After being all but thrown inside his cell, Vergo slumped against the rough stone wall of the makeshift cell, letting the cold seep into his old bones. The betrayal stung deeper than any wound he had ever suffered in battle. His own brothers, men, whom some he had trained, men he had fought besides, laughed with, bled with, had turned on him. And for what? For daring to challenge the blind arrogance of a young knight?
Punching the stone wall, he cursed himself for letting it come to this, for not seeing the seeds of discord sooner. Gerald's misguided idealism and if his guess was right, the young man's heretical thoughts, had clouded his judgment. Vergo knew the sellswords were playing a waiting game, after all what sane person wouldn't want to be paid to do nothing but sit on their arse and wait rather than be forced to fight over and over again.
Just like that, for two hours, Vergo paced the confines of his cell, blaming himself and living in despair of what would happen to those poor souls that are unaware of what Gerald was about to invite to befall on them. He replayed the scene in the command room over and over, wondering if there had been any way to sway his brothers, to make them see the folly of Gerald's plan. The thought that their lives now hung by such a slender thread filled him with dread, a dread which Vergo swore to vanquish if he were to live to see the sunrise.
As the third hour approached, Vergo heard a faint sound from the corridor outside his cell. He strained to listen, and for a brief moment, hope filled his broken heart. The sound grew louder, resolving into the unmistakable shuffle of feet and the murmur of hushed voices, most of which were familiar to the knight.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and Little Daaro, slipped inside, his eyes wide with fear and determination. Behind him, a group of men and women, as well as four of his brothers entered.
"Ser Vergo," Daaro whispered urgently, "we're getting you out of here. Gerald and the others have gone to parley with the enemy. We don't have much time."
Vergo stared at them in disbelief. "Why are you doing this?"
Daaro stepped closer, looking at the knight in the eyes. "Because, Ser, you're our only chance of surviving this night. Ser Gerald's plan will lead us to certain death. We have to find another way."
The knights, Sir Edgar, Sir Tomas, Sir Alistair, and Sir Rupert, nodded in agreement. Edgar, the eldest, spoke up. "Brother Vergo, we couldn't stand and watch how our people walk into a trap. We need to take control and prepare for the worst and to do that, we need someone who will rather choose death than to sacrifice innocent lives."
Looking at this small group who had risked everything to free him, Vergo only nod his head at their words.
"Thank you, all of you. We don't have much time and so we need to act quickly. Gather everyone capable of fighting. We must fortify our defenses and prepare for the worst, as chances are, once the sellswords sees the lack of cooperation, they would kill Gerald and whoever is with him before attacking us."
As soon as they left the cell, Daaro and the others moved swiftly, spreading the word and rallying the remaining defenders. Vergo, alongside his loyal knights, headed to the command room to take control. This new chance at doing good, filled him with renewed strength and purpose, one that Vergo was not ashamed to admit he felt like he had lost in that dark cell.
Many of the knights who had remained behind looked up, most looking somewhat unsure of what they should do in that moment. They had followed Gerald out of loyalty and desperation, but now only a fool wouldn't see that things were going to change.
"Brothers," Vergo began. "Our brother's plan to parley with the sellswords is doomed to fail. They will not honor any agreement. They will take our surrender as a sign of weakness and slaughter us all. We must stand and fight, not just for ourselves, but for the innocent lives that depend on us."
There was a murmur of agreement, and Vergo continued, "We have a chance to defend this outpost, to hold our ground. We have faced worse odds before, and we have prevailed. Trust in our strength, in our training, and in our unity. We are knights of the holy order that swore to protect the innocent, and we will not go down without a fight."
No one argued against what Vergo said, after all, the man was right. While not many of them are "fanatical believers", many a man swore an oath to protect the people and so none of them choose to go against their oath, not now and ever again.
Soon after that short meeting, they began to organize, setting up barricades, reinforcing the gates, and preparing weapons and arrows. At the same time, little Daaro, along with a few other young boys and girls, worked tirelessly, bringing supplies and tending to the wounded, easing the burden on the hospitaller knight. Despite their fear, they showed remarkable courage and determination, inspired by Vergo's unwavering resolve to not let what little they had built here to go to hell.
As the preparations continued, Vergo found himself at the parapets, scanning the horizon. The enemy campfires dotted the hills. He knew that time was running out, and they needed to be ready for whatever the sellswords had planned.
Suddenly, a lookout shouted from the tower, "They're coming back! Gerald and his men are returning!"
