Thilan's eyes snapped wide. Around him, the soldiers scrambled from behind, grabbing what weapons and shields they had left.
Their equipment was worn and battered, armor patched with whatever scraps they could find. Repairs had become a luxury, and decent ore was almost impossible to get.
Even the archers on the wall above clutched old bows and reused arrows, weapons stretched thin ever since their late lord's fall.
The two factions that had argued moments before scattered, running for cover, fleeing toward their homes or anywhere that might offer shelter from what was coming.
He heard the guards bellow orders at the gates.
"CLOSE THE GATE!"
"Archers, standby!!"
Thilan forced himself forward, planting his feet in the center of the square as he caught sight of the enemy through the swirling haze at the horizon.
