The ram slammed into the doors of the gate.

Aeros studied the treetron, replacements for the branches shorn off when it was made.

More whizzed down from the walls above, but this close to the walls the archers had no

angle on the attackers.

The ram slammed into the gates again. They flexed under the massive strain but held. They held

the next one and the next and the time after that, but they couldn't hold forever.

With one last definitive crash the ram slammed against the gates. The bar folding them snapped

in two and the gateway burst open. An almighty roar accompanied the splintering of the

wooden bar and the massive dorms and the men outside boarded.

The defenders were waiting for him with wooden shields and bronze spears. With an animal

cry, a chorus of overlapping voices, the clang of weapons and the dull crunch of flesh,

the two groups crashed together. Spears snapped, fighting off bronze, plate armor and

punching through leather and cloth. Swords trusted around shields to find vulnerable

flesh while maces and clubs bashed exposed limbs and vulnerable heads. Screams and cries

of pain echoed through the night. The copper-tangled blood filled the air along with other

worse smells. The first scent of smoke rose. Somewhere near the gate there was a fire.

For a moment the defenders looked like they might hold. This was their home after all.

The tightly packed houses along well-ordered streets, the king's palace at the center,

all of it protected by high sloping stone walls. But that sensation lasted only for the

blink of an eye. Step by step the attackers pushed forward, away from the confines of the

towering gatehouse. The defenders strained to hold their ground, but it wasn't enough.

One by one they fell, cut down and then trampled underfoot. And they broke, they gave way

...