Explosions rocked the field as the Imperial Army waited for the battle to reach them. Behind the army was a massive metal machine unlike anything Jonah had ever seen.
The Kantarian Army raced across the bridge and crashed into the east flank, swords slashing and blood-soaked as they roared. The Imperial enemy turned to receive them. Marcella hacked at surrounding enemies, and her horse trampled any who fell before her. Thiron fired arrow after arrow from the saddle, taking out Imperial soldiers at will. The flank went from calm to chaos in a moment as soldiers began to die.
Jonah avoided the melee and settled on the empty road as he considered what he should do.
He spied a tall Kantarian soldier tearing through the invaders as if they were paper dolls, his sword whirling as an unstoppable deliverer of death. It was as if he were a legend come alive. A trail of bodies lay behind him as he relentlessly marched along the army’s rear flank. Then, he leaped impossibly high and landed closer to Jonah before charging into the fray, his sword swinging left and right in broad, deadly strokes that left corpses and body parts in his wake. Power augmentation, Jonah thought. This is why wildcats are so dangerous.
The Power-augmented soldier lurched when an arrow pierced his back. He lurched again and again and again as other arrows pelted him. Someone’s sword thrust in and buried deep enough to emerge from his back. This grand warrior, this force of nature, crumpled to his knees.
Thunder shook the ground, and Jonah turned toward the sound. His eyes grew wide, and he cried out in fright.
Chuli rode low on Rhychue, hugging the horse as she sped down the road. Her uncle, Cameron, rode beside her on his white stallion, wearing his helm and full armor. She, he, and the Tantarri warriors were riding to war.
Four hundred warriors rode with them – all with dark topknots trailing shaved heads, dressed in leather, and armed with swords, spears, or bows. Those men and women were trained to fight from a young age, raised to be the protectors of the Tantarri nation. This fight may not be theirs, but old grudges held fast. It had been two decades since the Empire had warred with the Tantarri, yet everyone remembered. The rise of their old enemy would not be suffered, so they rode to support Cam’s friend, King Brock.
As they approached the bridge, the battlefield came into view. Cam drew his sword and raised it high while he issued a battle cry, immediately returned by the riders behind him.
Marcella’s troops were engaged with the invader’s eastern flank, just south of the road, so Cam and the Tantarri circled around the Kantarian army and struck the enemy from behind. Chuli broke off from the group, slowing as someone standing in the road scrambled out of the way – someone familiar.
The horse drew to a stop and Chuli turned toward him. “Jonah?”
“Thank Issal you arrived!”
“Yes,” She surveyed the battlefield.
“One of ours just fell, right there,” He pointed toward the downed soldier. “A tall guy, charged by Chaos, fighting alone. A wildcat, I think.”
“A wildcat?” Chuli spotted the man, not far from where the Tantarri were fighting.
Jonah put his hand on her leg. “Clear the path, Chuli. Perhaps I can heal him.”
A surge of pride ran through Chuli. “You are a good person, Jonah.” Raising her bow, she reached into her quiver, nocked an arrow, and began to fire, loosing arrow after arrow.
37
Unpredictable
Percy remained in the shadows, watching. Riva and the other scouts were with him, spread out along the edge of the forest where they had retreated to monitor the battle.
To the south, the Imperial Army continued its advance, led by the line of catapults firing on the city. The Kantarian defenders had emerged from the broken palisades and the Imperial musketeers met them, taking dozens of the Kantarians in a flash. Things continue as planned, Percy thought. It cannot continue. War is too unpredictable.
A moment later, he spotted another force in Kantarian armor racing across the bridge, led by a female soldier on horseback. Hundreds poured onto the battlefield and attacked the Imperial Army’s eastern flank.
Percy was not concerned. Though unexpected, a few hundred additional soldiers would not change the outcome, not when the Imperial force still greatly outnumbered them.
He then heard a rumbling sound that gave him pause.
“What is that?”
