On the Firing Step of the wooden palisade, the air was a deafening symphony of screams, the frantic clatter of iron against iron at the already splintering gate, and the constant hiss of arrows. Mael, crouched low and taking what precarious cover the low palisade offered to avoid the thick rain of enemy projectiles, shouted until his throat burned.
"Don't let a single one over! Knock those ladders down, you maggots! Fast!"
His voice was a hoarse growl of pure dread and determination. He rose, defying the storm of arrows seeking his life, stepped momentarily out of cover, and loosed his shaft, feeling the familiar vibration of the bow in his arms. An Ironborn already halfway up the climb staggered, his cry cut short by a fatal sob, and plummeted, dragging the precarious ladder with him for a moment before those below realigned it.
Mael's problem wasn't just the overwhelming number of attackers, but the dwindling number of his own men. They were few, sixteen archers, to defend the palisade. With every new wave of ladders leaning against the wall and every new shout of "Drag it down!", the risk of being hit increased exponentially.
A sharp scream erupted from the left. It was Kael, one of the youngest archers. He had leaned too far, trying to reach a ladder to push it back, and now lay on the planked floor, an arrow buried in his chest, bubbling dark blood as the life ebbed from his eyes. Two others, in a desperate attempt to push another ladder, were hit, one in the thigh, falling with a muffled groan, and the other in his draw arm, rendering him instantly useless.
"Keep firing! Stop pushing if you're under heavy fire! Cover each other!" Mael bellowed, but he knew time was running out. They could delay the invaders, but they couldn't stop them forever. The noise coming from the gate was cold, fatal proof: the main defense had already been breached. It was only a matter of time before the iron and blood of the Ironborn began to splatter the Firing Step.
Mael's men fired with a feverish intensity. It was arrow after arrow, some from afar, others at point-blank range. Mael could smell the metallic scent of blood mixed with the dust and sawdust of the wood. He knew the morale of his men was crumbling; they saw their brothers fall and heard the war cry of the invaders drawing closer, relentless.
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Meanwhile, on the ground, Jeor's battle at the now-breached gate was a calculated chaos. The fighting was intense and surprisingly balanced, a contrast to the hopelessness atop the palisade. Jeor, wielding his sword with the raw strength of a caged bear, moved with the precision of a man who had done this a thousand times.
The invaders at the gate had achieved devastating initial success, but the fury and fierce counter-attack led by Jeor and his men had stabilized the situation, turning the site into a cramped meat grinder. The earth beneath their feet was slick with mud, water, and blood.
Jeor was a beacon of command amidst the pandemonium. "Close ranks! Shields up! Don't let the line break! Push!" His voice was a practical, resolute thunder.
Beside him, in vivid contrast, was a sickly-looking man, his lips cracked and skin pale, almost grey. He fought with a ferocity that completely belied his frail appearance. His weapon, a battle hatchet, spun in an insane arc, and every blow seemed driven by a feverish, supernatural energy.
"Drowned God! The sea gave us this mission! Capture the sorcerer! He hides! The Sea demands it! Glory to Him Who Does Not Die!" he screamed, his motivational words a mixture of religious fervor and murderous bloodlust. His eyes were bloodshot, and cold sweat dripped down his sickly forehead, yet his energy did not wane. He was a whirlwind of devotion and violence. The ferocity of his attacks and the savagery of his words were a shocking betrayal of his image as a convalescent on the brink of death.
'Sorcerer… Bear Island…' Jeor thought, dodging a blow and responding with a slash that opened his opponent's guard. 'Not just sick in body, but in mind as well.' The thought was fleeting but sharp. That man was completely possessed by his delusional beliefs.
The battle on the ground remained in a bloody stalemate. Every step forward was paid for in lives. It was the brute force of the Ironborn against the desperate determination of the Northmen. The line did not yield, but it did not advance. It was a deadly, exhausting dance that could break at any moment, depending on who stumbled first.
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Back at the palisade, disaster was unfolding. A different cry, a cry of barbaric triumph, echoed. An Ironborn had finally managed to climb up.
It happened at the ladder on the far left of the left section of the Firing Step, as far as possible from Mael. The breach had been meticulously created. Two of the invaders at the base of the ladder were using all their strength to hold it in place, making the task of pushing it away almost impossible. A third enemy archer aimed at any Northman who exposed himself for the maneuver, ensuring that the time needed to push was time enough to be hit. The first Northman to attempt the feat at that ladder staggered back, an arrow lodged in his shoulder, unable to handle his bow.
This strategy couldn't be repeated on all five other ladders due to the invaders' lack of men for such coordination, but on a single ladder, it was devastating.
