The thick fog that clouded the river banks of the Tees for several days, hung over the world like a blanket of grey. Albert, freshly minted soldier in the Town Watch, stood on the tower built into the corner of the palisades protecting the little camp and stone bridge that led to Stockton Castle. Hands cupped together against his mouth as he blew warm air from his lungs into them. Anything he could do to fight the cold winter air that flowed up the valley from the North Sea. After the air was blown into his palms and hand were rubbed together, Albert placed them beneath the thick, scratchy woollen coat that was given to him by the Quartermaster. He would no doubt have red sores on his skin after his watch was over, when he removed it later in the, almost warm stone building built recently to house the soldiers on this side of the river. Still, he thanked God and whatever else was listening, that he was placed in the building. It beat the hell out of sleeping in the tents that were put up after the construction of the bridge.
"You would think the world had ended with all this fog." A voice came from behind the young Watcher. "Oh yes… It did." A hand nudged Albert's arm and appeared in front of him holding a wooden tankard with the greatest, if not most foul tasting ale brewed in the area. Albert took the tankard and raised it to his lips without hesitation. Taking the tangy nectar into his mouth. Head shaking with the shock of it as it warmed his insides on its way down.
"Easy now. Don't want it going to your head and you falling over the edge." The man who offered the drink now chuckled as he leaned over the edge of the wooden structure and looked at the ground. Unseen with the thickness of the fog. "That would be a travesty. You would probably survive." He turned around and smiled a wide toothy grin that had a few gaps.
George Duval. A child of Normandy that was brought to England when his family was implanted into Kenward's Court by Edward of Windsor. A decade Albert's senior, the older brother than Albert never had. Looking after the young lad as he went through training, and then vouching for him into the watch when he turned 15. That was last year. A year of standing on the wooden walls of Stockton's little annex on the opposite side of the river. Every night the same as the last. Nothing but the wilderness. Some times he saw a large boat coming into the docks late at night, others he watched the fishermen set off into the North Sea to fetch anything they could to supplement the gruel of a soup that was served by Cook and her helpers. Rationing is what's best. Lets everybody eat and survive. She would say as she dropped a ladle full of the white, mucus textured 'meal' into the bowls of those waiting in the bread line.
"It would be such a shame were something like that to happen. Right Georgie? No more standing on the ramparts waiting for the Fallen to swarm and over run the gates." Albert exclaimed sarcastically between sips of his ale. "Has anyone even seen a Fallen since that trader from Newcastle came by?" Albert finished his drink and placed the tankard on the floor beside his right foot. Stretching his back and neck as he stood upright. Preparing for the next five hours of mind numbing boredom, starring into the thick grey fog that hung over the world. Nothing visible beyond his arms reach. He could barely make out the soft glow of the lanterns in the Gatehouse along the wall.
"You probably don't remember anything before. Do you?" George, now leaning against one of the supports that held the roof above them changed the subject. "Don't remember the fields of crop that went on for miles. Vanishing into the horizon in a patchwork of colours. The Knights that would travel, attending Feasts and Tournaments for the prestige and the free meals. You probably don't even remember the girls from Ormesby. Fiery red hair. Bright blue eyes. And a rump that demanded a smack when they passed." George bit his lip as he motioned smacking a woman on her backside. Prompting an awkward look from his companion. "What?" He asked, face wearing a puzzled expression for a moment before his eyes widened with recognition. "You haven't felt the joys of a woman… Have you? What happened with that pretty little thing in the Kitchens? I thought you were certainly working things there. Was kind of hoping she would give you some extra rations to sneak me on these long, lonely nights." Albert didn't rise to the bait that George was placing for him. Instead, he stared at an imaginary object ahead of him. Arms crossed, eyes squinting as he stood against the back wall of the tower.
"So Lisa is a no then. What about that other one. What's her name? That one with the thing on her neck. Works with Lisa."
"Morgan?" Albert replied without looking at the other man. "And it isn't a thing. It's a scar. You can't be this useless with words."
