The retreat was brutal. They could not disengage cleanly. Some would have to sacrifice themselves so the greater number could break away. The main force of the defenders ran through the streets. More caltrops were dropped behind them along the way. If nothing else, they would make the enemy bleed for every foot fall into their home.

  The castle had been prepared. Both Cassoway and Nadora were resting when Paul strode over the draw bridge. He had overtaken, then passed the defenders.

  “We need to start plan B.” He said between rasping breaths.

  The two immediately shot up and ran to the end of the draw bridge. They sat and began to prepare themselves.

  The defenders finally caught up and the enemy was not far behind. Paul helped tired elves cross the bridge. Gibkin was one such tired soul. He trotted to a stop next to Paul and caught his breath.

  “I saw them wheeling the cannons away Paul… I think we may have made a grave mistake.”

  Paul didn’t have the words to give to Gibkin, he could barely wrap his head around having to deal with enemy cannons. The last of the defenders crossed and the Hushites finally rounded the corner. Their well ordered lines of gleaming armor marched with a stunning speed. Both the magi began their chanting. Neadora summoned a great wind that blew against the enemy. Pushing them back. The Hushites locked their arms and began to brace themselves against the coming gale.

  Her magic held them in stalemate. Neither side is able to gain purchase over the other. It was then that Cassoway began his part of the plan. He churned the earth under them, letting them sink into the softened dirt. As they did, a few panicked, and then those made others lose their own focus. Before long the whole of the front two lines had bowled over and were desperately trying to swim in the soft earth.

  They couldn't keep it up however, they were both tired and neither had the energy to keep up the magic for much longer. They would push themselves, Paul knew. He needed to get them across.

  He caught Nea as he fell over from exhaustion .Cassoway had not pushed as hard and could stand, or so he thought. He tried and stumbled, then fell over. The night before had not been kind. Paul called for help. Gibkin took Nadora and Paul ran to his large friend.

  The elf's chest was heaving.

  “I… I think I over…”

  He passed out. The heavy elf was now pure dead weight. Paul heaved. He wasn't able to pull him up the first try, he was so tired. He tried once more, and gained some leverage until he was able to crouch the elf up onto his shoulder. From there he could stand.

  He couldn't run, and now that Cassoway was out of the fight the ground solidified. The Hushites began to charge them down.

  Paul cried out, “Bring up the bridge! Bring it up now!”

  He was halfway across when he heard the creaking wood begin to move. The large rattling chains pulled taught and the drawbridge started to rise.

  A few moments later he lost his footing and rolled down the rest of the way along with the unconscious mage.

  They were inside. The Hushites were outside. They had a moment to breathe. It would only be a moment.

  Not even a whole thirty minutes went by before the enemy began to drop their ladders down to make a temporary bridge across. They soon brought a battering ram and brought it against the large wooden bridge.

  The elves inside were panicking. Their worried faces and anxious pacing made Paul feel on edge. This could be it. The last stand that none would ever recall, for all the defenders had been cut down.

  Paul got help with Cassoway, he leaned the helpless elf against a wall and went back to the large gate and bridge. A group of what was left of the guard and the wanihndrê were gathered and speaking quickly.

  “We can get that mage to make us a tunnel out of the city. Get the Kadrani to wake him. Ah here he comes now. You, you git us into this mess, now get us out. Get your magi friends to make a way out for us.” One said.

  He had the wanna be leader look to him. The type of elf who expected others to do as he told them to do.

  Paul crossed his arms. “Cassoway isn't even conscious. He pushed himself to exhaustion since last night just to give us a fighting chance. Show some respect.’

  The elf did not like this. He thrust his chest out and stood square to Paul. It was a comical thing to see as the elf was nearly a foot shorter than him. Paul felt rather large at this point.

  He gripped the sword that was still by his side and said, “we will survive this. With or without you and your little group. Go ahead and run like a coward if you want. But I'm staying. I owe it to my friends. The ones I have lost and those who still live.”

  He said it loudly enough that everyone, all maybe a hundred elves who still stood, could hear him.

  The elf deflated a little. Then one of his group spoke.

  “I'll stay. I owe it to my father, he is ascended in the church just inside the greater courtyard.

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  This caught Paul's attention.

  “What do you mean? Is that where you go for ascension?”

  The elf nodded, “ Yes, it's where all go. It has a massive underground tomb that-”

  One of the elves smacked him in the back of the head. He was given a look that said “shut your damn mouth, you're talking to a non elf.”

  Paul sighed and turned around to go out to the court. He had seen the building before but had always been too busy to ask. Gibkin found him just before he left.

  “Paul, hey Paul, I know you might want to go to the church but they won't let you in. You are unclean, non elf, and worse, many of the priests view your weapons as heresy. You don't want to do this.”

  Paul shot him an annoyed look. “There's someone inside there I need to talk to.”

  “But you can't Paul, I don't mind really, I'm sure the boys too, but these priests…”

  “To hell with the priests! To hell with your erowin and your gods. I'm tired of this. There's, ugh, no I'm sorry Gibkin. I don't mean it. I'm just… just stressed is all.”

  Gibkin nodded.

  The two stood there in the open air of the court yard. You could hear the loud banging of wooden beams being bashed. A rhythmic thump thumping. Paul shook his head.

  “Right. Well, there's nothing to be done then. We have to try and hold the castle. I can only hope it’s possible… we don't have gunpowder…cannons are out, I have maybe five shots left. Damn… damn damn damn! I don't know what to do! Gibkin, I'm sorry. I should have left like you said. Now you’re-”

  Gibkin walked right up to Paul and slapped him. Hard.

