Martial law had been declared six days ago. That was how everyone within the city's walls knew that Lord Erethor was afraid. For nearly ten years, they had been able to keep out of the war, but now it seemed that the Orcs were too close for comfort. Word had come recently that they had also been marching on the other two cities closest to the territory lines, so that none of them could send help. If they were to defend themselves, they would have to do it alone. Erethor hadn't slept in the last four of those six days, knowing that he would need to be awake the moment the attack began. Everything was in a standstill, even the servants at the castle hadn't preformed any actual duties in at least the last two days. The few soldiers the city had were poised at the walls, archers atop the guardtowers, swordsmen waiting at the gates. Easily a hundred men had volunteered for the defense in the last day alone. It was an archer who saw the army first. His call rang out through the town, and instantly the women and children hid indoors, waiting for the inevitable battle. Erenthor's singular guard remained by his side, refusing to leave even for a minute. A second call was heard, this one a signal for attack. As the archers raised their crossbows, the three servants of the castle remained in the castle, scared not only for their own lives, but also for Erenthor's. Battle cries and shouts rang out, and the fight for Lysoria had begun.