Chapter 39: The Storm Breaks
Status of Dikun Silver:
Name: Dikun Silver
Age: 21
Rank: Captain of the Silver's Warband
Reputation: Defender of Rithgar, Rising Leader, Potential Ally of House Carlin
Health: Healthy
Equipment: Steel Longsword, Reinforced Chainmail, Leather Cloak
Mount: Brown Destrier
Morale: Steady
Status of Silver's Warband:
Total Soldiers: 98 (Two soldiers still recovering from wounds)
Ranks:
68 Privates
20 Corporals
8 Sergeants
2 Lieutenants (Revan, Harlon)
Supplies: Moderate (Grain, Dried Meat, Water, and Ale)
Weapons: Mixed (Spears, Swords, Bows)
Armor: Basic Leather and Chainmail
Morale: Determined
Current Location: Rithgar Village
Next Objective: Defend against Lord Varrin's forces
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Before the Dawn
The air was thick with tension. A muted silence clung to Rithgar as the villagers and soldiers alike stirred, their faces set with grim determination. The sky above was still cloaked in the pale remnants of night, but the faint glow of the impending sunrise painted the eastern horizon.
Dikun Silver stood atop the wooden palisade, his keen eyes scanning the distant fields. The morning mist still clung low, concealing the shadows that crept across the land. But he knew they were there. Lord Varrin's army would arrive soon.
Revan joined him, his steel gaze unwavering. "Scouts spotted movement to the south. It won't be long now."
Dikun nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "Then we stand ready."
Below, the villagers carried out their final tasks. Buckets of water lined the inner wall in preparation for fires. Makeshift barricades stood tall, and sharpened wooden stakes jutted from the earth to break the charge of any cavalry.
Harlon approached, his weathered face bearing a grin that did little to mask his concern. "The men are in position, Captain. Every spear sharpened, every bow strung. We'll make them bleed."
"We will," Dikun agreed. "But hold the line. Do not break."
The lieutenant nodded, the fire in his eyes echoing the resolve of the warband. "Aye, Captain."
---
A Moment of Calm
With the final preparations complete, Dikun allowed himself a brief moment of stillness. He paced the narrow dirt path that led through the heart of the village, his thoughts consumed by the inevitable clash.
Children peeked from behind weathered doorframes, their innocent gazes filled with worry. Mothers clutched them tightly, whispering prayers to whatever gods might listen.
"Captain Silver."
The voice belonged to a woman with streaks of silver in her hair. It was Elira, the village healer. She stepped forward, her trembling hands offering a small bundle of herbs.
"For the wounded," she explained, her voice wavering. "I pray you won't need it."
Dikun accepted the gift, his touch gentle. "Your prayers are worth more than any herb, Elira. Thank you."
She nodded, though her eyes gleamed with unshed tears.
As he walked on, Dikun's thoughts lingered on the weight of their trust. These people had no standing armies or fortified castles. Their only shield was the courage of those who would stand for them.
And Dikun would not fail them.
---
The First Sight of the Enemy
By the time the sun crested the horizon, the distant sound of drums echoed through the mist. The rhythmic pounding stirred the air, like the heartbeat of the approaching storm.
Dikun climbed the watchtower, his eyes narrowing as the enemy came into view. Rows of armored riders formed a grim line, their banners bearing the crimson sigil of House Varrin. Behind them, infantry marched with shields raised, their spears gleaming in the pale light.
"Eighty riders," Revan murmured, his jaw set. "And the footmen number just as many."
"Outnumbered," Harlon grunted, his hands tightening on the hilt of his axe. "But not outmatched."
Dikun's voice was calm, though his heart pounded with anticipation. "We have the walls. We have the ground. Let them come."
The enemy halted just beyond the range of their archers. A rider emerged from the ranks, clad in dark steel with a crimson cloak billowing behind him.
"Lord Varrin," Dikun murmured, his eyes narrowing.
Varrin's voice rang out across the field, laced with venomous arrogance. "Rithgar belongs to House Varrin. Surrender, and your lives will be spared. Resist, and you will be crushed."
The villagers gathered near the wall, their faces pale. But Dikun did not waver. He stepped forward, his voice rising to meet Varrin's challenge.
"Rithgar belongs to its people," Dikun declared. "We will not kneel to the likes of you."
A ripple of defiance spread through the warband. Bows were drawn, shields raised.
"So be it," Varrin spat. He wheeled his horse around, his voice thundering. "Burn it all!"
---
The First Clash
The enemy charged. Hooves pounded against the earth, their riders bearing down like a wave of steel. Dikun's voice rang out, unwavering.
"Archers! Loose!"
A hail of arrows darkened the sky. The sharp cries of men and horses echoed as the volley struck true. Riders crumpled, their mounts toppling beneath them. But still, the charge pressed on.
"Brace!" Dikun bellowed.
The outer barricades groaned under the weight of the impact. Varrin's cavalry collided with the stakes, horses screaming as they reared in panic. Infantry followed, shields locking as they surged toward the palisade.
"Hold the line!" Harlon roared, his axe splitting the air as he met the first foe.
Dikun's sword flashed, cutting through the chaos. Blood spattered the dirt as he drove back one attacker after another. Beside him, Revan fought with brutal efficiency, his spear thrusting through gaps in enemy armor.
The villagers, though trembling, stood firm. Spears jabbed from behind the barricades, striking down any who dared approach.
But the enemy was relentless. Varrin's men battered against the gates, their war cries mingling with the clash of steel.
"Reinforce the wall!" Dikun commanded, his voice steady even as exhaustion clawed at his limbs.
Every swing of his sword was a promise — a vow that he would not break.
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To Be Continued...