The smoke from the rifle volley was still drifting across the yard in pale grey layers when the company came through the gate. Col stepped out of the passage and took stock of the ground ahead.

Forty or fifty mercenaries were visible through the thinning haze. Some had reached the center of the yard and stood ready with weapons drawn.

Others had already recognized the danger and were moving toward the barracks at the far end. The door stood open, men pushing through it in both directions. Some were retreating inside. Others had just emerged and were trying to make sense of the bodies scattered across the ground.

At the checkpoint building, mercenaries had formed up with swords drawn, waiting to intercept the company squads entering through the gate.

The squads hit them before Col could redirect anyone.

Steel rang across the yard and the battle fractured immediately into a dozen separate fights.

Three problems, Col thought. Not much time before the garrison got itself organized.

He turned left and spotted Hod coming through the passage behind him. The wounded thigh was obvious. Every step with the right leg lagged slightly behind the one before it.

Hod wasn’t the man to sprint across open ground.

He was the man who could control the yard from above.

"Hod," Col called. "Get up on the wall. Put fire into the yard."

Hod followed the gesture toward the wall walk and understood at once.

Calling his squad to follow him, he headed for the steps.

Col pointed toward the supply depot farther inside the fort.

"Eadig. Take your squad and secure the depot."

The designated captain nodded.

"Ric. Barracks door. Keep them from shutting it."

Ric immediately turned toward the far end of the yard. His squad followed.

Col looked at Halm.

"Hold the gate passage and protect the rearguard.

"Aye."

The fight spread around him as he advanced through the center of the yard.

A mercenary broke from the melee and charged a company soldier.

Before he could reach him, another soldier stepped in from the side and drove a saber through his gut. The point punched out his lower back in a spray of blood. The man folded around the blade and dropped.

On the right, two company squads had formed a rough line. They pushed a cluster of mercenaries backward one step at a time toward the barracks.

The noise sounded like dozens of separate battles because that was exactly what it had become.

Boots scraped stone.

Steel struck steel. Those that still had their pistols loaded fired.

Men shouted positions and warnings.

Short, hard breaths carried through the chaos as fighters struggled at arm’s length.

Above them, Hod reached the parapet.

The dead perimeter guard still lay against the stone from the infiltration.

Hod stepped past the body and took position. The wound in his thigh limited his movement, but not enough to matter here.

He crouched behind the parapet with the Sceotan resting on the stone edge.

From this height he could see almost the entire yard.

A mercenary at the checkpoint corner was directing three crossbowmen behind him, pointing toward individual company soldiers crossing the yard and assigning targets.

A force multiplier, Hod thought.

He tracked the man’s movement for two seconds and fired.

The shot struck high in the chest. The downward shot tore through ribs, ripped through the torso, and blasted out below the abdomen in a burst of blood and cloth.

The mercenary doubled over and toppled sideways from the corner, his arm still extended as if trying to issue one final order.

The crossbowmen lost their coordinator.

One of them looked up immediately, located the parapet position, and fired.

The bolt struck the reloading soldier two positions down from Hod. It tore through the outside of the right arm before embedding deep in the muscle.

Blood ran freely down the man’s sleeve.

Hod was already reloading.

Movement near the depot caught his attention.

A mercenary there had a crossbow trained on Eadig’s squad crossing open ground. From the yard below, nobody had a clear shot at him.

Hod did.

He fired.

The shot smashed through the mercenary’s shoulder and shattered the joint. Bone fragments burst through the back of the coat.

The crossbow dropped from numb fingers.

The man collapsed onto his injured side as blood spread rapidly across his clothing and pooled beneath him.

Hod immediately swung toward the barracks entrance.

The mercenary captain stood there directing men through the doorway.

Hod fired.

At that exact moment he stepped sideways to clear space for another group entering the building.

The shot struck the timber beside the doorway instead.

The mercenary never looked up.

He simply kept directing traffic.

Col reached the far half of the yard as the fight around the depot intensified.

Eadig’s squad had split into pairs. One pair advanced directly toward the entrance while the second circled wide along the side wall.

Two bolts came out of the doorway.

The first missed and shattered a crate.

The second struck the lead soldier of the advancing pair through the thigh. The bolt punched through muscle and lodged there.

The soldier dropped to one knee.

His partner dragged him into cover behind the damaged crate and left him with a pistol in hand.

Eadig came around the entrance corner from the right side.

The nearest crossbowman was still trying to seat another bolt.

