Chapter 4: Fire on the Horizon
The alarm bells rang before dawn, louder and sharper than any drill. Their clangor tore me from restless dreams; in the barracks boys stumbled from their cots, half-dressed and wide-eyed. Shouts echoed through the stone halls, boots thundered toward the yard.
Joran was already on his feet, tugging his tunic on. He met my gaze, expression grim.
"This isn't a drill."
My stomach twisted. The rumors had been true: raiders.
We rushed outside. The cold bit harder than any blade. The yard was chaos—guards arming themselves, squires hauling bundles of spears, boys clustering in confused knots. Horns blared from the walls.
Master Hale moved through the tumult like a storm given flesh. His single eye blazed; his voice cut through the clamor.
"To arms, you whelps! The sea wolves are at our door!"
My blood ran cold. Sea wolves—the raiders who had taken Hale's eye, scourges of the northern coasts. Savage men who killed for sport and burned for pleasure.
Hale shoved swords into hands, barking orders.
"You will not fight on the walls—you'd die before your first swing! But you will not cower either. You'll stand ready in the yard. If they breach, you hold. Or you die trying."
Faces drained of color. My heart hammered so hard it felt like it would burst. As I gripped the sword Hale thrust at me, a part of me remembered Joran's words: fear is a blade.
We waited. Steel clashed above; cries drifted down. I heard the twang of bows, the hiss of arrows, the distant roar of men charging. Then, faint but unmistakable, the snap and crackle of fire—hungry and alive.
They'd brought flame.
Smoke curled over the battlements, carrying the stench of burning pitch. Boys coughed and shifted. Cedric muttered something about running if the walls fell.
Joran snapped, "You run, and you'll die tired. Stand."
I said nothing. My hands trembled on the hilt, but I breathed. I had read of raids—villages slaughtered, keeps razed—but this wasn't a story now. This was my life.
The first breach came with a thunderous crack. A section of the wooden gate, hammered by a ram, splintered inward. Guards surged to meet them, but figures pushed through—hulking men in furs and iron, axes flashing in the firelight.
They poured in like a tide of nightmares.
Chaos swallowed the yard. Steel met steel; screams mixed with the roar of flame. Hale's voice thundered above it all.
"Stand your ground, boys! Hold the line!"
They came at us.
Everything narrowed to the motion in front of me—a bearded raider raising an axe. Instinct took over. I lifted my sword. The axe crashed against it, jarring bone and teeth. I stumbled, barely evading his next swing.
"Move your feet!" Joran shouted, shoving me aside as another raider lunged. Steel flashed; Joran's blade found a gap in a man's side. Blood sprayed the snow.
For a heartbeat I froze. I had read and watched battles—none of it prepared me for the heat of blood or the stink of iron. Another raider charged. My body moved. I thrust; the sword scored along his arm. He roared; his axe clipped my shoulder. Fire flared through me, but I did not fall. I shoved forward and drove the blade into his gut.
He crumpled. My sword slipped from numb fingers, slick with blood. Bile clawed my throat, but there was no time. Another came. And another.
The yard was hell—flames licking the walls, steel ringing, boys crying as they fell. Cedric went down with a shout, his leg split, but not before taking a raider with him. Two younger boys broke and ran for the barracks—cut down before they reached the door.
Hale was a fury, a blade in motion, carving men down. He fought as if death feared him.
I don't know how long it lasted. Time drowned in blood and smoke. All I knew was survival—step, swing, breathe. Joran fought at my side, steady as a rock; his presence held me together.
Finally, a horn sounded—not ours but theirs—a long, low call. The raiders pulled back, dragging their dead and wounded, vanishing into the dark beyond the burning gate.
Silence fell, broken only by the crackle of fire and the groans of the wounded.
The yard was littered—guards, boys, raiders. Snow had lost its white.
I collapsed to my knees; the sword slipped from numb fingers. My tunic clung wet. My chest heaved. I was alive.
Joran dropped beside me, soot and blood smeared on his face, eyes steady. He placed a hand on my shoulder.
"You stood. That's what matters."
Hale passed like a shadow, voice ragged but unbroken.
"The sea wolves will be back. Stronger, hungrier. This was only their teeth testing our flesh. Next time, they'll come to devour."
His words chilled me. He was right. This was no random raid. It was the first tremor of the storm I'd feared.
I was not ready.
But tonight I had stood. Next time—I swore—I would be stronger.
[End of Chapter]
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