by S D Smith
The gathered soldiers rose, and a growing cheer began, softly at first as if a reverent moment were passing and there was reluctance to spoil its remains. But it grew. “Fight for the mending!” Emma cried, thrusting the sword up. The soldiers cheered then, shouted loud and long, as Emma descended the stairway amid raucous applause.
“How are we supposed to restore order now?” Lord Ronan asked.
“They were willing to fight before,” Captain Frye said, “but now they can’t be kept from it. It’s worth a little disorder.”
“It is that, Frye. And things are about to get very disordered,” Helmer said. “Picket, the princess is with you.”
Picket saluted and hurried to Emma. “Your Highness,” he said, “if you please, you’re with me.” She nodded. An aide brought Emma her medical satchel, and, after handing the sword back to Picket, she slung it over her shoulder. “Got a spare sword?” she asked.
“Get the princess a sword,” Picket called back to an aide. “Do you even know how to use one?” he asked.
“The sharp part at the bad guys?”
“That’s the general idea. Listen, Emma. Stay behind me. The first wave will be awful. But there’s no way to hide. We’ll all be in it soon. Defend yourself first, then start on the healing when there are no enemies around. The Terralains won’t kill a medic, I don’t think, but the wolves—”
“I know what they do,” Emma said. “Don’t defend me, Picket. During the battle. Do what you’re meant to do. And I’ll do what I can.”
He nodded, but there was no way he could obey that order. A soldier handed Emma a sword and sheath, and she fastened them around her waist.
There was no sign of the wolves yet, and the Preylords were a growing darkness in the eastern sky. But the Terralains were close now. They came over wide fields in endless rows of stout soldiers, tall and bearing their elegant standard of stars.
“Red Witch usurper!” Tameth Seer cried from the front of the advance troops, tall and menacing. “Surrender this city, and I will spare you. Swear fealty to … to the true heir of Natalia, and you will live.”
Emma left Picket’s side and strode up to stand beside Helmer on an earthen-work heap within bowshot of the Terralains. Picket fought the urge to step forward to protect her. Prince Naylen stood a few paces away from Tameth Seer, scowling. The young buck was barely mastering an indignant rage. I had hoped he might have changed.
“I will never surrender,” Emma cried, her voice steady. “Fellow rabbits, turn around and go home. Do not do this evil thing.”
“It is evil to slay our brave Captain Vulm and to seek to assassinate Prince Kylen himself, which this day you have sent your murderers to do.”
“I have never sent killers to your camp,” Emma shot back. “But you come to mine to kill your kindred.”
“Today,” Tameth Seer screeched. “Today, it has occurred! I see it! Prince Kylen is killed in his tent—” The soldiers of Terralain began to grumble and hurl curses at Emma. Helmer stepped forward.
“It’s true!” Prince Naylen said, striding forward and holding up a hand for quiet. “Assassins came to my brother’s tent today.”
“Let me handle this, Your High—” Tameth Seer began, but Naylen continued.
“They came for him where he slept. And it was the same killers who came for Captain Vulm in his sleep. Should we not attack and kill those who murdered Captain Vulm?” he cried, stepping toward Helmer and turning to his army.
The Terralains shouted, “Yes!”
Helmer’s hand drifted down to his sword hilt.
“Should we fight against the source of that treachery?”
They cheered him in a thundering chorus. “Yes. Yes!”
Naylen’s jaw was tight, and his eyes were white with rage. “Should we not march to war against any who would align with Morbin Blackhawk, bane of rabbitkind? Should we not oppose the poisoner of princes, the betrayer of brethren, the calculating counselor whose cause has been to play Morbin’s part in our camp? Who has been the root and cause of all our woes?” he asked, looking ahead. The army murmured in confusion. Then Naylen spun back and drew his sword, pointing it at Tameth Seer. “You villain!”