The small breach forced Mael's men to retreat a few steps and fire from a distance, aiming at the men climbing up. The Ironborn trying to ascend had to climb with only one hand, while the other held a round iron shield, ready to deflect any arrow coming their way. It was a near-impossible defense against the aim of archers at such close range, but they were willing to risk it.
After several failed attempts and many sacrifices, one Ironborn succeeded. With incredible luck, in a desperate maneuver, he swung his shield to intercept an arrow flying fatally toward his face, becoming the only one to reach the top.
As he vaulted over the palisade and landed on the Firing Step, his entire body trembled with adrenaline and exhaustion. The first thing he did was hurl the short axe he held between his teeth; a primal scream tore from his lips. The axe flew toward the Northman archer to his right, who had been the one to fire the intercepted arrow and was now dangerously isolated.
The projectile hit the target with a wet, satisfying thud in the Northman's collarbone. The man fell backward in agony. The Ironborn didn't waste a second before rushing toward him, not to kill him, but to position himself so no archer was at his back. He ran with his shield hand turned behind him, hoping it would miraculously stop any arrow coming his way.
He found it strange. No arrows were hitting the shield or him.
When he reached the Northman, who was now writhing on the planked floor, the invader simply pulled his battle-axe from the man's chest. A guttural cry of pain erupted from the wounded archer, but the invader ignored him, stepping over him and taking a crouched defensive position, facing Mael's remaining archers.
Throughout the climb, the axe throw, and the run, his heart had been thumping like a wild drum in his chest, and adrenaline surged through his veins with deafening force. It had prevented him from hearing or noticing anything other than his own safety and the imminent threat.
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As he took his defensive stance, the first Ironborn to jump the palisade finally understood the strange quiet around him. He had expected an immediate volley of arrows, but what he found wasn't a void, but cover.
Just five feet behind him, a second Ironborn had climbed and vaulted the timber right after him; he was now crouched, maintaining a low defensive position against two Northman archers who were screaming in panic and firing arrows desperately. The loud, metallic sound of arrows hitting the second invader's shield was constant. Despite the effectiveness of the cover, one unlucky arrow had found the small gap beneath the chainmail and buried itself in the second man's right shoulder. He gritted his teeth, suppressing a groan.
The narrow, confined shape of the Firing Step forced the Northman archers to adapt. The front archer fired from a crouch, trying to keep a low profile. The one behind only stood up at the precise moment of releasing the string, a dangerous but necessary maneuver, both to avoid hitting his companion's head and to protect himself from a stray arrow from the Ironborn archers firing from below.
The first Ironborn's focus on his own safety and the imminent danger from Mael's archers had been so intense that he hadn't even noticed another of his men was climbing up immediately behind him. His concentration had been a narrow tunnel of pure adrenaline.
Without hesitation, the first invader stepped forward and finished off the wounded archer still agonizing at his feet, burying his axe with a sharp blow to the Northman's head, a sound swallowed by the clamor of battle. He then advanced further, stepping over the fallen body, and took up a defensive position over the kneeling second Ironborn. He placed his shield over the other man's, creating a kind of armored roof that covered both invaders completely.
The formation was perfectly adapted to the environment. With the Firing Step being so narrow, Mael's archers had no room to move sideways and shoot at their flanks. They were forced to fire directly against the shield formation.
"Let's move. Together and slow," the second Ironborn spoke, his voice strained as he suppressed the searing pain in his shoulder. He gave a quick, glancing look at his companion above, a look of urgency.
A deafening CLANG struck the first Ironborn's shield. The heavy blow made the metal vibrate in his hands.
Mael, on the other Firing Step, had temporarily stopped firing, his brow furrowed in concentration. He could see the Ironborn's defensive formation and the danger it represented. He realized that two men wouldn't be enough to hold the palisade, but they were allowing more invaders to climb.
The Ironborn charge on the ladders had concentrated. Half the pressure was on the same ladder the two had climbed. The other half, equally worrying, was on the ladders carried and raised in the section defended by Jorah, further to the left.
With a commanding shout, Mael tried to reinforce the breaking point, yelling to the archer on the other Firing Step where the action was focused: "Gareth! Help them! Fast!"
Another archer was ordered to join the two already present. Now, the defense against the Ironborn who had crested the wall consisted of three men. The six remaining archers tried to cover the rest of the ladders: four were in the section to the right of the gate with Mael, and the other two were to the left of the gate, alongside the trio trying to stop the Ironborn who had jumped the palisade.
The newcomer, Gareth, was forced to contort himself to get any view of the invaders. The space was open-air, yet cramped at the same time.
The first Ironborn, without looking at the second, responded to his companion's whisper with only a "Hrrrngh," a hoarse grunt of confirmation.