Too slow.

Eadig drove his saber between the man’s ribs. The blade punched into the lung and came out slick with blood.

The mercenary reached for the blade instead of his weapon.

Then he folded.

A second company soldier appeared behind Eadig.

The next crossbowman tried to pivot and fire rather than draw his sword.

That decision cost him.

The soldier slammed his forearm into the crossbow, knocking the aim aside.

The weapon scraped down his arm, opening flesh from wrist to forearm. Blood ran instantly from the cut and his grip weakened.

But the strike was already in motion.

The pommel crashed into the mercenary’s face.

Bone and teeth broke together.

Before the man could recover, the soldier drove his saber through the side of his throat.

Blood splashed across the stone entrance and down the doorway.

A third mercenary burst through the interior door.

Unlike the others, he was ready.

His sword was already moving.

Eadig saw the opening and closed from behind.

The mercenary’s attention stayed fixed on the doorway fight ahead.

Eadig’s saber punched between the shoulder blades and emerged from the front of the chest.

Blood poured from both wounds.

The mercenary collapsed against the door and slid down it, leaving a dark smear behind.

A voice called from inside the depot.

"Supplies are intact."

Good, Col thought.

One problem solved.

Across the yard, Ric’s squad was approaching the barracks.

A mercenary lunged toward Ric’s flank.

Ric caught the attack, redirected the force, and answered with a cut across the neck.

The blade opened flesh below the ear and carved toward the throat.

Blood sprayed from the wound.

The mercenary stumbled away clutching his neck.

Ric’s squad kept moving.

The defenders at the barracks had layered their defense. Crossbowmen stood above the swordsmen on the raised step.

Two bolts fired.

The first missed.

The second struck the rear soldier of Ric’s squad in the chest.

The bolt punched through his coat and buried itself deep.

Blood spread immediately across the front of the fabric.

He dropped hard onto his back.

Ric reached the threshold with the remaining men.

The first swordsman met him on the elevated step.

The extra height mattered.

The attack came down harder than Ric had expected.

He blocked it, but the force slammed his own blade back against his chest.

Pain flared beneath the coat.

Instead of retreating, he stepped forward.

Closing the distance removed the advantage.

His thrust entered the left side of the mercenary’s throat.

Blood streamed across the doorway and splattered the stone step.

Beside him, another company soldier engaged the second mercenary.

The mercenary was young. His stance was correct. His grip was correct.

But his eyes followed the blade instead of the man holding it.

The cut he landed opened the soldier’s wrist and severed the tendon.

The saber fell.

The soldier dropped to one knee and drove a knife upward into the mercenary’s thigh.

The blade buried itself deep.

The mercenary collapsed around it with a cry.

The soldier recovered his saber with the injured hand.

On the right flank, a third soldier thrust directly into the abdomen of another defender.

The blade entered to the crossguard.

The mercenary grabbed the steel with both hands.

Blood streamed through his fingers.

The soldier ripped the saber free.

A loop of dark blood spilled from the wound.

The mercenary sagged against the doorway and fell.

Behind the rearguard stood the mercenary captain.

He surveyed the battle.

He saw his men overwhelmed by a mix of a strange ranged weapon and discipline.

Then he gave a single order.

"Back inside. Move."

He stepped through the doorway.

Ric reacted instantly.

He drove his shoulder against the door before it could close.

Two soldiers joined him, bracing against the wood.

The door shifted inward once as mercenaries pushed from the other side.

Ric looked toward Col as he approached.

"They shuttin’ themselves inside."

Col studied the doorway.

Even through solid stone he could hear the sound inside.

Voices.

Movement.

Wood creaking under weight.

The pressure of dozens of men confined within walls never meant for comfort.

Behind him, the yard now belonged to the company.

Hod’s squad held the parapet with loaded rifles resting on the stone.

The depot entrance glowed with lamplight found inside.

The gate torch burned at the far end of the fort.

The tower fires still shone above the walls.

Bodies lay scattered across the ground in multiple clusters, each marking a different phase of the night’s fighting. Those that didn’t manage to reach the barracks were either cut down or shot by the soldiers.

Everything between those belonged to the company now.

Halm arrived beside him.

"They retreated inside the barracks."

He looked at the door.

Then at Col.

"What’s the call?"

Col kept his eyes on the wood.

The door shifted slightly in its frame as pressure built behind it.

Then it went still.

A moment later it moved again.

Col did not answer yet.