"Lieutenant Motley, we drove the enemy back!"
A young sword-and-shield soldier clad in chain mail excitedly raised his crossbow and shouted to Lieutenant Clado Motley, who stood nearby.
"I'm sure I killed one of them just now... Look, that body there! I shot the bolt in his neck!"
"Well done, lad."
Lieutenant Motley, a pale, clean-shaven man with a prominent nose, praised the young soldier, but did not forget to reprimand him as well.
"I saw you lean your whole upper body out when you fired. That's dangerous, soldier. Do it again, and I'll have you cleaning the latrines for three days!"
"Oh, heavens, Lieutenant Motley, I absolutely won't do it next time... No, there won't be a next time."
Once the young man nodded obediently, Lieutenant Motley walked along the wall in satisfaction, inspecting the morale and bearing of the platoon under his command.
Tonight was dangerous. The enemy's attack had come so suddenly that, even after the alarm bell rang, everyone except Lieutenant Motley, who slept beside the gate, and the dozen or so sentries on rotation was still fast asleep in the castle barracks.
Only after more than ten minutes had passed since the alarm sounded did another twenty-odd men trickle back to the gate and rejoin their unit, allowing Lieutenant Motley to breathe a little easier.
With only a dozen men earlier, Lieutenant Motley had been truly afraid of an enemy attack. With so few defenders, a single charge would probably have routed them.
The gunfire and battle cries from the Outer Keep were so intense that a veteran like Lieutenant Motley could tell at once that their soldiers were being driven back at every turn.
The terrified expressions of the two or three soldiers who had just retreated from the front had made a particularly