“What now, princeling?” Tameth shrieked. “You think you can overthrow me? All I did was for the good of Terralain. I remember before your band of usurpers came. I remember when we followed Father Galt’s way purely! I was only restoring—”
“You do not deny my charges, false seer?” Naylen barked. “Did you poison my brother?”
“I gave him what he needed to be reasonable,” Tameth Seer said. “I am not ashamed of my actions.”
“You should be ashamed,” Naylen said, stepping closer. “You have attacked, have been attacking, the prince and heir of Terralain. You have been slowly murdering him. And you sent your assassins to finish the job today.”
“Now that he’s dead,” Tameth cried, “there is no new anointing of an heir apart from my office’s sanction. And I will not sanction your rise, princeling!”
“You don’t have to,” Naylen said. And from the army’s right flank came a small band of Kylen’s guards, their red shoulder armor standing out against black breastplates and armor. In their midst walked Kylen himself. He was thin still, with sunken eyes, but he looked far better than when Picket had last seen him. Naylen continued. “My brother, whom you would have murdered, is alive. Thanks to the warning and help from our allies among these rabbits,” he said, motioning toward Emma.
Then Picket saw, among Kylen’s guards, a tall, thin rabbit. Jo?
“Kill them!” Tameth Seer cried, and his own private guard set arrows to bows and rushed Naylen and Kylen and their guard. An arrow sailed at Emma, but Helmer knocked her out of the way just in time. They eased back down the small hill and recovered a safe position. Helmer motioned for the city’s defenders to stay back. Picket watched as Naylen clashed with the first of Tameth’s forces, an arrow narrowly missing his head. He held them off a moment, then was relieved by Kylen’s guard, who stepped in and beat back Tameth’s bucks. Some of Emma’s soldiers stepped forward, eager to help in the fight.
“Hold,” Captain Frye growled. All was a delicate balance, and Picket knew that interfering openly here could set the entire army into the fray. It was vital that Emma’s army stayed out of their internal conflict. The Terralain forces, so notoriously disciplined, were already starting to clamor for explanations, and word was passing back through the army about what was happening at the front.
Naylen broke free and made for Tameth Seer. The old buck squared up to his young attacker and, when Naylen rushed in close, twisted to trip the prince with his staff. Naylen crashed down, and Tameth was upon him in a moment, drawing a blade from a sheath in his breast and driving it down at the exposed back of the splayed prince.
“No!” Kylen cried, rushing ahead. An arrow whizzed past Kylen’s head and pierced Tameth Seer’s knife hand. He cried out in pain and dropped the dagger, just as Kylen reached him from behind and Naylen rose and turned from the ground. Both princes extended their blades and drove them into the screaming soothsayer.
Tameth Seer fell dead. Picket watched as Jo formed up with the royal guard to protect Kylen and Naylen. Tameth Seer’s temple guards surrendered, and Picket gasped, breathing at last. His heart swelled.
Then he heard it, away to his right, the sound of thunderous crashing through the trees.
Wolves.
King Farlock was attacking.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
HEROES RISE AND FALL
They came. The wolves of the north, kin of King Garlacks and his bloody son. Huge, powerful, and ruthless in ferocity, King Farlock’s army crashed into the clearing.
“Left vanguard, attack!” Helmer cried.
That was Captain Frye’s side. Picket had to hold and watch the left flank pour out of the west gate and into the opening, rushing ahead to meet the savage attack of the wolf army. He bristled, holding his hand up for his soldiers to stand at the
ready. It was an order he hated. Beyond the first wave of the attacking pack trailed a host of wolves so vast Picket could not see its ending.
“Why don’t they fire the bowstrikers from above?” Emma asked.
“We have to hold those,” Picket replied. “We’ll need them soon.”
“We need them now!”
“We need more than we have, Emma. Just be ready.”
“I’m ready,” she said, gritting her teeth.
