[2]

The storm howled in Lord Gulley's ears as he struggled to his feet. All around him was the wreckage of the Northern Gatehouse, and his men. Blood poured from the several large cuts across his face from the splintered wood. In a daze, he found the ruins of the gatehouse. Most of it had been spread out across the street below it - mixed in with the several new feet of snow that was dropped. The dark sky, faintly illuminated by the start of several fires from broken lanterns.

The snow rained upon the city like thousands of arrows. Visibility had dropped below twenty feet, and Lord Gulley felt cold... And he asked himself,

"How did this happen...?" He muttered.

It was just a blizzard. How had it destroyed so much? It wasn't until he heard the portcullis rattle that he was shaken from his stupor. Below the wall, the gate had been blasted open. All that was left was the metal portcullis. A mass of darkness mulled around it. With the howling wind, he could only hear the sharp clinking of metal. Then a few guards were beside him. Bloodied and battered, mixed in with a few unscathed ones, they were quick to react and charged to their last barrier.

"Undead!" A faint shout cried out from there.

Then another shout. And another. The guards had been caught flat-footed by the storm's intensity. But once death was on their doorstep, they reacted. The polemen were on the portcullis within seconds. Their spears quickly dispatched the mindless horde that began to pile on the metal gate.

"Bring pitch! Bring oil! Bring anything that burns!" The Gate-Captian appeared, his armor disheveled and blood iced his breastplate. "Burn the fucking lot!"

There was a mad scramble as most of the soldiers quickly dispersed from the gate. There had been barrels set up on the wall. Now most of them were on the street; their contents sprawled out. Soldiers hand filled whatever containers they could find by hand. They all buzzed, motivated by the unnatural monsters that clawed at the metal grate.

"Are you okay, my Lord?" The Gate-Captain asked Lord Gulley.

"I'm light-headed..." He replied.

Then Lord Gulley felt fingers comb across his head.

"You're hurt bad!" The Gate-Captain yelled. "You guys! Get the lord to the Cathedral! Quick!"

Lord Gulley hadn't noticed, but he was bleeding profusely from the back of his head. Bandages were quickly applied to him. The swirl of activity was too much for his aged mind to keep up with, even if he was a warrior. More guards were surrounding him as they sat him down.

"Don't worry, M'lord," One of the guards said. "We need you to sit down before you fall. Devan over there is gonna get a wagon to take you. Just wait a moment. You'll be alright!"

The guard tried to comfort him. However, it pricked his pride. He was a Viscount and a warrior! He would have berated the guard if he hadn't been so dazed. Even the howl of the wind had begun to drift away.

"Who is lifting the gate?!" Someone yelled.

To everyone's shock, all the guards who hadn't been prodding the undead had turned to horror to see the portcullis rise. The clinking of the grate was heard over the roar of the storm. Lord Gulley looked up to the top of the wall. There on the top, two balls of icy blue burned against the darkness.

And then the horde of undead stepped into the city.