Everyone in Thandren knew about the soldiers days before the city wall reported them appearing on the horizon. A week ago the scouts had spotted them crossing the river, banners unfurled and armed for war. From behind the parapets, Kalen could see Haldoren's deep emerald banners flapping in the wind over several large columns of infantry. By midday the soldiers were close enough to count. They made camp outside of the range of Thandren's defensive weapons. A lucky shot from a trebuchet might roll into one of the camps but it would likely not do much damage. Attacking now would only deprive the city of its precious supplies. For now, Thandren was cut off.
Someone shouted and Kalen looked up to see a fire starting in the eastern tower. Far in the distance another tower caught flame, twinkling like a tiny star in defiance of the day.
“Do you think help will come?” Kalen asked.
One of the soldiers answered with a pessimistic shrug, then busied himself restringing his bow. He pulled it back several times with an arrow set, but did not fire it.
Below in the courtyard, Kalen could see lines of refugees hoping to take shelter in the keep. Then came the town crier. He wore a red sash, meaning he had official business from the king. He stood on the corner, elevating himself over the crowd with an overturned crate.
“All pay heed to the words of your king! May his reign last forever!” the crier bellowed. Everywhere people stopped what they were doing and turned their attention to what he had to say. Kalen sat on the edge of the wall, feet dangling over the side. The crier had an interesting job. Much more interesting than blacksmithing. No one paid attention to a blacksmith's apprentice. Sure they might, one day, if he became a master artisan. For now he made horseshoes and nails. All day. Every day.
“Our illustrious king will meet today with the king of Haldoren to discuss a peaceful resolution to the siege that has begun on our fair city. Rationing of supplies will continue. We will be victorious. We will outlast these brigands that come into our lands unprovoked.”
The crier stopped for a moment, searching the crowd to make sure that he had every set of eyes. He continued, this time with an uncharacteristic frankness to his words. He lacked all of the usual flamboyance, conveying the true gravity of the situation.
“This victory must come from us all,” he said, solemnly. “Artisans are asked to remain at their posts. Apprentices, journeymen, and fieldhands are to report to the guard post for assignment in city defenses. You may be thinking it will be easy to ignore this order, that we do not have time to police deserters. That may be true, but know that when you shirk your duty, you place your fellows in the hands of the enemy.”
Kalen's mind drifted as the crier began to list rationing rules for supplies that were likely to run short if the siege lasted long. The prices of food would be frozen. These were things of small consequence to Kalen. None of that would matter, after all, if the city fell. The gates were shut. There would be no leaving...
The guard house has several duties available:
Make your choice!
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Sign up to guard the palace.
Please make TWO selections. Your FIRST selection gets TWO points. Second gets one. Highest score wins.
