cracks of snapping crossbow strings cut through the air.
“Bolts!” someone cried, and everyone ducked or pressed their heads behind shields.
Heavy thuds followed. Wood splintered. Bolts struck stone and timber, sending chips and debris spraying across the walls.
“By the Living Saint,” one man muttered, ducking his head away from flying debris. Memories of the night fighting that had ended only a few hours earlier weighed heavily on his mind.
Meanwhile, below, the attackers shouted vigorously, “For the House of Blue and Bronze!”
While the Lord’s crossbowmen punished every Monastery man who showed his face above the walls, the vice, clad in full plate armor, marched to the front. He turned, standing with his back to the wall in open defiance. “Brothers,” he called out, drawing everyone’s attention.
Some were already grinning widely, and the vice winked at them before addressing the men in the formation. “Last night, our brothers did their best, but they are not as tough as they look.”
Laughter rippled through the ranks, mixed with friendly sneers and rough mockery.
The vice, a knight in his own right, continued, “I say, how about we show them how an assault is done. Properly.”
“Aye!” came a multitude of strong replies.
“If any of you have doubts in your hearts, step out now. But remember this. Men die whether they like it or not. From rotten food, from plague, from bad wenches—”
There was laughter and scattered chuckles.
“You can die for many stupid reasons. So I ask you, is this not one of the most wonderful chances to die?” the vice shouted, loud enough to be heard by the men on the battlements. “Many men never had the fortune to be here. They died regretting that they never had a chance to prove their valor, and died poor. This is no roll of the dice on a tilted gambling table. Climb those fucking ladders. Get on top of that wall, and I will make sure you can grow old with servants and land to support you and your family.”
The Lord’s men roared in unison.
The vice drew his sword and pointed it dramatically toward the Monastery wall. “Lads, forward!”
With eagerness, the men lowered their helmet visors, raised their shields, and advanced. Trumpets and buccina blared.
The second day’s assault had begun.
***
PS: I hope this chapter is a good read. 🤗
What do you think of the siege and the assault? 🤔
If the casualty numbers feel a bit low, it is because they took great pains to prevent heavier losses. I will reveal the full strategy in the next chapter.
The chapter image may not be perfectly accurate, but I hope it is representative enough of a night battle. 😅
Lastly, my schedule is still a mess, but I hope I will not miss the usual times (late Tuesday and Saturday).
As always, gratitude for your great support! 💎💖🦆