Chapter 23: Band of Warriors

Then, suddenly, everything went silent. There wasn't even any screaming or yelling anymore. In fact, it almost sounded like the whole place had been abandoned. Was that possible? Had they already won? Or were they too afraid to fight?

He got to his feet slowly, wincing slightly as his sore muscles protested. Just as he did so, though, there came a sudden clank, followed by the screech of metal sliding over stone. Turning towards the noise, Grim saw the gates swinging shut, sealing himself inside the fortress. His heart sank. What had happened to the soldiers charging from the east? Surely they couldn't have lost against such overwhelming odds?

Yet, as he looked closer, Grim realized that the armor worn by the soldiers rushing at him was not nearly as polished as he'd imagined. Indeed, each piece seemed duller and less reflective than its neighbor. Upon inspection, Grim soon discovered why: they were dented, scratched, and chipped. Clearly, whoever these invaders were, they hadn't faced off against a professional military unit. They must've come across some sort of untrained militia…

But who would send a bunch of farmers against trained warriors?

As Grim pondered this question, the gates swung fully closed again, cutting him off from view. No doubt the invading forces planned to return once nightfall arrived. But by then, Grim feared, it might be far too late.

***

By the time morning finally rolled around, Grim found himself feeling much worse than before. He'd slept fitfully, plagued by nightmares filled with images of countless demons attacking the fortress walls. Worse still, while sleeping, he'd woken up disoriented and confused, unsure exactly how long he'd spent awake. When he tried to stand up, he felt dizzy and nauseous, so he gave up after just one attempt. Instead, he leaned heavily against the cold stones of the corridor wall, waiting patiently for his head to clear.

The sounds of battle continued unabated all throughout the day, but no matter which way he turned, Grim never caught sight of the intruders. Could it really be true, though? That the castle guards weren't going to stop them? It made sense; if they succeeded here, their victory wouldn't change anything. For all anyone knew, they could simply rebuild the fortifications and continue their invasion tomorrow. After all, it took weeks to train new recruits, months to build a proper fleet, years to construct enough siege weapons to take down entire cities… How hard could conquering a single tiny village be?

Yet Grim refused to believe it. Something about the whole situation bothered him, niggled away at the corners of his mind. As the hours passed, he grew increasingly frustrated until eventually he decided to seek out someone else. Someone better equipped to help him make sense of what he was seeing.

With little choice in the matter, he headed toward the main hall, hoping that perhaps he would find another member of the king's council or maybe even the captain of the guard. Either one would surely know something useful. Yet when Grim reached the end of the hallway, he paused, surprised to discover a crowd gathered outside the door leading into the great room. Curious, he pushed through the throng to get a good look.

What he saw astonished him. A dozen or more men stood shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the doorway, blocking his passage. All wore the same kind of shabby leather jerkin, rough woolen tunic, and trousers that he'd seen on everyone else within the fortress. However, unlike those others, these individuals also sported an assortment of swords, axes, hammers, spears, shields, bows, daggers, and other assorted weaponry hanging from every available surface. Their faces were dirty, unkempt, and covered with stubble. And yet, despite their appearance, they held themselves proudly, as if ready to face death without flinching. Grim recognized none of them.

"You can go now," said a voice behind him. "We're fine."

Grim spun around, only to see the speaker standing several paces away, leaning casually against one of the nearby pillars. The man appeared to be in his early fifties, balding except for a few thin strands clinging stubbornly to his crown. One eye was missing, replaced by a patch of scar tissue. Like many of the others, he carried a sword strapped to his waist, along with a shield bearing the symbol of a red dragon coiled around a silver tower.

"I'm sorry?" asked Grim, taken aback. "Who are you supposed to be?"

"Oh, I don't think we need to bother pretending anymore, do we?" replied the stranger. "It seems like you already know me quite well."

A chill ran down Grim's spine, for indeed, he suddenly remembered where he'd heard the name before: during his dream last night. This must have been the mysterious figure who had warned him not to let the invaders inside!

"That is correct," Grim confirmed. "My apologies for mistaking you for someone else."

"No harm done," came the reply. Then, turning back toward the entrance, the stranger added, "Now leave us alone."

He didn't wait for Grim's response before walking briskly past him. Once he disappeared inside, Grim peered at the remaining members of the group surrounding him. They stared right back, making it plain that they expected him to follow. So saying nothing further, Grim did just that.

Once inside the great room, Grim quickly discovered why this particular band of warriors had chosen to station themselves in such a conspicuous manner. Five large doors led off into various parts of the chamber, each marked with different symbols, runes, or emblems. Each door opened onto a scene of carnage. Bodies lay scattered across the floor, some still twitching, most motionless. Blood pooled everywhere—on the ground, splattered up the walls, spattering the ceiling. Here and there, Grim spotted bodies clad in armor, helmets lying discarded beside lifeless heads. He wasn't sure how long ago the attack happened, but judging from the state of things, he guessed it hadn't occurred very recently. Judging from the number of dead soldiers, however, he suspected it might've been days rather than mere moments.

One body in particular drew his attention. It sat upright against the wall near the center of the room, its hands resting calmly upon its knees. Even though the corpse was dressed in heavy plate mail, it looked oddly familiar somehow. But then, so too did all the others…and after a moment, Grim realized exactly why. These men weren't any ordinary soldier; they were the king's elite guard. His personal guardsmen.

The realization stunned Grim. How could King Uthar himself have fallen? Wasn't he always surrounded by his own trusted men? What had happened here? Had the entire castle simply collapsed on top of him? Or was it possible that the attackers had brought the whole place crashing down on purpose? If so, what had they hoped to accomplish? Who were these people attacking the kingdom? Why? And why kill the royal family first?

These questions plagued Grim's mind as he walked slowly forward until he found himself staring at the dead body of the king. As far as Grim knew, no one ever got close enough to study the monarch closely, which made this the closest anyone had come since the day of Uthar's funeral.