  “ You shut your damn mouth. I chose to be here, you didn't make me do anything. Now, we're going to go back there. And you will lead those scared and tired elves in the defense. You're all we have left Paul. I can't have you going soft of me now.”

  He motioned back to the gatehouse.

  Paul rubbed his cheek then turned to go back.

  The banging only got louder as Paul crossed the battered stones. It sounded like the castle itself was groaning under the blows. Every face he passed was drawn tight, ears flinching at each thud from the wooden bridge. The ragged defenders watched Paul like he was the last dry match in a wet box.

  He tried to shake off the ache from the slap. Kind of deserved it, if he was being honest. Gibkin was right, he didn’t have time to fall apart.

  He shoved open the warped door to the gatehouse, almost tripping over a pair of elves who’d hunkered down just inside.

  They jumped to their feet like he’d cast a spell on them.

  One blurted, “Are we holding the line, or… do you want us at the inner door? You’re the one who fought them up close, you tell us how to stand.”

  There was a nasty sort of pause. Elves glanced sidelong at each other, hoping someone else would talk first, hoping someone else would be the one stuck at the front when the walls came down.

  Paul stared at them, and for a second, every eye in the room fixed on him. He wiped his face with his wrist, then pointed at the battered door:

  “We hold, here. If they break through, we make sure every elf in their army remembers what happened in Barrus.”

  Someone tried to mutter something about gunpowder, but Gibkin cut him off.

  “We already done used it all up. Quit your whining and let's get ready to push them back. Spears, we need spears. Shields too. Come one boys we haven't got all day.”

  Gibkin was waving his arms about. It gave Paul an idea.

  “The chains! We have to use the chains!” Paul yelled, his voice cutting through the ringing thuds of the ram.

  He pointed at the massive, rattling iron links that had just hoisted the drawbridge. “It’s a huge battering ram, right? We won’t stop it with just spears. We need to fight their ram with our bridge. We need to secure those chains so they won’t retract further. Then, the moment they break through the gate, when the ram is fully inside, we cut the chains on the outside!”

  He glanced around, eyes alight. “That massive weight, the whole bridge, will crash down on the ram and on the elves pushing it. It’ll be crushed, and we'll have a mountain of wood and iron that they'll have to climb over. We can take the high ground!.” He motioned for a few of the strongest-looking elves. “Get some axes and secure the chain mechanisms! We have to time this perfectly.”

  They listened to him. Erowin's journey they listened. Even after the disaster outside they had faith in him.

  They did as instructed and soon the ram had started to break the wooden beams. It wouldn't be long until they made their final act. One last measure of defiance in the face of utter defeat.

  The ram broke through. Wood splintered outwards making jagged spears that pointed inwards.

  “Now!” Cried Paul.

  Just as a few Hushites made their way inside the draw bridge fell. It crashed down on top of the swarming invaders. Paul heard the screams as they were either crushed or fell into the most. The bridge sagged and broke in half from the force of the drop.

  It did indeed make a large mound of broken wood and iron chains. The bracings had been warped and torn apart making long blade-like sections just out here or there. The silence that followed was deafening. Paul felt the need to say something. A battle cry, anything.

  He searched his mind for something heroic to say. He found a quote, he didn't know where from.

  “Once more into the breach my friends! Once more!”

  There was a moment where his voice echoed off the inner stone walls and thrust out into the open air. The Hushites who had been shocked gathered themselves and began to form ranks.

  The Baragrudians would have none of that. They charged forward and took the top of the hill. Screaming and hollering, repeating the call that Paul had cried.

  “Kill them all!”

  “Into the breach!”

  “For Paul! For Barrus!”

  They cried and screamed incoherently. Mm

  Some had bows and began to fire upon the enemy. Paul took aim and fired at the nearest Hushite. Another kill. He needed to copy this design as soon as possible. Should he live through the day that was.

  They fought, Paul kneeled to reload. As he did an arrow shot over his head. He reloaded faster. He rose again and aimed at the poor bastard who had the gall to try and take him out. The archer was close but looked young.

  Well as young as you could be for an elf. He was nocking another arrow. It was now or the next would surely hit him. His palms sweated, and his trigger finger jerked. The gun went off. Paul saw the hit. Catching the young elf in the stomach.

  He doubled over and fell to his knees coughing. Paul had no time to watch further. A Hushite charged up at him. He drew the sword at his side and blocked the first swing, a second came and he was barely able to keep himself from losing a leg. A Baragrudian elf came to his aid from his left. Sticking the Hushite with his spear. The gore spattered over Paul.

  He didn't have time to react to it. He pushed it down, deep down. Into the box.

  He raised his sword and cried out. The other took up the cry and they all flooded down upon the Hushites' broken line.

  They routed almost immediately. They had sustained such damage and were so exhausted from the fight that the army which had followed now turned tail and ran for the hills. Paul and the elves gave chase.

  Many Hushites were cut down in the rout, they had no prior knowledge of the city and so they got caught in several dead ends and stamped out in small groups by the whole body of Barrus’s defenders.

  Paul took part, he cut down fleeing foe after foe. None would escape, none would survive. These same savages took the lives of Elric, and many of the smiths who now lay dead.

  He cut them and bashed and shot the remains of his gunpowder when they had run too far.

  Once the midday sun passed, all invaders had either been driven out or slain. There was not one living Hushite in all of Barrus.