SWORDPOINT DIPLOMACY 17

The first wall defender took the last few steps at a jump, and Etienne needed to kill him.

He set himself grimly to the task. His hand was stiff on his blade but years of training kept his wrist flexible and sent him through practiced motions. The first soldier down the stairs had clearly just dropped his bow and pulled out a dirk. Probably an archer, probably poor, certainly not as well trained as a prince.

The poor fucker’s helmet clearly obstructed his vision, but he was a brave fucker who didn't shirk in his duty. Etienne wouldn't either. Etienne bashed his shield against the short sword and then shoved his sword through the man’s inferior armor. He fell and convulsed in screams.

He wasn't dead. It would take a while. If it was safer, Etienne would have offered him sword mercy.

Etienne fell back a few steps to open up the landing for more of his soldiers to fight in.

Bodies were going to quickly be a problem, he realized. They were going to wind up fighting on top of bodies soon, which would be very dangerous footwork.

Defenders came down fast and furious, ants protecting a disturbed mound. They used the bottleneck of the stairwell but gradually, they were pushed out by their need to not trip on the dead and dying underfoot.

Etienne saw one of his people take a fatal wound early on, with her helmet knocked off and her face bisected. Her damn jaw came off. She wasn't dead. That was worse. She kept fighting like that for a couple of seconds until he lost sight of her.

He panted and screamed, trying to keep moving by any means necessary. If he was crying, no one could tell in the fray of blood and sweat. He had a well-fitted helm that was not going to be knocked off by some bold bastard with an axe.

"Sir! Sir!"

Etienne had no idea how long the private had been trying to get his attention. It was difficult to comprehend anything in the crush of fear and in the sounds of fighting.

"We need to know when to pull back." There was naked desperation in the soldier's voice. Etienne was miserable and ashamed to realize that he didn't know who that was. Man, woman, young, old: he couldn't tell, he just heard the fear.

It took him a shamefully long few seconds to understand his mistake. He never should have gone into the stairwell - someone had to see when their side broke in through the gate in order to know when to call retreat.

Etienne broke away from the fray. It was easy, it was lighter to run away to save his people's lives. He might be a coward.

"Not yet!" He called it back. Etienne fixed his gaze on the rapidly approaching line of what had to be Harrod's personal men. Of course he'd gotten some of his in the first approach. It was very like the Duke. They were so close.

Minutes, if that. They just needed to give a couple more minutes.

Reinvigorated, he stayed on the ready. But every second felt like an agonized hour. There was nothing he had ever wanted more than he wanted to call a retreat now.

Duty sealed his lips. They had to finish their part first.

From his vantage point he could see his squad at three points- each stairwell, and directly defending the portcullis. It took a moment to understand through his haze that something had gone very wrong if that particular soldier was fighting. No one should have been able to reach the gate with the stairs covered, but someone had clearly broken past. Perhaps they had already been in the courtyard.

The young soldier defending the entry was moving back. Davis was on the defensive.

Etienne moved as soon as he realized it. If that soldier died, then the wall defenders could slam the gate shut  in the army's face. If that happened, they would quickly overwhelm his squad and Lady LaMott as well.

He barely remembered killing that soldier. He remembered that Davis thanked him.

"For king and country!"

The cry raised out of a thousand throats. Etienne looked up to see that the invading army was on the cusp of entry.

His job was done.

"Fall back!" He grabbed the young soldier at the portcullis and shoved him towards Lady LaMott. "To Lady LaMott!" He screamed to each wall. He saw his crew repeat the order and start to break away.

He didn't know how many of his people were left. Maybe some were lost in the crowd.

"Go, go!" Etienne ushered his people on, engaging with his full heart in a fight for the first time when the flood of wall defenders caught up. He fought and ran and killed and spat blood. He saw his men fall around him, in front and behind. There were only 4 in front of him now.

The screaming took a new pitch. Suddenly, the castle defenders had a much more pressing concern than Etienne's squad as a whole fucking army came at them through the gate.

It was chaos. Most of the defenders broke off pursuit and turned to fight the other way. Some were clearly trying to flee into the city with them. Some were hunting his people.

