The eastern wall had become a slaughterhouse of iron and flesh, where the siege tower's gaping maw disgorged an endless tide of killers onto the blood-slick stones. What began as a foothold now yawned wider with each passing heartbeat, the defenders' line bending like a bowstring drawn too tight.
Steel shrieked against steel in a cacophony of war. The air hung thick with the copper stench of blood and the acrid bite of voided bowels. A veteran defender, his face a mask of grime and exhaustion, swung his notched sword with desperate strength. The blade skittered off an enemy shield—
—just as a halberd's axe-head crunched through the attacker's cervical vertebrae, sending a crimson arc painting the stones. Before the corpse hit the ground, another foe vaulted over it, his spearpoint finding the halberdier's exposed armpit. The steel slid between ribs like a lover's kiss, punching through lung and heart.