The tension was palpable. Another arrow was loosed toward the second man's head, but he managed to raise his shield in time, absorbing the impact. Almost simultaneously, another hit the first man's shield, and shortly after, another struck the second man's shield again in the same spot, making the iron vibrate.
"On my signal…" the second Ironborn said, his voice low and tense, fear and adrenaline fighting for control.
In the next moment, something happened and the situation changed completely. An arrow from below, loosed by one of the Ironborn archers at the base of the palisade, managed to arc perfectly and hit the middle Northman archer just as he was about to fire, burying itself in his shoulder. He screamed, staggered, and ducked, falling back and descending from the Firing Step to seek help, but he ended up falling onto the Ironborn below, where he was hacked apart by the furious mob. Almost at the same instant, the third archer, the one ordered by Mael to reinforce, squeezed forward to take the fallen man's position.
The first Ironborn felt the wood of the Firing Step tremble beneath his feet. He cast a quick glance over his shoulder and saw it: a third invader had climbed up the same ladder.
Before the first could alert his companion, the second shouted: "ADVANCE!" and took two quick steps forward, body low and shield held firm. The first Ironborn matched the movement, shield overlapping, and they advanced as one creature.
The remaining Northman archers, both crouching, retreated but kept up their fire, arrows striking the invaders' shields to no effect.
"More are coming up! We need help!" one of the Northman archers screamed, his voice thin with hysteria. He looked past the Ironborn in front of him, terrified. He shouted the second part of the warning, even more urgently: "They're jumping Jorah's palisade!"
Mael, on the other Firing Step in the section he defended with four other archers, stopped firing. He analyzed the situation quickly: three Ironborn had already climbed up with more on the way, and worse, Jorah was about to be flanked. The defense was on the verge of total collapse.
Mael's decision was desperate, but the only logical one. He roared, trying to make his voice heard over the din of the action below at the gate: "JUMP! ALL OF YOU! ABANDON THE FORTIFICATION! FIRE FROM BELOW AT ANYONE WHO CLIMBS IT!"
The invaders on the rungs and the Firing Step, including the armored duo, paused as they also heard Mael's command, waiting to see if the archers would obey his insane order.
In the next instant, the two remaining archers, plus the other two who were trying to stop the Ironborn from climbing, grabbed their near-empty quivers and leaped from the narrow platform, abandoning the left Firing Step. There was no hesitation. They knew staying there meant certain death. The fall was a risk, a broken bone or a sprain, but it was still better than being slaughtered at the top. Not wanting to repeat their comrade's mistake of falling onto the enemy, the four leaped with vigor, managing to jump far enough to avoid the second line of defense and land near the third; fortunately, their allies weren't angry enough to cut them down.
With the defenders gone, the Ironborn on the left Firing Step had taken total control of a crucial strategic position. They had a clear line of sight to the heads of those fighting on the ground, a fact that would be extensively exploited once the Ironborn archers climbed up. If nothing was done immediately, the losses inflicted on the defenders would be catastrophic.
While the battle unfolded in a bloody frenzy at the gate under Jeor's command, and in growing despair on Mael's Firing Step, the situation in Maege Mormont's section was drastically different. There, there was no urgency of collapse, but a struggle of wits, brute force, and tactical persistence against the Ironborn battering ram.
Maege, known for her indomitable ferocity, faced the leader of the ram assault, a large, strong man wielding the lead shield. She methodically attacked the edge of his protection with constant blows from her war-axe. With every impact, the wood groaned and splintered. Her goal wasn't to pierce, but to destroy.
With time and Maege's relentless strength, the Ironborn's shield finally gave way, losing a large chunk of wood from the edge right at the bearer's head height. The shield was still functional, but the flaw was a window, a crucial breach.
Realizing the missing piece was large enough to expose part of the Ironborn's head, Maege acted with the speed and cunning of a hunter. She pointed to one of the archers assisting her and gave a clear signal to approach. While the archer ran to her side, Maege did something unexpected, all without giving any sign of her intent, so as not to alert the enemy. She dropped her axe on the ground and, with fluid movements, took the archer's bow and quiver.
In an instant, she was armed for a ranged attack. Drawing the string with the steady confidence that only the She-Bear of Bear Island possessed, Maege aimed with surgical precision at the gap in the shield, the hole that provided a view of the head of the man holding it.
The invader, however, noticed the movement at the last second and instinctively jerked his head to the side instead of turning the shield. The arrow grazed where his temple would have been. But the arrow, now without its intended target, ended up hitting one of the men holding the ram again, burying itself in his throat. The impact was fatal, causing the man to gasp and fall to the ground, drowning in his own blood.
The ram, which was in motion, suddenly stopped, lurching to the side as the man fell.