A metal vehicle with thick wheels and a plow at the front smashed into the barricade blocking the north road, pushing wagons and steam carriages aside as if they weighed nothing. The oversized steam-carriage stopped and fired, launching two metal balls from a catapult mounted to it. A moment later, a distant Imperial catapult exploded.
“Flashbombs!” Percy hissed. “They have flashbombs!”
He took a step toward the machine and froze, still in the shadow of the trees. Someone in Kantarian armor stormed past, moving faster than humanly possible. Percy watched in awe as the man slammed into the Imperial Army, creating a dent in the rear flank as soldiers tumbled to the ground as if they were tiles lined in a row. The soldier then began laying about him with a longsword, sweeping through the Imperial force at will, leaving nothing but blood and body parts in his wake as men screamed and died.
Percy loosed an arrow at the man, but it took an Imperial soldier in the chest when his target leaped high and landed fifty feet away. There, the super-charged soldier resumed his assault, tearing through the Imperial ranks.
“Riva!” Percy said as he ran toward her. “We have to take that man out. He is using some dark magic.”
She nodded, her eyes wild. “He is like death walking among us.”
Thunder coming from the east had Percy turning in that direction.
Tantarri cavalry, two hundred strong, raced across the bridge and attacked the rear flank between his position and where the Kantarian army fought. The magic-imbued Kantarian soldier leaped again, changing his position before delivering death to those around him.
Percy set his jaw and issued a command, taking over for Riva, who appeared shaken. “We kill the man first and then we begin taking out those on horseback.”
He ran along the woods, leading the other scouts. When he had a clear view, he loosed an arrow and then another, both striking his target. Three other arrows joined his, all five jutting from the man’s back. A daring Imperial soldier thrust his sword, piercing the man and sending him to his knees. Percy drew another arrow and took aim at the man’s throat.
Something slammed into him, sending the arrow astray to strike an Imperial soldier. Percy looked for his attacker and found nothing but shadows. Something flashed past the edge of his vision and Riva stumbled, her arrow striking another scout in the ribs, the man crying out as he fell to his knees. Another archer loosed an arrow when a gash appeared across his hand, killing a fellow archer by piercing his eye.
Again, Percy looked around but saw no enemy nearby.
“What sorcery is this?”
Sculdin waded through waist-deep water toward the rocky shore with his gaze fixed on the dark city walls. Not far to the east, glowlamps lit the closed south gate. In the distance, explosions continued as Wayport died.
He climbed the rocks and moved into the shadow of the wall while his squad climbed onto shore. The longships backed away with Hiaga and her crew eager to be far from Wayport. Blazing Ri Starians, he thought. They honor our pact but will do nothing more.
When the soldiers were all on shore, Sculdin waved for them to gather. They huddled in close, and he began issuing orders. Moments later, a pair of Infiltrators scurried off, hugging the wall as they ran toward the gate.
Somewhere to the north, men and women were dying. The battlefield was surely a bloody mess. By now, the northern end of the city was rubble and the populace was huddled in the citadel, praying for relief. None would come. Once Sculdin’s squad captured the citadel, the fight would be over. King Brock, assuming he survived that long, would never risk the lives of those people. With the populace held hostage, Brock – or whoever
led the Kantarian forces at that time – would be forced to surrender.
A series of explosions came from the gate and created a tower of fire that lit the docks.
“Let’s take the city!” Sculdin roared as he broke into a run.
His force trailed him as they ran along the wall. All that remained of the gate was a pile of burning rubble and bent, twisted iron. Bricks were still burning where the wall still stood, but the gap in the middle was easy to navigate.
Once past the rubble, they advanced with caution – shields up with flashbombs, swords, and bows held ready. The streets were empty, the city eerily quiet. The bombs had stopped dropping on the city, but distant explosions continued to the north where the battle raged.
The street opened as they reached the city center. The square was empty save for a few dozen bloody, dead soldiers propped against the fountain and surrounding buildings. Sculdin paused in the square and scanned the rooftops for archers but found none. To the east, the citadel waited on a hilltop, looming above the city.
