From Sureshot the King

    “Whatever happens once we are on the wall, it is important that we stay together. Even if we are attacked, our goal is to get into the city, which may mean running. Rothan, it is your job to guide us  through the city to somewhere safe. Let me stress once more how important it is that we stay together. While we are here, we are going to be significantly out numbered. That is all the more reason to keep our number at three. Understood?”

    Neither Rothan nor Makler dissented though Vorfar’s plan seemed far too simplistic. Without delay however the group began to execute. Together they carried the log into the clear space between the forest and the wall—their obstacle. As planned, they placed the log in the dirt and Rothan held it steady as the other two men walked towards him slowly lifting the their ladder into the night sky. No one had sounded an alarm.

    Carefully they moved to the other side of the log and lowered it to the wall. Still no one called out. They managed to gently place the log on the wall. Amazingly, still no one raised an alert.

    Rothan hesitated a moment, took a deep breath, then started scaling the log. It bowed some under his weight, but held. He walked up the log, his hands gripping it carefully but with his legs extended like a bear. Rothan stepped from the log to the wall and looked towards the guard twenty yards away. This time the guard noticed.

    “Hey! Who are you!?!” he yelled as he raised his bow and drew an arrow from his quiver. Rothan froze. The guard loosed the arrow and it flew by mere inches from Rothan’s chest.

    Rothan instinctively, but not consciously drew his sword. The guard dropped his bow and drew a sword as well.

    “Guards! To me!” he shouted, voice cracking as his legs began stumbling toward Rothan. He reached the prince, sword raised. Rothan recognized him and he the prince.

    The guard slashed anyways, but as he did Makler’s ax hacked into his calf, causing a burst of blood and the crack of bone. The guard howled, dropping his sword and rolling on the ground. The axman gained his footing on the wall and raised his ax over his head.

    “No! Stop!” Rothan screamed. “He is one of my men!” Rothan grabbed Makler’s arm to keep it from dropping on the wounded guard.

    “He tried to kill you!” Makler responded.

    “Never mind that, you can’t kill him.”

    Makler spat on the floor near the injured man. More men were nearing from both sides of the rampart. An arrow flew past the pair as they starred each other down. Neither flinched.

    Vorfar finished climbing the wall and shouted, “Where to? We must flee!” Rothan and Makler starred another second then, without breaking his stare, Rothan commanded, “Follow me.”

    The prince turned toward the city below as another arrow whizzed by. He leapt from the wall to a roof seven feet below then jumped from there to the ground. The other men followed soon enough to catch sight of Rothan take note of his surroundings then head off into the center of the city.

    Within seconds Makler and Vorfar caught up with the prince as the guards fired arrows frivolously into the city which did not threaten the trio in the least.

    They made in into Harmon.

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