Balen realized they were all looking at him and, for a moment, he couldn’t speak, unable to force words past the terrified lump in his throat. “Um…right.” He turned to the mechanism in the center of the room—a large wheel made for two men to turn, so that they could lower and raise the harbor chain at will. The broken, battered form of one of the guards lay atop it.
“Sorry about that,” Beautiful said, giving him an embarrassed look. “I can be…messy, sometimes.” She hefted the body as if it weighed nothing and tossed it to the side of the room.
“Um…no problem,” Balen said, pointedly avoiding her gaze. He reached for the handle, wincing at the blood covering it. “I’ll need some help.”
Urek nodded, stepping forward, and in a few minutes, they had lowered the harbor chain. “Alright then, time to go,” Urek said.
They started for the door, but Balen hesitated. “Wait a minute, what’s to stop the guards from raising it again, once we’re gone?”
Urek grunted. “I’ve been thinkin’ about that. Beautiful, you got any of that fire powder on you?”
“Of course,” she said.
“Good,” the big man said, pulling one of the torches from the wall. “I reckon I might just have an idea of how we can put it to some use.”
A moment later, they were hurrying out of the boom house as the blaze grew behind them at an alarming rate. Balen stumbled out, coughing and waving his hands at the smoke already billowing from the burning structure in great clouds. His eyes were burning, and he could barely see. So it was that he bumped into Urek’s back without noticing and grunted in surprise.
The others stood unmoving, and he followed their gazes to see what appeared to be at least twenty soldiers charging toward them. “W-what do we do?” he croaked.
Urek grunted. “We run.”
***
“Captain, something’s happening on the shore!”
Festa spun away from where he’d been studying the battle and, at first saw nothing. He was just about to ask Pater what he meant when one of the boom houses burst into flames. He breathed a heavy sigh of relief. The bastards actually did it. “Alright,” Festa yelled, “the harbor chain’s been dealt with, boys! Signal the rest of the fleet—it’s time we got all these dirt feet off our boats!”
The signals were relayed and soon dozens of ships were racing toward the harbor, carrying their cargo of soldiers with them.
CHAPTER
FORTY
Darrell parried the strike that the enemy soldier aimed at his head and countered, his own blade sliding underneath the man’s helmet and into his throat. His opponent stumbled away, disappearing into the melee, and the swordmaster took the brief moment of respite to try to get his ragged breathing under control. They’d been fighting for what seemed like forever now—he’d long since last track of the time—and he thought he’d never been so exhausted.
His sword arm was weak, almost numb, and he bled from several minor cuts, made by blows that never should have landed, had he not been so tired. Still, the sun had only just began to rise, so he knew that, despite what his muscles claimed, they couldn’t have been at it for more than a few hours, and he thanked the gods that he was still alive to see the new day—there had been several times, in the night, that he had not thought such a thing possible.
Yet for all his gratitude at still being alive, the sun’s light was not wholly welcome, for it revealed the true extent of the staggering losses the army had suffered. Hundreds, no, thousands, lay dead. The lines of Perennia’s army had grown noticeably thinner over the last hours, were growing thinner even now, and with no end in sight. For now they fought not just Kevlane’s creatures, but Baresh’s army as well, its soldiers spreading out and surrounding the besieged troops. Such a maneuver would have been dangerous considering the greater numbers of Perennia’s army, had the creatures not been interspersed among the regular soldiers, causing death and destruction and creating gaps in the line everywhere they appeared.
Darrell felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see another soldier stepping forward, relieving him. They had been set on regular rotations since the fighting began with the goal of keeping the freshest troops up front, but the truth was that the man replacing him looked as exhausted as the swordmaster felt. Darrell was too tired to speak, so he only nodded gratefully, shuffling through the line of defenders toward the army camp. His feet dragged, his legs weary beyond belief, and his journey back through the line was made all the more difficult by the muddy ground.
Darrell made his way to where the water was kept, unable to keep his eyes from the dead and dying scattered along the ground behind the line. He grabbed one of the skins and drank deeply, but the luke-warm liquid was unequal to the task of washing away the dust coating his throat. He was tempted to sit, to take a moment to recline in the grass before he went back to the front, but he resisted the urge. He knew that to do so would be folly, for his weary muscles would tighten into knots, and he doubted very much if he’d be able to get up again. So instead he only stood, stretching his aching muscles, and looking toward the western gate of Baresh which remained stubbornly closed.
Darrell was no general, but he had spent his life training with the blade, fighting one battle or another, and he knew that if the gate didn’t open soon, it wouldn’t matter. Nor was that his only worry, for Aaron and the others were somewhere inside the city. Gods look after them, he thought. The intention had been for the army to follow them inside, to assault the mage’s castle and defeat him. But from what Darrell had heard, barely anyone had entered the city before the gate closed again. It seemed all too likely that Aaron and the others had already been cut down by whatever forces waited on the other side.
Don’t think like that, he scolded himself. You can’t think like that. “Besides,” he said softly, “you’ve your own battle to fight.”
So, he started back toward the line once more—he was old, and he was tired, and he was afraid. But he wasn’t done. Not yet.
