EXT. DEPOSIT. NIGHT.
LOGAN and TARTELL are standing over the gate with soldiers arrayed on the walls and in the yard behind. Torches illuminate the scene. In the distance, men are chanting.
LOGAN: Our enemy has arrived.
TARTELL: Archers at the ready!
Chanting grows louder to a steady beat of pounding feet. Individual songs break out. While nothing but the occasional shifting shadow can be seen beyond the circles of torchlight, the sound-scape is vast.
LOGAN: We are going to fight that with garden tools.
BARABAS are growing nervous.
TARTELL: (Whispers) We have to yield.
Still out of sight, a horn is blown, and the Damascans come to an immediate halt, coming quiet enough to hear the horse hooves on pavement.
TARTELL: We cannot beat that!
LOGAN: Is your faith that weak?
LOGAN shouts to the walls.
LOGAN: Hold fast! Archers ready! Our enemy approaches us!
The fear from the wall has spread into the yard.
The sound of the horses fan out on the sides and come to rest as well.
LOGAN and TARTELL exchange looks.
With a hiss, a flare comes to life, bathing MEHEMET in a demonic red light atop his horse. The horse beside him is frightened by the flare and sidesteps to avoid it.
Behind MEHEMET is the hint of a monumental force.
LOGAN walks along the catwalk, yelling to the assembled Barabas.
LOGAN: They think they can take what we built and we will bend the knee? They think we will renounce our very reason we are here? The very reason we are alive today!
BARABAS cheer.
LOGAN: I’d rather be broken in the yard than ask a prayer of Allah! Are you with me?
BARABAS cheer.
LOGAN: Every man they kill will see ten slain in vengeance until those savages are running with their tails between their legs! Are you with me?
BARABAS cheer.
A light rain has started to fall.
Continued tomorrow
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