They could still prevail.

***Boots***

Boots stood in the entrance to the main gate, the portcullis was just rising high enough for people to fit through.

It was now or never.

Roman and Simeon greeted them at the gate whilst Oswald and Arthur worked the mechanism.

"Roman take your team to the northern gate along the wall, lower it as quickly as you can and hold that position."

Boots turned to Peter, "Take your brother and a few extra hands along the western wall to the water gate and do the same. Time is against us, take Arthur with you too, so he can work the controls."

The two groups departed rapidly.

Boots spied a small group of lycanthian's on the street ahead. One of them was riding into the distance.

They would have to be quick.

There was no telling how many troops the enemy commander had deployed in search of the prisoners.

Hopefully most of them, only time would tell.

Boots cleared the gateway and turned to his makeshift army.

He had organised them into three teams.

Spearhead, Search and Cradle.

The Spearhead team was comprised of the main fighting force, around four hundred men and women with makeshift spears. Most of the experienced fighters and veterans made up this group.

The Search team, was the second fighting team, numbering around three hundred who's initial job was to search and neutralise anybody hiding in the town buildings. They were to go door to door and root out the enemy, collecting anything of use along the way, like weapons or armour. It was broken up into individual teams of four, with at least one skilled fighter in each group.

The Cradle team had around one hundred combatants, their job was to protect the seven hundred or so non-combatants and the supplies. They had brought everybody with them. It was a huge gamble, but they needed to do it in order to get everybody inside the wall for Boots's plan to work.

"Spearhead team with me, we head for the town square. Search team, split up into your cells and get to work on this area, leave no street house or cellar unturned, so the cradle team can get in safely. We need to move fast, get to it!"

There was a huge rush of activity as everybody ploughed into the town, Boots ran forward around a hundred meters or so and held his hammer up so his team could find him.

The search teams got to work right away, barging into houses and shops, searching for any signs of the enemy.

Boots narrowed his eyes at the still retreating backs of the little group of lycanthian's, they were almost at the square now. No telling how many reinforcements they could muster.

No use fretting over it, he was entirely committed to the field of battle now, there would be no turning back.

His rag-tag militia gradually organised themselves to be as wide as the street and several rows deep.

The searchers seemed to be making headway now, the buildings in the immediate vicinity were clear. It was time to bring the Cradle in.

After several minutes of hustle and bustle, the last cart made it through the gate, and the portcullis was brought down behind it.

They were in.

And there was still no response from the enemy.

Boots allowed himself a smile. This was an exceptionally good sign.

"Forward, march!"

***Roman***

Roman bolted along the wall as fast as his feet would carry him.

The town looked almost deserted now.

There was a small group of around ten on the main road that were running towards the square, but he couldn't see anybody else.

Running along however, it became apparent he wasn't going to catch up to that horseman. Who would no doubt warn the gate guards of the large mob of people at the main gate. Hopefully, they wouldn't expect an attack from the walls. It could make it difficult for them to get down the tower.

Fighting in the enclosed spaces of a tower was difficult work.

They did have a wildcard though.

Roman smiled as he looked at Oswald running next to them.

He was sure the lad had a trick or two up his sleeve they could use in a pinch.

They ran straight through a tower on the wall, no problem. The next one sat on the gate and was their main objective. It housed the controls for the portcullis and was just a few hundred metres away.

Roman got a good look at the square from here. It appeared at first glance that there was nobody save a small huddle of men by the town hall in Fenniton.

There may be concealed foes, certainly. But by the looks of things, they had played right into Boots's hands.

Now all they had to do was secure that gate before reinforcements got to it.

The tower loomed near, the guards below hadn't spotted them.

Roman didn't have time to think too cleverly for this, time was of the essence. He ran straight up to the door and hefted it open. Flying straight down the stairs immediately afterwards.

There was a short rattle of armour followed by "Hey! Did you hear that?"

Roman rocketed down the stairs regardless, running straight for the lever.

'CRUNK!!'

"The portcullis!"

"We hold this door!" Roman said turning to his compatriots.

The trick was to force them in one at a time and attack from multiple angles.

The soldiers wasted no time charging into the entranceway and a pitched battle ensued. One guard had a sword and shield, the other kept thrusting at them from over his shoulder with a spear.

Oswald, Roman and Simeon all rained down blows on the man in the doorway, but they struggled to have an effect. He stayed firmly behind his shield and it seemed as if the battle could go on forever.

Oswald cast blindness on the spearman, who yelped and covered his eyes mid thrust. Roman took advantage of this, grabbing the spear and pushing it firmly to the right. Trapping the other guards head against the wall.

Simeon then leapt in and thrust his dagger into the eye of the shield bearer.

Without missing a beat, Roman pulled sharply on the spear and dragged the spearman into the room where they made short work of him.

It was a scrappy rotten fight that had left them all out of breath.

Oswald sat down on a stair and tried to collect himself.

There was a pause as they all allowed the adrenaline to calm in their bodies.

Roman broke the silence with a salacious chuckle, patting Oswald on the back, "Frog me, we almost worked like a team there, phew."