"Morgan!" He exclaimed with a clap. "Pretty Morgan with the scar that vanishes beneath her neckline. Next time you see her, walk up to her." He rose from his position and moved beside Albert. His mouth close to the young Watcher's ear. "Lean into her ear and ask…" He got closer. The tip of his nose pressing against the almost frozen ear of Albert. "How far down does that thing go? She'll no doubt giggle and blush for a second before looking away in a faux display of disgust. But inside, she'll be burning." As he spoke, he acted out the scene he was describing. "She'll turn back." George looked over his shoulder at Albert, his eyes fluttering and a coy smile on his face. "Wink at you and then take your hand and drag you to the store room where you will both strip to your skin and make with the forn…"
"Alright! Alright. Lord above, do you have to go on the way you do?" Albert pushed George away from him, getting a laugh from the man as he stumbled a few steps. "What is it to you if I have laid with a woman or not? It does not affect you one bit."
"I just want to make sure my little Berty-boo is getting something." George stepped over to Albert again and placed an arm over his shoulder. "You see, when you become a man, your entire life changes. You see the world differently. The sun shines that little bit brighter. The wind carries the scent of the fine woman you just joined with. For me, that is Agnes." He takes a single long breath in through his nose before letting out a sound of delight. As if he drank the coolest, sweetest ale available in the hottest of summer days. "Agnes de Moy. Don't let her soft spoken demeanour fool you. In the privacy of… Whatever place we can find. She is demonic. She could reach places the Lord didn't even know existed."
"Yes. You have said so many a time. And I am still waiting for that moment you tell me what this has to do with me. Because I don't want to listen to your… Conquests." Albert shrugged the arm off of his shoulder and stepped forward, placing his hands onto the edge of the waist high railing. "I'm in no rush to find someone. Even if I did, what then? Settle down in a quaint little tent by the river. Raise a family. That's not. Why would anyone do that in such a world?"
"Because, dear Albert. The People must continue. Would you hand over God's Green Kingdoms to the Fallen?" Taking the hint that Albert wasn't wanting to be touched, which wasn't anything new, George stepped away a few paces. Joining the young Watcher at the railing. Looking out into the nothingness. "One day you will find that someone." He began, his voice softer than usual. "You will find that one who you can not live without. The one reason you draw breath. And, God willing, you will gain a little Albert or Albertina that will become your entire world. Your every waking moment spent making them happy." Albert interrupted George with a shushing sound. "No, I won't shh. I'm trying to give you a little bit of advice."
"Shut up you fool!" Albert chastised. "Can you hear that?" Ahead of them, somewhere, the sound of approaching wheels could be heard. Though no light was seen, which was strange for incoming travellers or traders, but not unheard of. They listened for a moment longer, when the sound of a collision was heard. Something hitting the gate off to their side. "Ring the Bell. I will go and see what happe." Albert's words were interrupted by the sound of a vicious roaring sound, at the same time his vision was overpowered by a great flash of yellow flames engulfing the gatehouse. Lighting up the area enough that the fog almost seemed to disappear. The shockwave of the explosion sent both Albert and George to the floor. Holding their ringing ears as they were knocked senseless by the pressure.
George crawled to Albert and looked him over, violently shaking the younger man to reality as he asked unheard questions. Lost to the droning sounds that persisted in Albert's ears. Mouth moving with an expression of fear plastered across his face as he looked over his shoulder. The light that cut through the fog was no longer the explosion, instead the entire gate and palisade was ablaze. A fire that was creeping towards them with alarming speed. George climbed to his feet and dragged the dazed Albert over towards the stairway that carried them to and from the wooden tower. He unceremoniously dragged him halfway down, hitting every step on the way, before Albert shook his head and gained some semblance of control. Though the droning persisted, he climbed to his feet and was led down, supported by George's arm as he held his head. Blood beginning to pool in his ear canal as well as fall from several wounds on his face.
Both of the men reached the bottom of the stairs to see other people rushing towards the wall with buckets and jugs in hand. Anything they could use to carry water and douse the flames. One of them stopped and pointed for them to make their way back across the bridge. Muffled voices heard by Albert, but nothing decipherable. It was as if Albert was submerged. He followed George, still supported by the arm that was placed under his own whilst the others jostled, coming and going with implements filled with water or on their way to get more. At least that was the way things were until they all seemed to be heading in the same direction. Back across the bridge with an alarming drive. George stopped and turned his head to see what they were running from. A motion he would regret making as his eyes fell upon several Fallen making their way through the burning rubble of the large wooden gates. Now laying on the ground in flames. The clothes of those who touched the flames catching fire. One was engulfed in flames. As if its clothes were made of pitch. He turned back and began moving faster than before. Dragging Albert along when his feet couldn't keep up.