Out ahead of the first wave of the wolf attack came a massive alpha, white-furred with a black streak down his back and a silver helm on his head. His muzzle was painted with bloodred streaks, and his armor gleamed silver in the sunlight. He was easily twice as large as any wolf Picket had ever seen, and more deadly by far than any other. King Farlock.
Picket winced as Farlock met the first three bucks in the field, strong Warrenguard soldiers, whom the alpha tore apart with two brutal strikes. He bore no spear, but his fore claws were fitted with long silver blades. Farlock hacked through his enemies, his strength and speed unmatched on the field.
“Archers!” Helmer cried. “Fire away!”
The archers were trained to fire mainly at the rear of the attack, thinning the ranks of the reinforcements just behind the line of battle, making sure to avoid hitting fellow soldiers by mistake. But elite archers were among those stationed above, including Nate Flynn, who were expert at picking out targets even amid the melee. Several arrows sped toward the wolf king. But Farlock knew of their presence and had sent a shower of arrows from his own archers up at the Highwallers, dulling their capacity as the clash came. The king also fought in such a way—weaving through the field of battle—to put himself in positions where the rabbit archers couldn’t get at him easily. When the rabbit archers were able to fire, a few shots rebounded off his armor, and others stuck in his hide, only to be snapped off and cast aside.
“Please, fall back midway through our division, Emma,” Picket asked, “and join the medics there.”
“We will have a lot to do,” she said, gazing angrily at the wolf king’s work, “all of us.” With a squeeze of Picket’s arm, she fell back, encouraging every soldier as she passed.
The battle was going as badly as possible, with the Warrenguard’s left flank taking devastating losses. It could not go on. Helmer had to decide whether to join them or order a retreat to fall back and defend the gate. Farlock killed in batches, swiping aside stout soldiers and tearing through whole units in moments.
Picket glanced at Helmer, who raised a hand.
“Ready, bucks!” Picket cried over his shoulder.
Picket knew the dilemma Helmer faced, knowing that each order meant death for his soldiers, as did each delay. They must save vital assets for the Preylord attack and meet this enemy with what they had on the ground. What they had now was the Warrenguard. And it wouldn’t be enough, not by a long shot. Especially while Farlock himself made such a trail of death as he drove closer and closer to the city.
Captain Frye, flanked by two burly bucks, rushed to meet him with a defiant cry. Farlock rounded on him, massive and imposing, his eager jaws glistening.
Captain Frye’s one good arm bore his drawn sword, and he pointed it at Farlock. “Attack the alpha!” Frye shouted, and Picket knew, with a sinking heart, that it was the right strategy. Farlock must fall.
The brave captain led the charge, followed by soldiers of the Warrenguard, who broke forward, aiming their strokes at the killing king of the pack. Captain Frye rushed ahead, leaping to bring himself high enough to strike at the great wolf’s head.
Frye’s sword broke on the wolf’s silver helm, while Farlock’s blades, from both sides, met in the middle to kill the old captain. Picket looked on through tears, anger bristling inside. Down the valiant captain fell, dead on the field of battle before First Warren. His fellows fared no better as the wolf king cut through brave rabbit attackers with malevolent glee.
As Helmer gave the order for his Warrenguard flank to advance, Picket let loose a defiant cry. He rushed ahead, forgetting his pains, and aimed straight for the wolf king. The monster continued to tear through the gallant rabbits with evident ease. Likewise, his advanced soldiers, attacking in organized packs, were wreaking havoc on the small army of defenders. Picket sped ahead, slipping into the glider’s hand clasps as he ran up the small earthen-work hill that Helmer was using to command a view. He leapt off his good leg.
“Picket, no, son!” Helmer cried, but Picket was already in the air.