CHAPTER
FORTY-ONE
No longer stuck outside the harbor, the ships rushed Baresh’s port eagerly, docking wherever they could. Defenders waited there, their blades ready to meet the soldiers who poured out of the ships’ holds. There were not many of them, as the mage, Kevlane, had focused the majority of his forces and his creatures against the army outside the city gates.
Still, even had there been thousands, the outcome would have most likely been the same. For Perennia’s soldiers had spent the last hours in a battle at sea, listening to the sounds of cannon fire all around them and knowing that there was nothing they could do. At any moment, one of those cannon blasts might find the ship on which they stood and send them down to a watery grave.
They knew, too, that the army outside the city was hard-pressed, an army full of their comrades, their friends. So when the ships finally docked, the soldiers of Perennia rushed into the waiting defenders without hesitation, grateful to face their foes at last. They crashed into the enemy soldiers like a great wave, sweeping them aside under the force of their attack.
The thing was over in minutes, and Festa stepped off his ship and onto the shore feeling—as he always did when the water was no longer beneath him—like a man hopelessly out of his element. When he reached the docks, he found hundreds, thousands of soldiers watching him, waiting for what he would say. He cursed Aaron Envelar under his breath for making him the commander of the naval expedition. Oh, he knew ships well enough, but what in the name of the gods did he know about commanding soldiers?
“Sir?” one sailor asked. “What do we do now?”
Festa glanced at the man, then at those waiting eyes and grunted. “Thom is waitin’ outside the city, along with all the rest of ‘em. They been patient enough, I reckon. I figure it’s about time we let ‘em in.”
There was a roar of approval at that, and then the soldiers were off, heading toward the western gate. Just stay alive for a little while longer, you old fool, Festa thought as he st
arted after them. We’re comin’ to get you.
***
Aaron and the others followed Caleb through the city. From time to time, Tianya warned them away from one street or the other, using her heightened senses to avoid the majority of the city’s troops and Kevlane’s creatures.
As for the rest of Baresh’s citizens, there didn’t seem to be much chance of stumbling into them, for the streets and back alleys they traveled were deserted, the city’s citizens apparently having decided they could do their shopping and other activities on a day when they were less likely to get killed.
Aaron should have been satisfied with how far they had come through the city without a fight, but he wasn’t. Instead, his thoughts continually drifted back to the army outside the city gates. They’d been hard-pressed when he and the others had entered Baresh, and he thought it unlikely their situation had improved since. With the creatures and Baresh’s own troops surrounding them on all sides, and nowhere to retreat, the question wasn’t if the army would be defeated, only when.
They’ll be alright, Aaron, Co said into his mind. She will be alright.
There was no reason to ask who she meant, for the Virtue could read his thoughts as easily as if he had spoken them aloud, and she would have known well the worry that had plagued him over the army and Adina’s fate. Kevlane was a cruel, bitter creature, and Aaron knew that, should the army be defeated, he would show no mercy to the queen who had led it.
His only chance of saving Adina, of saving May and Darrell and all the others was for him and the others to make it to the castle as quickly as they could and somehow find a way to defeat an ancient mage who had lived for thousands of years. A mage whom Aaron had personally seen heal from wounds that should have killed him.
For all his power, Kevlane is just a man, a voice said, and this time it was not Co, but her father, Aaron Caltriss, who spoke. He is a man with a man’s failings, and he can be defeated.
You can do this, Aaron, Co said. You must have faith.
Great, Aaron thought back as he followed the youth around a corner and into a back alley. Since you both seem to know so much, any idea of how we can beat him?
Silence at that, and he wasn’t surprised. Apparently, they had no more idea of what he would do once he met the mage than he did himself. Of course, that was a problem that could wait until—and if—they reached the castle. So far, their trip had been safe enough, but the sun was rising, and they could no longer count on the darkness to hide their progress through the city.
Tianya hissed and held up a hand, stopping them, and as if his thoughts had conjured them, two of the fast creatures stepped out of the alley mouth he and the others had been heading toward, cutting them off. Frowning, Aaron turned to look behind them and saw two more of the figures standing there. “Well shit,” he said. He considered using his ability as he had on Savrin, touching upon that part of the creatures which was still human, but quickly dismissed the idea. Doing so with Savrin had left Aaron exhausted, and if they made it to the castle, he would need all his strength to battle with Kevlane.
He glanced at Seline to see her blades already in her hands. She saw him looking at her and gave him a brusque nod.
He turned to the Parnen. “Leomin, keep the boy and Tianya safe.”
Then, Aaron drew his own blade, stepping to face the creatures behind them as Seline and Gryle moved to the front. As if they’d only been waiting for their cue, the creatures suddenly blurred forward, their long blades flashing behind them. Aaron stepped to the side of the first creature’s lunge, narrowly avoiding the blade that would have impaled him, then he lashed out with his own sword at the creature’s throat. Any normal man would have been unable to dodge the blow, but the creature reacted instantly, leaning its head back so that the sword’s tip passed within inches of its neck.