"Shit!" the Ironborn leader screamed, realizing the fatal error of exposure. He rotated his shield until the broken piece was on the left, out of Maege's line of fire. At the same time, he warned: "Move the ram further right! And someone replace this worm! Fast!"
The ram returned to striking the palisade, but now at a different corner, further to the right where the wood was still intact.
Maege continued to fire more arrows through the hole in the shield, but with the change in angle and the leader's constant shield movement, no arrow found a living target; they simply thudded into the ground or struck the thick wood of the shield harmlessly.
It is important to note that, although another Ironborn had ceased to be part of the "shield-shell" (which protected the men pushing the ram) and there were now more gaps, the archers on the Firing Step were no longer attacking the ram unit. Moments ago, right after Maege had fired her first arrow, the Ironborn had begun using ladders to jump the palisade in Mael's section, and this new and more dangerous development had drawn the full attention of the archers atop the wall. Maege's ram unit had temporarily become a secondary threat.
Frustrated at no longer being able to land a shot, Maege threw the bow into the archer's arms, her fury palpable. She pointed toward a nearby spearman and summoned him with an imperious gesture.
The spearman ran to her, and Maege snatched the spear from his hands. With the long, pointed weapon, she began thrusting through the broken side of the leader's shield, using various angles as if she were fishing, desperately trying to find the man behind the protection.
The attacks were fast and varied. From the frantic movement of the shield and the strain on the arm holding it, it was clear that the Ironborn wielding it was being bothered and destabilized by the attacks. This motivated Maege even more, leading her to attack with renewed vigor. Her strikes were firmer, faster.
And then, she finally hit him. The spear point passed through the shield's flaw and found a weak spot in the armor.
The Ironborn let out a sharp, guttural cry of pain.
Maege, with a wild smile, responded to his cry of pain with direct taunts: "You like that, Sea Worm? Was it good for you?"
The Ironborn, enraged and wounded, cursed her in response, his voice full of hatred: "You bitch! Speed up the work, you bastards! Tear this fucking thing down!"
The wound, however, was not serious enough to incapacitate him. Maege's spear had failed to fully penetrate the leather gambeson and chainmail; it had only driven the tip into his chest, causing sharp pain and tearing the skin, but hitting no vital organs. It was enough to irritate, demoralize, and draw blood, but not to stop the onslaught.
Despite the leader's pain and fury, the combined strength of the Ironborn under the ram began to take its effect. Eventually, the newly targeted log of the palisade shifted under the pressure of the strikes. This initial movement triggered a chain reaction that left nearly all the nearby logs crooked and misaligned, creating several breaches and signaling that the entire section would fall at any moment.
The Ironborn leader pressed his cracked lips together, feeling the vibration of the final impact approaching. 'One more,' he thought, referring to one more strike from the ram. He held the mortal hope that one more blow would be enough to bring it all down, allow entry, and finally, let him 'finish the bitch.'
Unfortunately for him, Maege had already realized the palisade was about to give way. Seconds before, she had discreetly pointed to the two archers assisting her and then to the ram, whispering a single command: "Push." The archers, already experienced in her tactics, understood: prepare the bows for a surprise attack.
The ram swung back for what was to be the coup de grâce, and the Ironborn shouted in celebration of the near-breach of the palisade.
It was in this moment of premature triumph that Maege screamed, her voice thundering: "RELEASE!"
The archers loosed their arrows. The Ironborn were caught off guard once again.
Two different men were hit. The first archer's arrow buried itself in the neck of the man at the front, holding the end of the ram. The second arrow hit the stomach of the man carrying the shield over his head to protect the unit.
The archers, now more aware of the enemy's tactics, did not wait for another command from Maege and launched two more arrows. But the Ironborn holding the ram were also more aware and instinctive; they dropped the ram to the ground and threw themselves to the side. The arrows, instead of hitting the men pushing the ram, ended up striking the men behind, who were holding shields over their heads and failed to react in time to lower them and protect their exposed bodies.
The Ironborn leader, on the other side of the palisade, could now be heard cursing the situation, his voice full of wild frustration: "You useless scoundrels! Forget that turtle shell! Plug the hole! Don't let a single arrow through!"
Distracted by the commands he was shouting to his men, the leader failed to protect himself. Maege seized the moment. She landed another strike with her spear, again piercing the leather gambeson and chainmail, but only driving the spear tip into his chest.
The Ironborn leader let out a new cry of pain and called out to her through gritted teeth: "You bitch!"
Maege, triumphant and with spear in hand, shouted back, mocking him: "You might even get in! But you'll already be finished!"
The leader replied, his face contorted with pain and hate: "Go fuck yourself!"
The palisade was still standing, but the She-Bear's tactics had cost the enemy dearly and bought crucial time. Maege's defense had prevailed for now, but the fall of the wall was still inevitable.
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