"Wha… happen?" Albert let out quietly, unheard by his rescuer, his head swinging from side to side while his eyes rolled backwards. Blacking out into an abyssal darkness that held no conscious.
The next thing Albert knew, he was coming to in the makeshift clinic. Blood soaked rags covering his left eye and a pounding in his head that even the most seasoned of alcohol drinkers would never have experienced. He groaned, pushing himself into a sitting position. Hand moving to support his head when the movement only aggravated the throbbing. Albert looked round the white sheet tent that he had awoken in, met by the sight of wounded and the sisters that tended to them. One of the Sisters noticed he was awake and made for him. Walking over to him and placing a probing hand against his forehead. Taking his temperature.
"You should not be moving with such a nasty knock to your head." The nun warned as she pulled her hand back from his head. A caring expression looking back at him.
"Where is George? The man who helped me from the tower." Asking about his friend while the Sister handed him a cup of water. A cup of water he graciously accepted and downed in one to sooth his rough feeling throat he had.
"Mister Duval is on the Bridge manning the temporary barricades. The Forsaken have breached the wall, as you no doubt know."
The Fallen had breached the wall? That was news to Albert. He had seen an explosion. From his knowledge of the Fallen, they were animalistic. No rhyme or reason. Just plain instinct. Unless the stories he'd heard from travellers and ageing soldiers were false they would not use such tactics. And yet, he would still put stock in the soldiers words. Much like the stories of the old world, before the Fallen, the Soldiers wouldn't really talk of their exploits. And when they did, it was not in glory or valour. Simply their experiences that would no doubt haunt the normal people.
"At the gate? Are you saying that someone let the Fallen in with the surprise attack?" Albert was seeing double when the Sister responded with a simple shake of the head with uncertainty. Her shoulders rising and falling in an unconscious shrug. Twice the concerned expression that was trying to hide behind a look of care and reassurance. "I. Forgive me Sister, but I must help." Albert placed both hands onto the hide bedroll he woke up on and began to push himself up, the throbbing head be damned, he wasn't going to sit by while the Town and Castle were under siege. Prompting the Nun to place a hand onto his shoulder, an attempt to stop him. Motioning to the head wounds he had suffered from the initial attack. Telling him it was not advisable. Which might have been the truest statement ever uttered in the world, yet he protested.
He continued to push himself up. First onto his knees, pulling his feet beneath him and supporting himself from falling forward with his hands, closing his eyes tight and fighting against the pain. Sensing he wouldn't take no for an answer and knowing there were more pressing wounds that needed her attention, the Sister rose to her feet and helped Albert to his own. Offering a supportive arm to brace him as he lifted one leg up and planted his foot into the packed dirt beneath. The other foot followed and after a moment to get his balance, the Sister looked into his eyes, held the silver crucifix around her neck and offered a prayer to God to watch over Albert as he joined the barricades. Albert silently nodded a thanks along with a smile then left the tent. Slowly at first. Holding onto several things on his way out with one hand while he rubbed his eyes to try and right his vision with the other.
Once outside, the ringing still present but the droning sound from before gone, he shouted for the attention of one of the young boys standing helplessly, looking around without aim. Old enough to train but not yet ready to fight. He clicked the fingers of his free hand whilst the other supported him against the log frame of the tent he just exited.
"Run to Master Jonas and fetch me some leather armour and a sword. And then ask the Sister in there if there is anything she needs help with. You understand, boy?" The young boy nodded and turned to head off towards the castle gates. Behind which was the armoury that Jonas managed. Every sword, piece of armour and even the individual arrows were stored and handed out. It shouldn't take too long, but it would be long enough that Albert didn't want to wait.