Which put its face right in line with Aaron’s left hand as it came around in a fist. The strike took the creature in the jaw, and its bones—weakened from the mage’s use of the Art—crumpled beneath Aaron’s fist. It stumbled, off-balance, its jaw hanging askew at an unnatural angle, and Aaron sprang forward, his blade driving into its stomach and out its back in a crimson shower.
Through the power of his bond, he felt the creature’s companion coming from behind. He tried to pull his blade free, but there was resistance, and he saw that the one he’d impaled had dropped its own sword and was grasping his blade with both hands. Growling, Aaron struggled against it, but it refused to let go, and he was forced to leap away from the strike. The creature didn’t have time to pull its blow, and its sword cut deep into the neck of its companion, severing its head from its shoulders.
Unarmed, Aaron charged forward before the creature could turn, bulling into it with his shoulder and driving it into the alley wall. Aaron bent, trying to pull his blade free of the headless corpse, but the creature was on him in an instant, and he jumped away, narrowly avoiding its strike. As he did, one of his feet caught on the corpse, and he stumbled, nearly falling.
The creature didn’t hesitate, rushing at him in a blur, and Aaron brought his hands up in what he knew would be a vain effort to defend himself. But before the creature could make it to him, a sword flashed out, striking it in the side with such force that it seemed to collapse around the blade before falling to the ground in a heap. Aaron followed the length of steel to see Bastion, the giant Ghost, standing over the creature’s body.
“Thanks,” he panted.
The Ghost nodded and saluted with a fist to his chest. “Of course, sir. I’m sure you would have had him in another second, only I knew that you said we were in a hurry so…”
Aaron grunted and glanced back to see that Seline and Gryle had already handled the other two, their unnatural speed no match for the Virtue-bearers’ combined gifts. The others were watching him—Leomin with something that might have been amusement in his eyes. The bastard.
If he would’ve waited another moment, Co said, I’m fairly certain we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.
There was no arguing with that, and Aaron opened his mouth to say as much, but he never got the chance. Tianya stepped forward, her eyes wide. “There are soldiers coming. A lot of them.”
Aaron frowned, realizing that, now that she mentioned it, he could hear the sound of booted feet down the other end of the alley. “A little bit more warning would have been nice,” he hissed, reaching down to pick up his sword from where it lay on the cobbles.
“Sorry,” Tianya snapped, “I was a little focused on those…” She gestured at the four corpses littering the alleyway. “Those things.”
Suddenly, soldiers poured into the alleyway from the opposite end, ten, twenty, and more coming every second. “Shit.”
”What do we do, sir?” This from one of the Ghosts. Aaron thought quickly. With the collective power from their bonds with their Virtues, he felt fairly confident he and the others could deal with the soldiers. The problem, of course, was that even if they managed it, the amount of noise such a fight would cause would draw all the troops in the city down on their heads. And there was another reason, one that wouldn’t have bothered him at all a year ago but that now lodged itself in his thoughts, refusing to be moved.
These men might well be innocent, Co said, echoing his thoughts. They almost certainly don’t know that they fight for a monster.
True. Not that such a thing would keep their blades from cutting down Aaron and the others. A sword wielded by a fool, as his old swordmaster had always been so fond of saying, was far more dangerous than one wielded by even the most skilled swordsman. Aaron concentrated, drawing on the power of the bond. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, he could see the magenta outlines of those men piling into the alley’s far end. Dozens, near a hundred, but that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst thing was that, as he turned to scan the city around them, he saw several other groups of equal or greater size moving to cut them off.
“We have to run,” he said. “Now.�
� The others didn’t comment or complain, only followed him as he darted down the alleyway, the soldiers shouting and giving chase.
They came to an intersection, and Aaron halted. He glanced at Caleb and saw that the youth’s eyes were wide and frightened as he looked back at the approaching soldiers. “Which way?”
The boy didn’t answer at first, and Aaron was beginning to think he wouldn’t, but he swallowed hard, seeming to master his fear. “T-that way,” Caleb said, pointing a finger, and Aaron set off again, pulling on the youth’s arm to get him running.
Aaron, Co said into his mind, if you arrive at the castle with all the troops in the city following you…
I know, damnit, I know, Aaron thought back. If you’ve got a better idea, I’m listening.
She didn’t respond which, of course, was answer enough, and Aaron ran on. They would only have to hope that they put enough distance between them and the soldiers to somehow make it past the castle guards before being caught between the two groups. But hope, he knew, wasn’t a plan—it was what a man did when a plan failed. Still, there was no help for it, so he ran on, leading the others down the city streets, the soldiers coming behind them.
They made their way toward the castle as best they could, but the soldiers were out in truth now, several groups of them hunting Aaron and the others, and more than once they were forced to take an alley or side street that led away from their goal to avoid their hunters. On such occasions, it was only the powers of their bonds with the Virtues that saved them, giving them sufficient warning of the enemy soldiers.
Still, Aaron didn’t need the power of the bond to know the troops were cornering them, the net closing. Soon enough, they would be left with nowhere to go, nowhere to run. They would have to fight, a situation that was becoming less and less appealing with each new group of soldiers that joined the chase. Should they stop to fight, they would be surrounded in less than five minutes, their only means of escape a trail paved in blood.
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