One of his people ahead fell from an arrow to the back.

He leapt over the body and picked up his pace. They were nearly back to LaMott. Whatever survivors remained were seconds away from salvation. Her squad would be fresh and ready to provide back up if any of the pursuit caught up with them behind her gate.

Etienne panted and pushed, one-minded in his determination to catch up with the 3 squad members ahead of him. His whole body jarred and hurt with the force of every running step that collided with the cobblestone. He crossed the boundary of the second gate. He swung around to see what was happening.

His remaining squad survivors were further back than he'd thought. Cold horror squeezed his chest and he couldn't breathe. As he watched, the furthest member of the group was cut down from behind. They fell and a group of the fleeing wall defenders fell on top of the body. A new chorus of screams rang out as men and women were trampled to death.

He saw only three more of his people behind. Three survivors. The female private with the red hair crossed the gate, making horrible wheezing sounds. The other two were only seconds behind, but the mob was on their heels. Etienne backpedaled, trying to figure out exactly how to time it.

The gate came down with a deafening clang and a sickening crunch.

Lady LaMott had shut it too early. Etienne stared, not fully comprehending. They still had two men on the other side. They needed in. The enemy was only seconds away.

The force of the gate closing had knocked Drevail down. Davis hit the gate a moment later, colliding bodily with a thud.

Etienne looked into his face. Davis's eyes were wide with terror.

Drevail was dead. Etienne understood that belatedly. The gate had come down on top of him and his mangled body was caught under the metal. Drevail was dead and he was going to watch Davis die, close enough to reach out and touch but unable to help.

Etienne screamed. He threw himself at the gate like a rabid animal. His gloves and sword skittered for purchase on the metal. "Open it!" He cast a frantic look back at Lady LaMott. Her face was hidden by her helm. "Please!"

Davis whipped around, shaking violently. He drew his sword. He looked very young.

"Open the gate," Etienne begged. He pulled on it futilely. "I need to be there."

"Stop it." Lady LaMott shouted. Her livid voice cut through his panic. "This is a disgrace."

"Please," Etienne begged mindlessly.

And then the first wall defender caught up and engaged with Davis. They were a bulwark in chainmail and the grey surcoat of the Keep's soldiers. They let out a roar and swung a brutal, utilitarian sword. Davis barely deflected the blow and then he skipped to the side to avoid another. Etienne stopped breathing altogether. His heartbeat matched with every clash of swords.

Davis was faster than his opponent. And the invading force was already cutting through the back of the defenders' fleeing line.

Hope was beginning to crawl up his throat when movement in the peripheral caught Etienne's eye. A red-faced axeman was bearing down, focused on Davis rather than the army behind.

"Behind you!" Etienne bellowed.

Davis jerked to look- and he missed the moment that his first opponent lunged in.

The blood painted the wall, and Etienne too.

Davis screamed, high and shrill and so so afraid. The next blow went through his throat. His knees buckled.

Etienne sat down hard. "You'd be dead as well if you were out there," Lady LaMott said, voice hard. How had he ever compared her to his mother? "I waited long enough. I couldn't chance it."

The soldier who had killed Davis took off their helmet. He recognized her, Etienne realized numbly. If they could, they should take her hostage.

Castellan LaGown kept eye contact with him as she spat on Davis. She put her helmet back on.

A small, childish part of Etienne wanted to know if Lady LaMott would have closed the gate sooner if he hadn't been the Prince. Probably. His life was worth more than other people's, because his parents were famous.

He sobbed. It was ugly, with gasping and water flowing down his face. He drew his knees in and watched in unblinking horror as his friends, his allies, pulled up with the cornered defenders and began hacking. He couldn't hear his own heartbeat anymore, only the wails and shrieks of people dying in agony.

Thank God Rose was outside, he thought hysterically. No one would take him seriously now. He could leave in disgrace  and no one would ask him to do things like this again.

That wasn't true. At least, not unless Lady LaMott told people about what a sentimental failure he was. No one other than LaMott was close enough to hear him weeping over the din of people dying, banging and pulling on the portcullis against all reason as an army closed on them from behind.