Hearing that, Vergo's heart pounded in his chest when his eyes landed on Gerald and his five men approaching the gate, accompanied by a small group of sellswords and a man who appeared to be one of their leaders. A lie would be to say that he hadn't expect such a sight, and yet, Vergo was a little bit surprised by how many men the sellsword had send back with Gerald. Talking about the young man, Vergo could see the uncertainty and fear etched on Gerald's face as they drew closer and a few seconds later, Gerald's eyes met Vergo's on the parapet, and a shadow of realization passed over his expression, turning it into pure dread.
"Vergo!" Gerald shouted, his voice trembling with desperation when he quickly scanned the parapets and saw most of the survivors prepared for a siege. "What have you done?"
But before Vergo could respond, the sellswords, sensing the shift in power and the unease among Gerald's group, turned on them with ruthless efficiency, not giving the six men any chance to defend themselves. Soon, chaos erupted as the sellswords attacked, cutting down the knights . Gerald tried to draw his sword, but a blade found his throat before he could act.
Vergo watched in horror as the scene unfolded, but he still managed to gave the order. "Archers, now!"
The archers atop the parapets released a volley of arrows, the twang of bowstrings filling the air. Arrows rained down on the sellswords, piercing armor and flesh. The sellsword leader's loyal man fell first, an arrow embedded in his chest. The rest of the sellswords were taken by surprise, many falling under the accuracy of the archers.
Gerald fell to his knees, blood pouring from the wound in his neck, his eyes wide with shock and pain. He looked up at Vergo, and for the first time, Vergo saw regret in the dying man's eyes. With a final gurgling breath, he collapsed, joining his fallen comrades in death.
Ser Allister, standing beside him, put a hand on the knight's shoulder, "Brother Vergo, we did what we had to. Gerald's plan would have led us all to death."
Vergo nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving the scene below. "Yes, we did what we had to. But it doesn't make it any easier."
As the archers ceased their fire and the immediate danger seemed to pass, a murmur of uneasy relief spread among the defenders.
"Keep your guard up," Vergo ordered, fearing the worst that would soon come. "This is far from over."
Vergo's words proved prophetic as almost as soon as the archers lowered their bows, one of the sellswords, wounded but not fatally, scrambled to his feet and darted away from the gates of the outpost. Despite the archers' attempts to bring him down, the lucky bastard managed to get himself out of the kill zone, making it very dangerous to pursue the man.
"Damn it!" Ser Edgar cursed. "He'll warn their leader."
Vergo clenched his fists, knowing that his brother was right, thus removing any advantage they might had had. "We need to prepare for the worst. They'll come at us with everything they've got now and as much as it pains me to admit this palisade would not hold for an eternity."
Soon afterwards, the outpost buzzed with urgent activity. Knights and villagers alike worked tirelessly, strengthening barricades, distributing weapons, and ensuring every able-bodied person was ready for the fight ahead. At this point it was no longer about keeping the enemy busy, no this fight turned into a fight for survival.
Hours passed, and the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon when the lookout's voice broke through the tension that had been formed. "They're coming! The sellswords are coming!"
As quickly as he could, Vergo ascended the parapet once more, looking out over the approaching enemy. Thousands of sellswords and to Vergo's surprised, slave warriors marched down the hill. The sellswords were already bad enough, but now, that the enemy has meat shields to throw at them, everything become worse than anything Vergo could have imagined.
"Hold your ground!" Vergo commanded his people. "Remember why we fight. For our lives, for our homes, and for those who cannot defend themselves. We will not let them take this from us!"
The sellswords approached in a disciplined formation, just behind their battering ram. Vergo's heart pounded as he saw the enemy prepare for a full-scale assault and a second later, the wooden gate and walls shuddered under the impact of the first barrage of stones and arrows. It didn't took a military genius to realize that the enemy would sooner rather than later bring down either one of them and charge inside massacring everyone.
"Archers, return fire!" Vergo ordered, and a small volley of arrows flew from the parapets, striking down the front lines of the enemy. A dozen of sellswords and slave soldiers fell to the ground, but that did little to nothing as in response, the enemy fired their arrows back at them taking down a few of the archers Vergo had at his disposal.
The battle that followed was fierce and brutal as the sellswords assaulted the walls with ladders while the battering ram was slowly working its way towards the gate, forcing the defenders to fight with such a desperate ferocity that many a man would have second thoughts fighting against such mad men.
Despite their bravery and superior skill, at least in the case of the knights, the defenders were slowly pushed back by the sheer number of enemies that kept on charging at them. It would be just a matter of time before the gates is brought down and death would consume them, but no one, not even the children dared to dream of surrounding.