“We must take the citadel,” he said to his troops. “Hold your shields high in case they have archers posted above us. Advance slowly and watch for trouble. Remain quiet and listen for my orders.”
Taking the lead with his shield high, Sculdin marched down the dark road. Glowlamps waited at the far end, marking the plaza that stood outside the citadel walls. As they drew closer, the citadel gate became visible.
A squad of Kantarian guards stood before the gate, armed with swords and shields. On top of the two towers straddling the gate, archers waited.
“The last line of resistance,” Sculdin said, grinning. “Infiltrators!”
His last five Infiltrators slipped in beside him, their faces locked in grim masks.
“The citadel gate must fall at any cost.”
The men nodded and each removed a bomb from his pack, holding it ready.
Sculdin called out, “I need twenty soldiers to shield these men and get them within range of the gate. Just remember, once we take the citadel, Wayport will be ours.”
Grouped tightly with a wedge of soldiers shielding them, the bombers advanced toward the plaza and the gate waiting on the far side. Sculdin found himself wondering what waited inside the citadel walls and how many guards Brock had left behind while mounting his counterattack.
Possessing the plans outlining the defense of the city had proven a massive advantage. The only thing that had gone wrong was the surprise sea attack and the subsequent loss of the soldiers on board the sunken longships. Four hundred men, lost so quickly. Such a shame.
His face drew a frown, his stomach twisting. Something is wrong.
A thin shimmer at the end of the road, no more than a foot above the cobblestones, reflected pale light from a nearby glowlamp, Sculdin gasped when he realized what it was. The lead soldiers stumbled…
“Trip wire!” Sculdin shrieked.
Some of the men stopped, but others stumbled into them. Along with a half-dozen soldiers holding shields, one bomber tripped, and the bomb he was holding struck the street.
38
Desperate Measures
Cassie slipped through the edge of the wood unseen, past the wagons and steam carriages blocking the road. Curan streaked past, leaped over the blockade, and attacked, bringing his fury upon the invaders. At first, Cassie gawked at the terrifying display. Then, she turned away, sickened by the brutality. Never before had she seen so much blood and violence, and it all stemmed from one person – a person who was gentle and kind-hearted despite his stature.
Yet, the situation demanded action. Cassie’s parents had taught her violence was sometimes necessary to protect the innocent. The Ward had taught her how to use weapons and how to convert others into weapons themselves. Her magic ran through Curan’s veins, forging him into a warrior of legend. The deaths he caused were hers as much as his. The thought forced her to stop and vomit.
With her stomach emptied, she noticed archers tucked into the woods to the east. They might be standing in dark shadows, but to her magic-infused senses, they were easy to see.
The closest in the group, a young man, issued instructions to the others. Cassie gasped when she realized what they planned. When Curan leaped to a new location further east, the archers ran along the wood to follow. She ran after them.
The archers caught up to Curan, stopped, and began firing at him, their arrows striking him in the back. Cassie launched herself at the nearest archer, the one who appeared as their leader, shoving him hard and sending his arrow astray. She kicked the next archer’s arm, making her arrow hit a fellow bowman. Drawing her knife, Cassie slashed one bowman’s hand, causing his arrow to strike another in the eye.
“What sorcery is this?” the leader cried as he searched for Cassie, unable to see her while she was under the Stealth augmentation.
Cassie kicked him in the crotch. When he doubled over, she kicked again, smashing his face and sending him sprawling to the ground.
“Where are you?” the female archer cried as she dropped her bow and drew a dagger.
“Who?” another archer asked.
Carefully, Cassie snuck around the perimeter of the group.
“Someone is here.”
“I don’t see anyone.” The man sounded doubtful.
Cassie slipped in, steeling herself as she drove her dagger into the man’s kidney. As he fell, she removed the blade.
The female archer backed away, her eyes filled with fear as she held her dagger out and backed away . “Show yourself!”