Simeon panted along, allowing himself a chuckle, "Team of rotten purse snatchers, I'd say. That was rough."

Roman proceeded to ruffle Oswald's hair, "Really came through for us there Ozzy. Good lad."

Oswald wryly smiled, catching his breath, "What now?"

"Now we take that flipping, whatchamacallit off the thingamabob," Roman waved in the direction of the gate mechanism. "Then we barricade the door. Fingers crossed, there'll be no more fighting to the death before dawn."

"Sounds like a plan," Simeon nodded, "do you remember how to take it off?"

"Ah, well…no."

Roman and Simeon looked hopefully at Oswald.

Oswald laughed, "It's ok, Arthur showed me how to do it earlier."

Roman ruffled his hair vigorously again, "I don't know what we'd do without you kid."

***Major Anmar***

"Move you blasted fools! MOVE!" Anmar bellowed at his men as they fled down the street. The wafting stench of alcohol permeating the air.

If he had just acted faster. His blood boiled in frustration. But it was no use cursing the past. The threat was in front of him, and it was very real.

They rounded the corner and made it onto the square.

"John, gather those men, we need to make it to the northern gate before we are cut off."

Tilbury nodded and immediately sprinted towards the other side of the square to try and round up the huddle of drunken stragglers.

Anmar and his gaggle of men headed towards the north-western corner of the square to wait for them.

The deafening clatter of a portcullis descending rattled through the empty streets.

They were too late.

Anmar glanced at Tilbury who, to his dismay, was having no luck getting those men into any semblance of order.

Could he try a dash to the keep?

He looked over his shoulder at the mass of felinians in the distance. They were far enough away, for now. But could he get those men across the square in time?

Probably not.

They were no use to him dead, if they could hold out in the town hall for long enough, they would eventually sober up. Then he would have thirty men, rather than eight.

If he abandoned them now, they would surely die.

He adjusted his belt with a curse, "Damn…right new plan, best speed to the town hall. GO!"

He and his men set off running across the square, they still had time, though not much of it. The enemy commander would still be establishing his foothold in the town. If they were lucky, they could reinforce the town hall and defend it for a time.

The town hall was made of stone and had a tiled roof, there were only two entrances. It would be difficult but not impossible to burn. If he could force a stalemate, he may be able to negotiate.

They padded ferociously across the cobbled square.

"John, new plan!"

Tilbury looked up from the man he was trying to wrestle to his feet.

"Get them inside, we hold out in the town hall!"

"Right you are sir," he nodded swiftly and turned to the men, "if you can stand help those who can't, get everybody inside, quick as you can!"

They fumbled around like the drunks they were, but surely enough the process took hold. The urgency of the situation seemed to be the nudge some of them needed to attain sobriety.

Before long they were inside the safety of the building and Tilbury quickly tasked the men with boarding up the windows and blocking the back door. This would be their only chance to fortify the building.

They sent a few people into the nearby blacksmith to gather nails.

Anmar didn't know how long they had; they were entirely in their enemy's hands now. Anmar knew he had to treat this enemy commander as if he was his equal, he could afford to take no more chances.

All they could do now was prepare, prepare, prepare. Every minute their adversary was not at the door, was a minute they could spend reinforcing the building.

He knew that if they wished it, they could set fire to the roof and burn the building down around them. But he suspected that the enemy would like the hall intact. There were many records kept within its library that are crucial to running a town. Things like land deeds, records of loans, records of people and the like.

The building itself was a bargaining chip.

So too, was Anmar. He was the overall commander of every Crusader in this province. That was not something the felinians could ignore.

Now he just had to think of a way to come out of this on top.

Where would he draw the line?

Retreat was impossible for Anmar. He had been ordered by the King to take this town! If he retreated he might as well hang himself. The king would be hideously displeased.

Did Anmar have anything else he could give them?

The felinians had to know how this would end for them. Even if they retook the town and drove off Anmar and his men in the process.

What then?

Fight the entire army?

They had to know that the King would not take this lying down. He would surely dispatch a much larger force to siege the town, until they starved or surrendered.

The end result would be the same, no matter what they did, this rebellion was doomed.

Whoever he was, the commander had to know he was marching his people into the gates of oblivion.

What could he offer someone like that?

Was this building even worth anything to people that were consigning themselves to death?

Was he?

Anmar sat at the large table in the reception hall.

"They might just burn us after all." he muttered to himself.

His answer would come soon enough though. He could hear the sounds of approaching troops.

Anmar got to his feet and moved quickly to the front window, looking into the square. Sure enough, there they were. He reckoned they numbered at least four hundred. They poured around the corner of the square, spreading out as they did so.

"We are out of time; the enemy is here. Get to your posts and remain vigilant!" Anmar barked at his men.

It wouldn't be long before they were discovered.

All he had to do was buy as much time as he could. His men outside the wall had probably already received the message to return. They were resourceful men. It wouldn't take them long to come up with a plan, perhaps fashion a battering ram out of logs and break down a portcullis.

They were better trained than this rag tag group of rebels. Once in the confines of the streets, the superior numbers of the enemy wouldn't be able to stop the training and discipline of the Crusaders.

They could still prevail.