With every passing second, more and more of the few people Vergo had under his command were falling in battle, there was only one decision he could do.
"MEN! Wedge formation!" Vergo commanded his remaining men and almost in the blink of the eye, they formed up in spearhead, with him leading the charge towards their last line of defense, the doors of the church. Two of his remaining brothers took their place to his sides, cutting down as many slave soldiers and sellswords as they could. Surprisingly enough, Vergo was mortified to see a young boy struggling to hold a sword rushing towards them with his friends.
"What in God's holy name are you doing here Daaro? All of you are too young to fight." Vergo while pushing down a sellsword. "You should have been inside the church with the women and the wounded."
Ignoring how the older knight killed another man, Daaro gulped before answering the question he had been asked. "I'm… We… are men too, my lord. We have to protect the weak."
No matter how much he wanted to argue with the boy about the dangers he put himself and his little friends into by coming right in the middle of the battle could spare no time for argument, not when he just saw another of his brother's dying under the restless assault of the enemy. "Push them back! For the Order! For our people!"
And so, Vergo and his remaining men pressed forward, carving a bloody path through the mass of enemy soldiers.
"Protect the children!" Vergo shouted, letting Daaro and his friends inside the formation. "Push them back! God is with us!"
His men responded with a roar, their formation tightening as they moved toward the church. Every step was hard-won, every inch of ground was paid in blood. Despite the overwhelming odds, they fought like beasts. And while the sellswords and slave soldiers pressed in from all sides, but the knights held their ground, keeping shields locked together, as they did their best to kill as many enemies as they could before dying.
Slashing off the arm of yet another sellsword, Vergo caught sight of the banner of the Teutonic Order still flying high above the church. For him, and for the rest of his people, that white banner with a black cross draw in the middle of it was a beacon of hope, one that would continue to inspire them, as for as long as the banner stood, they would not falter. They would be the last to fall.
"Daaro, behind me!" Vergo called, pushing behind him with his shield the young boy and his friends. "Form up! We make our stand here!"
The remaining sixteen men formed a desperate shieldwall at the entrance of the church, while the children stood behind them throwing rocks at the enemy. Meanwhile, Vergo took his place at the center, praying in his heart for a miracle to happen. Almost as soon as they locked their shields, the enemy crashed against their shields like waves against a rocky shore.
Every second that passed, Vergo's arm ached from the constant impact, and his entire body scrammed out in protest. But he did not waver. He gritted his teeth and with every swing of his sword, another enemy fell.
"Hold the line!" Vergo shouted again, this time thought, in hoarse voice. "Shield wall!" He shouted shortly after, and that was the first time, since the battle at the steps of the church started that Vergo realized just how few of his men survived. What few had survived had grown ragged, but now it wasn't the time to cry. After all, there were hundreds of sellswords and slave soldiers in front of them and they came to kill them all.
"Show those heretics the Lord's light!"
The men cheered. They with a little over one hundred of people strong, but most of those had either died or were too injured to be of any use, and yet, the remaining men cheered even though one hundred times their number came to kill them, all that while more and more of the wounded men came from inside the church, dragging their beaten and broken bodies to help holding the Shieldwall. Death was coming for all, what matter if they died a few minutes later, unable to defend anyone?
"Tighten the formation!" Once again Vergo shouted, and they touched shields again for the enemy was still coming no matter how many died already, and as Vergo and the others had found out, they would not hesitate in their attack. If only he had more of his brothers… as of right now they were too few to frighten those bastards, which would made them really work up courage for this battle.
And once gain come they did. A thick line of men, without any form or shape of formation, charged from behind their wounded and dead. The spears and longswords came first, but as any smart warrior, Vergo and his men crouched behind their shields letting the enemy to slam into their wall.
As more and more men were dying, Vergo looked up on the hill. Just as the sun reached the highest point in the sky, a light, brighter than anything, shone on top of the hill. At first, he thought he had gone mad. But then, he saw it—the towering form of a golden cross slowly appeared on top of the hill. And almost like a mirage, more and more men, knights wearing the attire of his order, both proper knights as well as initiates, and thousands of foot soldiers, stopped and awaited as a smaller figure clad in similar attire to that of the order let his horse slightly forward.
Ignoring the enemy who were desperate to break their Shieldwall, Vergo heard it then, a cry that echoed through the battlefield: "Deus vult!"
That was the moment Vergo knew... Volantis had come!
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