Once the boy was gone and entering the gates. Passing beneath the half closed portcullis. Hanging by a thread in case the barrier was broken through, no doubt. Albert made his way towards the bridge. It wasn't far. He would have had a good vantage point from where he stood, were it not for some of the larger barrack tents that had been erected to house those unfortunate to not live within the more permanent stone buildings. Low ranking militia called these places home. He had to thank God above every day that George had managed to get him a spot within the walls when not on duty. Inside a relatively warm hovel that has been hastily converted into a rather cramped barracks to house some forty soldiers. Twenty wooden bunk beds lined one wall, shared between them all. A single hearth existed within but was barely lit, on account of the wood being rationed for the Keep, the kitchen and the charcoal kiln to produce the charcoal for the Blacksmith.
Albert made his way past the tents blocking his view, turning the corner, holding the supporting wooden frame as he looked out over the bridge. A hastily constructed barricade of wagons, beds and whatever else could be dragged there in the panic. Soldiers perched atop, one hand on the barricade as the other swung sword at the Limpers that shambled across the bridge. Some were still burning from their entry point. Requiring buckets of water to be fetched every now and then when the barricades caught fire.
"Mister Albert!" The voice of a young boy called out, seemingly out of breath. Albert turned to the direction of the person calling him, seeing the boy approaching. Dragging a sword wrapped in what looked like a padded leather coat. It would have to do, he thought as he limped towards his equipment. He retrieved the sword first as the young boy smiled a wide toothy grin.
"Your stuff. Jonas told me to tell you… Phew. Jonas said. Take them back when you're done." The boy paused to catch his breath, unable to finish the full message in one go. Albert nodded, pulling the jacket over his shoulders with a wince and letting it hang open as he took the sword in his right hand.
"Good job. Now, go and see it the Sister needs anything. If not. Get behind the walls. You got that?" The serious look on his face made the boy gulp when he nodded. Repeating that his order was to check on the Nuns and then head for the sanctuary of the Chapel. Albert motioned for the boy to get on with it before turning and limping towards the barricade.
On his way, thanking the Lord and every Saint in the world that his vision had corrected itself, Albert saw George. Dropping his sword upon a Limper that got too close. Bringing down whatever righteous fury he was channelling when the sword sliced clean through half of the Limper's head. Sending the forsaken body into the pile that was slowly growing. Making it easier for the others behind to climb the barricade. The sword was then raised and the same action was repeated against another, this time burying into the torso of the target and getting stuck. He couldn't hear them, but Albert could imagine the cursing that was no doubt flowing from George at this moment in time. The seasoned warrior rising on the barricade and placing his leg onto the neck of the fleshy vice that was holding his weapon. Pulling with all he could muster, sending the body flying backwards, knocking several others over with the force.
George looked around, pointing for several others to join them on the top. As he looked for more volunteers, his eyes fell upon the limping, sword wielding friend that was approaching. He shook his head and grabbed someone by the scruff of their neck, forcing them to take his place. From there, George jumped down and made for Albert. Stopping to tell some fresh arrivals what to do. Pointing towards the top, prompting two of them to nod and make for the barricade whilst the others listened to his further orders. Going on to take up positions at the bottom.
"You're not going up there, get your arse back into that tent and rest!" The authoritative finger that pointed in the ordered direction was ignored by Albert as he lunged forward and took the angry man in his arms. Offering thanks to any who would listen that George was okay. George, taken aback slightly, patted Albert on the back twice then pushed him away.
"Now that you have that all sorted. Hospital. Go!" Sounding almost like the Father Albert never had. "We need healthy people on the wall. Not the injured."
"Say what you want, George. I'm not going anywhere but that fight. You need every hand you can. And don't you try tell me otherwise." Planting his feet into the dirt path as best he could, the stubborn mule of a young man showing he wasn't going anywhere, anytime soon. George looked at him for a moment. Just staring at the injured man he had rescued about an hour earlier. Finally a sigh escaped him and he turned to head back, motioning for Albert to follow.
"I must be out of my mind." He said quietly to himself before turning to look over his shoulder. "Don't make me regret this decision. You stand at the bottom of the barricade ready to help anyone coming down… Lord forbid you have to stop any Fallen. Got it? Good." George didn't give Albert time to reply as he ended his orders with 'good'.
