which Bhuler stared. The valet turned to find Sir Amik leaning wearily on his banner, his grey eyes looking over the men below.
“Sir Amik lives!” a voice shouted. The cry was taken up by every man, and some bashed their swords onto their shields in martial salute.
With a bow Bhuler moved to the side. Then with deliberate and calm slowness, Sir Amik raised his hand for silence, and a hush fell instantly.
“I do live, and Saradomin does, as well,” he said, and all strained to hear, for his voice was weak. “The last few days may have made many of you question our faith, but know that we are his chosen people and Falador is a blessed city. So go now. Go forth to fight, and to avenge our fallen friends!’
Standing behind Sir Amik, Bhuler saw how much of an effort his speech took, and he noted how the old warrior’s knees suddenly sagged. He ran forward to support him, out of sight of the men below who had begun once more to shout in eagerness.
“For Sir Amik!”
“For Saradomin!”
“For Falador!”
Sir Amik raised his hand in salute and the gates of the castle swung open to reveal the burning city beyond.
As the last of his men marched out, he collapsed in weariness.
The first faint rays of dawn broke through from the eastern horizon, yet they did little to raise the hopes of the defenders. Ebenezer’s voice was hoarse from shouting and his militia, while holding back the goblins in the breach, needed constant leadership. He knew it could not have been done without Squire Marius’s bravery. Even though he was the youngest present, he led the citizens of Falador time and again into the burning breach.
Side by side fought the blacksmiths and the ironmongers and the labourers who made up the militia-rich men and poor men alike, who all saw it as their duty as husbands and fathers to die protecting their families.
“There can be no retreat from here!” Marius yelled at them after the first of Sulla’s shells had felled a dozen men. “If we run, then we shall die and our families shall die. If we stand and make them pay in blood for every yard they gain, then it is they who shall lose spirit!”
Yet even Marius’s leadership could not keep the men at their posts forever, and Ebenezer knew he had to act. He turned his horse away from the breach and galloped toward his waiting trebuchets.
“Now it is time for the hay bales” he said. “Our archers will set light to them from the ramparts, with the help of the wizards if necessary.”
Working briskly, the city guards prepared three of the bales. Within a few moments they were hurled over the wall and onto the goblins massing below.
“Send them all over!” the alchemist cried, riding back into the fray and signalling to the archers on the ramparts, who had lit their arrow tips in preparation.
The three hay bales, heavy though they were, had done nothing to stop the goblin surge, and the invaders laughed at the desperate measures of the defenders.
Then the archers loosed their burning arrows and the wizards, under Master Segainus’s deft direction, poured fire at the bales that had been soaked in pig fat.
The goblin jeers died on their wide lips as the fat ignited, burning ravenously and uncontrollably, billowing out choking black smoke. As they yelled and screeched, the trebuchets fired again and three more stacks fell amongst the goblins and were ignited by the arrows and sorcery of the defenders.
Swiftly the flames spread, cutting the goblin army in two. Those goblins nearest the flames to the north were pushed mercilessly forward by those behind, screaming as they were jostled into the roaring fires. Meanwhile, the goblins to the south of the firewall found themselves trapped between the vengeance of the city and the uncompromising pyres. There could be no retreat for them, either.
Hundreds began to climb, so many that the defenders on top of the wall began to despair.
A wicked barbed arrow bit deep into the shoulder of Master Segainus’s pupil, who collapsed in a faint.
“Take him to the city and tend to him,” Segainus ordered the remaining members of the order. “But give me all your fire runes-I will hold them here.” Swiftly the blue-robed mages carried the wounded youngster away, leaving their master as the last of the wizards on the wall.
“I am too old for this,” he said to himself, breathing deeply, reflecting on the many years of happiness that he had spent in Falador. He tried his best to ignore the pain in his chest and the heavy pounding in his skull. Never before had he summoned so much power or fought so many enemies.
He held his remaining runes in his hands, calming his thoughts before continuing to muster his energies. Yards away, a ladder rested against the battlement, shaking as the goblins below began to climb.
He knew he didn’t have long.
The runes in his hands responded to his concentration-he felt the power surge through him and threaten to break free from his restraint.
“Not yet,” he said to himself through gritted teeth, his heart straining.
The runes twisted and warped in his hands, melting and merging under his concentration to prepare the largest fireball he had ever conjured. He could feel the heat gathering as he fed the runes with his will, and he knew the magic demanded to be discharged.
“Just a few more seconds” he wheezed.
Then his breath left him as his chest twitched in agony, disrupting his concentration and making him stumble. The runes fell from his grasp and rolled out into empty space like a red flare falling in a dark chasm, fading from sight as they burned ever weaker.
Master Segainus knew he was defenceless. He was alone on the rampart with goblins overrunning the battlements on either side of him.
His knees gave way as he tried to breathe, and still the pain roared in his chest, but he knew it was too late. He had tried to summon too much power in defence of a city that he loved.
By the time the first goblin stood above the old wizard with his sword drawn, Master Segainus was already dead.
Even though Sir Vyvin wore an eyepatch he saw the danger clearly. One look at Marius and the pikemen of the city militia told him that they had successfully driven the goblins back to the breach, and that for the moment they required no help.
It was the ramparts that had fallen. The invaders had been forced to open up a wider front after Ebenezer’s burning hay bales had disrupted their assault, and with sheer weight of numbers they had taken the battlements. It was up to the knights to take it back.
With a flourish of his sword, he leapt to the nearest stairs and ran purposefully upward.
To Ebenezer’s eye, the battle was going well. The enemy had been prevented from flooding into the city, and keeping them trapped in the breach had removed the one advantage the goblin horde possessed. They had been unable to bring their thousands into battle against Falador’s hundreds.
But the battle was shifting. The ramparts were filled with knights and goblins in a desperate struggle, yet for every goblin that was hurled down, another two leapt up to take his place. Swiftly, Ebenezer rode over to Marius, who was at the edge of the wall, shouting encouragement to the men next to him.
“We need to clear the ramparts,” the old man called to him.
Marius nodded, thinking fast.
“Captain Ingrew!” he called, gesturing for the soldier to come closer so they could speak above the sounds of battle. “You must take fifty men from the breach and aid the knights on the ramparts. Use your pikes to prevent any more of the scum from climbing up.”
The captain nodded and ran to obey. Ebenezer peered at Marius curiously and was about to say something when an arrow, fired through the breach, struck his horse in the neck. With a neigh it reared up and Ebenezer fell to the battle-marred earth, his face contorted in pain. With a hair-raising scream the horse galloped off into the city, forcing people to jump aside to avoid being trampled.
Marius was by the alchemist’s side in an instant, helping the old man to his feet.
“Is anything broken?” the squire asked.
“I don’t think so,” Ebenezer wheezed, his face pale from the shock.
“You have done enough here for any man, sir,” Marius said. “You should retire now to recover your strength.