Cassie rushed past the woman, slicing her bowstring before the blade slid across her neck. Four archers were on the ground, two dying, one dead, the fourth unconscious. The only one standing was attempting to bandage his shooting hand.
She turned and sought Curan.
Chuli fired arrow after arrow, each striking a target with lethal accuracy as she feverishly cleared the area around the fallen Kantarian soldier until he was lying amid a pile of bodies and dying soldiers. Jonah bolted past her, climbed over the dead and knelt beside the wounded warrior. When Jonah pulled the helmet off the man, Chuli gasped.
“Curan!”
Chuli dropped off her horse and raced to kneel beside Jonah. Curan lay on his side with six arrows in his back. Blood was everywhere. Putting a foot on Curan’s back, Jonah pulled an arrow free. Chuli joined in, removing two arrows while Jonah finished the others. Jonah then knelt and closed his eyes with his hand on Curan’s sweat-covered brow. The fight continued around them with Tantarri warriors on horseback, Kantarian soldiers on foot, and Imperial forces all around.
An enemy soldier broke from the melee and slashed down, his blade digging into Jonah’s lower back, sending blood splattering onto Chuli as she gasped in horror. Jonah’s eyes popped open and his mouth moved, but no words came out. The soldier lifted his sword high, ready for a blow Chuli knew was meant to kill her. Another sword swept past and took the Imperial soldier’s head off clean, his body crumpling to the ground. She looked up and saw Cam on his horse, the man’s blade and armor bloodstained. He jumped down and knelt beside Curan.
“My son!” He lifted Curan off the ground and held him to his chest. “Please, no! Please, Issal,” Cam cried. “Do not take him.”
Chuli remained in shock, as if she were an impotent bystander to some distant nightmare, viewing a horror story and unable to change it. Jonah was dying in her lap, the gash across his lower back deep and bloody with his spine showing through. He did not move, but his chest still rose and fell with shallow, weak breaths. With no one to heal him, he would be dead in moments. She kissed the top of his head.
“I’m sorry, Jonah. Your bravery will be remembered, my dear, dear friend.” Tears ran down her cheek and disappeared into his red hair.
There, the four people remained – Cam holding Curan, Chuli holding Jonah. All the while, men and women died around them, fighting over differing ideals. The irony left her wondering how it had come to such a disastrous end.
> No matter who won, the dead on the battlefield would remain dead. People elsewhere would go on, living their lives regardless of the outcome. Only those who could touch Chaos were at risk should the Empire win. Yet, she couldn’t deny those people the right to carry out their lives to the fullest. Whether slavery or genocide, it is wrong to condemn others for who they are or for what they believe. Our actions alone should determine the sentence we are to serve.
Something struck Chuli’s shoulder, stirring her from her reverie. She saw nothing but a flicker in the corner of her eye. Curan stirred and Cam relaxed his embrace.
“Son?”
Curan’s eyes flickered open and he groaned. “I feel like a pincushion.”
Cam laughed as he hugged his son tightly.
Jonah shook with a violent shudder in Chuli’s arms. She watched in amazement as the gash across his back wove shut, the rip in his tunic revealing smooth, pale skin surrounded by blood-soaked cloth.
“What?” She gasped. “How?”
A familiar female voice came from nowhere. “I healed him. It was a near thing – an extremely difficult thing. I only hope he can still walk.”
“Cassie?” said Chuli. When she reached out toward where the voice came from, she found nothing but empty air.
Everson called for Ivy to launch again. He dared not tell her what was coming, not while they could still impact the battle. An Imperial officer on horseback rode toward them, his eyes alight with a fiery rage. He pulled his horse short and threw something.
“Get down!” Everson crouched low.
The bomb struck, the sound blasting in Everson’s ears and rocking Colossus enough to send him to the floor. He looked up and found receding flames outside the windows.
“It held! Colossus survived a flashbomb!” He and Ivy climbed to their feet. “Flip the lever and crank those launch arms back again.”
A Kingdom Under Siege Page 25