"I got it… Dad." Albert responded, the victim of his urge to make jokes and bring levity to dire situations. George gave him an expression that screamed 'this is serious'. Serious it was. The 8 foot tall barricade was under threat of being over run. Seeing this, George continued on his way back to his previous position. Stopping halfway up to point down at Albert, mouthing the word stay to him, Albert gestured a Roman salute and walked to the base of the piled up wooden structure. His destination for what would go on to feel like hours. Albert stood, pacing at the base structure when there was nobody wanting help. In reality it had been less than twenty minutes that he was there, but the inaction at a time like this was having the effect of slowing down everything. A dump of adrenaline had activated his fight or flight response, and just standing there wasn't sitting well with him. Several times he had placed a hand onto the structure and lifted a foot onto it to climb, only for the order of George to echo in his mind. Prompting him to stop and return to his place. Though the situation was looking as dire, they seemed to be holding on, whether by a thread or sheer will power at this point no one could tell. But the barricade was holding.
When one of the soldiers manning the peak of the barricade was taken unawares by a Limper. The Fallen grabbing at his waist from behind the body of another and pushing him down the steep ramp that allowed the defenders to mount the ramparts. Hitting several of the jutting out pieces on their way down. Landing with a thud not far from Albert, who turned just in time to watch the screaming young man fall to the ground with the Limper on top. Gnawing on the arm that was raised to defend more vital parts that would kill the soldier. Albert cursed under his breath as he approached. Sword held ready in his right hand, raised above his head and then brought down with a war cry that brought the vengeance of the Lord down upon the Fallen. The sword connecting with the back of the neck of the breacher and effortlessly slicing through flesh and bone. Separating the head, which clung on lifelessly to the wailing man's arm after the body slumped down into a heap. Using his left hand that was free, Albert grabbed the head and dragged it from the arm. Looking at the lifeless, cloudy blue eyes staring back at him before tossing it to the side. Albert then got onto his knees, placing the sword between him and the wounded man as he set about looking at the wound. It was bad. Deep! The man would no doubt lose his lower arm, if not more. At that moment, two adolescent girls had appeared without Albert noticing and began dragging the wounded man away.
"Ali!" George shouted from above. "You better get up here!" It must have gotten bad if he was being shouted, Albert thought, retrieving the sword and climbing the barricades. Taking up a position beside Albert. Consumed by the sight of a hoard pushing across the bridge. There must have been two hundred. All guided by the same instinct. To breach the barricade and get at every man, woman and child in the town. Why they did this, no body truly knew. There was no reasoning with them. No parley. No negotiations or ceasefires. Only the drive to kill.
"Well?! You wanting a sodding invitation?" George chastised Albert when the younger man simply stared at the hell that was hidden from him all this time.
"No… Right!" Albert planted his feet into the sturdiest points he could find and began hacking at or stabbing anything that got close. His sword sometimes clanging off others when they went for the same target. That was how it went, the numbers slowly beginning to dwindle but press on as their deceased brethren offered a ramp of tainted meat to easily ascend.
"FALL BACK!" Cried a voice along the barrier when several Limpers began cresting the barricades and tumble down with the defenders. Much in the same manner which Albert had watched prior to joining the defence.
"Shit! Albert, go. I'll be right behind you." When it looked as if Albert was going to protest, he placed his free hand onto the collar of Albert's padded leather coat, pulling him closer. "I want someone down there to cover me when I throw my arse off of this thing. Now sodding go!" George used the grip he had on the younger man and threw him to the side, down the side of the wooden wall. Landing with a thud and a wail of pain as his left shoulder caught on a piece of wood on the way down and dislocated. The arm now hanging by the muscle, only slight control offered but nothing much. He couldn't lift his arm. It only swung forward as he looked down at it and tried to lift.
"Fall back!" George ordered, turning and throwing himself down, his backside used to guide him down. Albert approached his friend as soon as he hit the stone bridge beneath. Offering the hand that still held the sword for support. The others on the peak of the makeshift wall joining him not a second later. "Form a line! We're holding here. As soon as their forsaken carcasses hit the ground we will take them out. We have the advantage!" A cry of acknowledgement came from those joining him from the top as well as others who were waiting at the bottom. Those carrying buckets had now dropped their containers and grabbed anything they could. Tools. Large stones. Even pieces of wooden furniture that held enough mass to be an effective bludgeoning implement.
