"We must pray," The head sister said. The woman was much younger than Gerald, by quite a few years, but due to the nature of her skills, she was person in charge of this small outpost. The sister was a small, plump woman with a great reverence for God whom she worshipped because he had worked miracles, ever since their grandmaster and lord had become a saint in the eyes of the people. And maybe it was, as not human being, not even those fire heretics could heal wounds through prayer as The Grandmaster could.
"We must act," Gerald couldn't afford to wait like the head sister wanted. He turned away. "Brother," he pointed towards one of the knights. "Take a dozen men and ride towards the sea. Watch those ships, but nothing more, we can't afford an unprepared fight against so many enemies, you understand? If they land their ships, I want to know where."
"As you wish, brother."
"I know you, Mep, don't fight them. Just watch whoever these bastards are and be back here by nightfall. I've already sent a scout to ask for reinforcements from Volantis. If God's good, our Grandmaster would bring the army to deal with these bastards."
The order had enough men to hold an army, but that didn't meant they would refuse more soldiers from amongst the commoners, and by the morrow's night he expected to have close to one thousand maybe even one thousand and five hundred men arriving from around, most of them armed with less than preferable weapons, unlike the knights of the order who were equipped with well-made swords and hefty shields.
"Something smells horrid. If those are slavers and they are outnumbered, they won't pick a fight. Most of them are cowards at heart, but just like a pack of dogs, they get courageous by being in large numbers.' It was dark and my brother had not returned, but no one was unduly anxious about that. Uhtred was capable, if sometimes reckless, and doubtless he would arrive in the small hours and so my father had ordered a beacon lit in the iron becket on top of the High Gate to guide him home.
"My lord… They may be looking for slaves." One of the miners said after gathering his courage to address the knight. "Those bastards want to land, capture some people, then sail away. We should be fine in this place, my lord."
This was not how slavers operate, not in such a huge fleet, not so close to the land… But Gerald said nothing, as he didn't know too much to make a comment. For now, though, all three hundredish men would prepare themselves for a fight. If those bastards land, they would be greeted by them.
"They are sent by God, to test our faith us." The head sister preached earning herself some nods of approval from the people.
"Test us for what? Speak sister."
"For the future…For our sins!" She shouted, making the sign of the cross before quickly turning and walking towards the newly built church, a small but "holy" sanctuary.
"Our sins be damned!" Gerald couldn't hold it anymore. Why had God sent this woman here, just to torture him?
"They come here because they're slavers! If they would have come to test our faith, they would have brought pagan or heretical symbols! Not fucking ships with armed men. Head Sister or not, this is the last time you will speak nonsense in public or so God help me."
Gerald didn't continue, letting the silence settle in, as the head sister glanced at him for a few seconds before slowly nodding her head at him. Right now, the biggest enemy was fear. A man who's scared would do stupid things, and that was something Gerald and the outpost as a whole can't afford to have.
As the sisters made their way to the church, Gerald's gaze followed them until the last hem disappeared into the sanctuary. He then turned sharply to face his fifty brothers-in-faith.
"Brothers!" Gerald's voice cut through the tense air. "To arms! The enemy may be upon us by dawn, and we shall meet them not with fear, but with the sharp end of our blades!"
That did earned him a few smiles and laughs from the knights as he paced before them, before turning towards the archers.
"Archers, to the battlements! I need eyes all around just in case some bastards might actually try to sneak upon us."
Gerald stopped and turned towards the mass of men that stood behind him.
"Men-at-arms, gather what provisions you can. We must be ready to withstand a siege if it comes to that. Water, food, oil for the lamps—leave nothing to chance. Bring everything close enough to the walls. And you, brave souls who stand with us this day, take up what weapons you can." Gerald paused and signaled two of his brothers to head towards the armory." Follow my brothers towards the armory, and pick a weapon you feel comfortable. If there are not enough swords and spears, a pitchfork can pierce as surely as a pike if the heart behind it is stout."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice just low enough so that he still could be heard by everyone.
"Listen well, for this may be the greatest fight we shall ever face. But remember, you do not stand alone. Side by side, shield to shield, we are brothers. And together, we shall hold this outpost against any foe. God is great"
"God is great!"
Knowing how much a well-rested body and mind would help in a fight, Gerald went to slept after most of the orders had been given and the people were getting ready. Unlike him, many a man paced the ramparts unable to sleep after hearing what might befall on them, but by dawn, most of them were already catching a few hours of sleep. Sadly, it was then when the whole population had been woken by the horn from the Gate.
Not even a minute after the horn had been blown, Gerald was running down to the Low Gate followed by no less than twenty knights and men-at-arms.
Men were coming from the same direction the brother, Gerald had sent to check the ocean left. There were at least fifty of them, all marching as if they were one. But what made Gerald shout for the archers to get ready was the single horseman that ride behind this group of men. The man riding on the horse had long hair the color of silver to the point that one could mistake him for being a Targaryen. He wore mail, something that none of the fifty men that walked in front of him wore, not to mention a huge axe slung across one shoulder , and if his eyes were not playing tricks, the man was grinning from ear to ear the closer he and his entourage were getting to the outpost. His companions were wearing quilted tunics with bronze looking spiked helmets while holding long spears and shields in their hands.
The unsullied… Ser Tyrek had warned them that the slave master might send these slave soldiers out in the field, but Gerald didn't think it would be so sudden.
"I want every single archer ready to shot at my command. The more of those poor bastards we kill now, the less we will have to face later!"
None of the men said anything, but Gerald knew all of the archers were preparing themselves to strike down those tortured souls. Suddenly, the horseman raised a staff high above his head, and the fifty Unsullied soldiers halted in unison, a mere hundred meters from the outpost's walls. A chilling silence fell over the battlefield, broken only by the soft clinking of the horseman's armor as he rode forward.
Almost like he was acting in front of an audience, the horseman lifted something into the air for all to see. It was the severed head of knight that Gerald sent out to spy on the ships. A few of the men gasped out in shock when they saw the head, but most of them were getting angry at the disrespect shown to the dead, yet this… blasphemy carried a clear message: this was not just an attack; it was a declaration that none shall be left alive.
"Archers, hold! Let him come closer."
And so, the man did. Maybe it was his own pride or maybe he was just dumb, but he rode close to the gate showing high the severed head, when almost as if he didn't expect, an arrow pierced his neck, sending the still unaware dying man to the ground.
Not even looking at him, Gerald turned and looked down where his brothers and the men-at-arms were gathered near the gate.
"For our lord and God!"
< Just change "3" with "e" Patr3on Link : https://patr3on.com/meatbunkun>