Inktober 2026 - 9 - Ram

Rain was pouring down on the keep, but even with the sound of millions of droplets of water slamming onto the ground from high up in the skies, big booms other than thunder could still be heard every now and then, almost at regular intervals. The guards stationed near the gates started every time that happened, glancing warily at the giant solid oak panels and the very large pine beams upheld against them, but otherwise kept their nerve.

“Do you think they’ll get through those doors?” asked a cadet up high on the wall, looking down onto the attacking army crammed against it.

From this distance, especially through the downpour and in the low light of the evening, they looked like ants, but he knew them to be fearsome enemies.

“Well, yes. It’s only a question of when.”

The young soldier looked at the his senior with such an appalled expression that the old timer could not help but laugh.

“What? Were you expecting a comforting lie?”

“More like for the truth to be reassuring, I guess,” mumbled the young man, looking down at the pebbles of the guard path beneath him now, disappointed.

Their people took pride in their defences. Breaching their walls was rumoured to be an impossible feat. Would he really be alive to see this claim disproved?

“It’s quite simple: if they don’t break through those gates, we’ll starve to death in here while the keep trying, and then it won’t really matter to us whether they ever get in or not. They could stop trying, but given their track record, it most likely wouldn’t mean they’re giving up, and they would starve us out just the same, so it’s our luck that they aren’t smart enough to have figured that out yet and keep tiring themselves out against our gates. Finally, if they find another way of getting in, it sucks for us even more, because then we lose the advantage we do have when they come in through the door: them being forced into a narrow path, allowing us to easily kill them as they rush in. Strategically, as scary and unnerving our situation is, we are in a position of power.”

“It certainly does not feel like it.”

Very theatrically, the enemy chose that moment to slam its battering ram onto the wooden doors once more. They creaked a little, but barely flinched. They would probably break violently, abruptly, with very little warning.

“Waiting never feels like winning, and yet, patience is a great virtue well worth the rewards it brings.”

“They won’t tire themselves out to death, though.”

The old man laughed once more.

“Wouldn’t that be swell! I guess not, you’re right. They will eventually get in here and we’ll have to fight them. But when they do enter, they’ll be exhausted from days of toiling against those doors, whereas we’ll be much more well rested from having been waiting in here. And, like I said, they’ll run through a narrow corridor under our control, like sheep to the slaughter.”