As expected, the Limpers climbed and crested the peak of the barricade. Falling forward or sliding backwards as gravity assisted in their push. Fortunately for the defenders, some were killed on the way down. One such, a woman wearing thick tattered winter clothing, fell forward and was impaled on a splintered piece of bed frame that was kicked into place. Adding mass to the wall as well as supports for those climbing. The jagged piece of wood seemed almost divine in its positioning when the female Limper fell, head first, onto it. Piercing her left eye and puncturing through the back of her skull. A black, gooey substance came from the wound, as it did for all Fallen. Travelling down the impaling bed frame and pooling in a small nook about half way up. Those that weren't impaled, fell down. Tumbling to the floor with a thud, stunned for a second as their body faced a shock to the system.
"NOW!" George let out, raising his sword above his head and bringing it down onto the rising spine of a Limper close by. Everyone followed suit, letting out their own war cries as they swung at and impaled the Fallen. Albert did the best with what he had, his left arm swinging of its own accord while the right was used to hack at the invaders. One unfortunate Limper landed on their back by his feet. Which he raised and brought down upon its face as it snarled and grabbed for him. The heel of the boot connected with the bridge of the Fallen's nose, letting out a satisfying crunch when the skull failed beneath the weight. The heel pressing on with momentum and force, giving a squelch of mashed flesh, bone and brain matter.
Then it was done. No more Limpers crested the barricade and those that had made it over were being dispatched with ruthless efficiency as the inequality in numbers was reversed in the advantage of the defenders. Albert gave a loud grunt of anger when his sword went into the shoulder of one of the Fallen that was trying to get to its feet, only to be pulled upwards, severing the spin in half. Letting the now lifeless body fall to the ground. Seeing there were no other targets, Albert fell to the floor, laying on his back. His ear ringing with the shrieking cry of a horn from the castle wall. Calling out the end of the battle. Albert closed his eyes, dragging several deep breaths into his lungs. His muscles screaming at him for over working them. The sound of approaching boots on the stone bridge made Albert open his eyes to see George stood over him. Albert smiled a hollow grin, the exhaustion now setting in with the second all clear sounding out over the town.
George sat beside Albert and placed a hand onto the younger man's chest. Patting it twice before resting upon it. The hand rose and fell with the motion of the breathing. A sigh of relief coming from the seasoned warrior. His sword placed between his legs and resting against his shoulder. Head lowered and his own eyes closed. Feeling the same effects that Albert was. The same as everyone else who had fought. Albert looked over at the man beside him, just staring at him.
"I think I should have went back to the clinic after all." He chuckled. His personality of making jokes once again rearing its head. George opened his eyes and give Albert a side long glance. A smile tugging at his lips before he laid back beside his friend and burst into laughter. The emotions overtaking them both as their laughter rang out. It wasn't funny. They both knew that. But the laughing was preferable to letting anything else win over. They were victorious. This wasn't the time for tears.
"Fallen!" Someone cried out from the direction of the castle walls. Where Albert had awoken not long before. The laughing stopped in an instant and both rolled over onto their stomachs. George was on his feet first, allowing him to help the one handed Albert to his feet. Both of them running as fast as their aching legs would carry them. All the way towards the medical tent Albert was in. The white cloth forming the body of the tent now sporting red stains here and there. George ran towards the flaps that were used as the doorway and pulled it back. Several of the wounded who had been on the Barricade now attacked those they were defending. Albert was not far behind, taking the flap as George went inside. Met by the sight of one man biting into the face of the Sister that had wished Albert luck before he left. Albert's eyes then fell upon the body of the boy he had sent back to help the Sister. Laid beside the bed of the Fallen that George was cleaving in half with his sword. Swinging in a wide arc. Slicing into the fabric of the tent before hitting his intended target. Albert couldn't do anything but stare at the boy. The boy that wouldn't have been there had he not told him to help. A pit formed in his stomach, followed by a violent force pressing up through his throat. Vomit erupting from his mouth onto his clothing and then the dirt beneath.