A heavy boot forced the resting soldier out of his slumber as a group of heavily armed men marched past him and up towards the walls. Shaking himself out from the mists of sleep, Festus looked up at the man who woke him, blinking as the bright light hurt his eyes. The soldier’s face was hidden from Festus even after he cleared his sight. 

Leaning forward the man began shouting, his voice echoing slightly in his helmet, “what the hell do you think you’re doing? Every able man and woman should be up on those walls or standing behind the gates and helping the defence preparations. The enemy are almost within our archer’s range and you’re still down here sleeping?” He took a step back and pointed toward the stairs the other soldiers headed up. “Get yourself up and moving onto those walls this instant boy, or by my rank I shall have you whipped.”

Not wanting to anger the apparent officer anymore Festus leapt up, grabbed his weapons and started jogging. As he headed up the stairs, the deep rumbling of hundreds of feet marching reached his ears and pounded through his body. Picking up speed he ran toward the walls. Once there he began squeezing past the defenders and inching his way towards the edge. A deep fire within him began to burn as he watched the hulking hordes rushing toward their positions. 

Pulling the rounded buckler from his back, Festus brushed his mail-clad hand over the fading symbol painted onto the metal. The symbol depicted a large wolf lunging toward a deer from above, painted in green over a white background. It was his father’s shield, from before he left the army; this was where his father had fought his final battle before being forced to retire due to a severe injury to his left arm.

“This one’s for you dad” Festus whispered to himself as he hooked the shield onto his back and tightly grasped the wooden handle of his glaive, watching as the horde moved ever closer.