He engaged the glider and caught a draft of air, speeding him ahead of his soldiers and directly at the alpha wolf. The killer king saw him, smiled wide, and waited, blades poised for his next victim. Picket raced on, aiming straight at the bloody jaws that bellowed out a challenging roar. When Picket reached the edge of the blades’ range, he banked up suddenly, feeling the swish of the missing strikes as Farlock stretched to slice him in half, and rose up above the furious wolf. Just above his enemy, Picket twisted his wrists to disengage the glider and drew his blade, falling like lightning down on the shocked beast. Picket’s blade bit into and through the hard hide of the stunned wolf’s neck. Farlock roared in mortal fury as he tottered and fell, Picket landing beside him with a thump.
The rabbits behind Picket sent up a roaring cheer. But the wolf army, alarmed by the death cry of their king, quit their individual battles and rushed as a pack to avenge their king’s killing.
Picket stood over the hulking body of the dead king and yanked back his blade. The wolf army came for him with united howls of anguish and anger as they tore the ground in their haste for revenge. Picket caught a glimpse of Helmer through the haze of flying dirt and wolves closing on him like the center of an ever-tightening circle. Helmer was shouting and rushing ahead, terrible anguish on his face. But he was too far away to reach Picket in time.
Picket braced for the wolves—braced for the end. Widening his stance and breathing deep, he exhaled with a cry.
“Come on!”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
FLOOD OF THE SILVER STARS
Picket pivoted and picked out an enemy to attack. I won’t wait for you. He coiled to spring but saw something just over the wolves’ heads on his right.
Kylen’s army broke in on the edge of the enclosing wolf circle, with Kylen himself at its head. Beside him Naylen ran in, their naked blades slaying as they came. The Terralain royal guard, red shoulder armor plain, drove into the circle of attacking wolves. The odds changed in a moment. Picket, far from being overrun, found himself suddenly relieved and protected. Kylen, weak as he was, pressed in and, along with two stout guards, pushed back the attacker Picket had chosen to engage. Picket joined in the fight, and the four of them overcame the wolf, Kylen finishing the enemy with an angry killing stroke. And so it went up and down the front line as the Terralain army as a whole shifted and rushed in to battle the wolf hosts.
Picket could see it now, as he and Kylen caught their breath. The remainder of Captain Frye’s force, shockingly reduced by the first action, was relieved as the Terralain drive broke the wolf lines and pressed them back toward the lake in the east. Picket’s fresh arm of the Warrenguard followed on, eager to meet the enemy. Kylen scanned the field and, finding Naylen, motioned for his guards to protect the prince. This they did, with just three staying behind. Picket nodded to Kylen, bringing his sword hilt to his forehead in salute. Kylen returned the salute, then wordlessly hurried toward his brother.
Picket sagged, falling to one knee. He scanned the field and found Emma bent over Captain Frye’s body. He rose, with a groan, and jogged over to her.
“Please,” Emma was saying to two soldiers, “take his body within the city and lay him somewhere safe. He was a great captain, and he should be buried with honor.”
They bowed and reverently took up the captain’s body. As they passed, Picket stopped the soldiers, placed a hand tenderly on Captain Frye’s head a moment, then nodded for them to carry on. He found Emma kneeling before a wo
unded warrior.
“You did well, soldier,” she said, tying a tourniquet around the soldier’s mangled arm. “The war’s over for you. We’re going to get you back to camp and, even if we can’t save your arm, save your life.”
“Thank you, Highness,” the soldier said through gritted teeth.
“Emma,” Picket said. “Let’s get back to the commanders.”
“I’m needed here,” she replied, starting on the next nearest wounded soldier.
“We have units trained for this, as you know well,” he said. “Things have changed since the Terralains turned for us. Not enough to shift the advantage even near to what is needed, but it’s a start, and our priorities have changed.” He pointed up at the approaching raptor horde in the sky. “We have more wolves on the way, by land and sea, and six waves of Preylord attacks. The first will be here soon. We need to regroup.”
She nodded to Picket, finishing up a bandage over the head of a wounded Terralain soldier.
“Thankee, Your Highness,” the buck said softly, staring at her with a kind of fearful awe. “May I go and join the fight once again?”
“Just look after that head of yours,” she said, patting his arm. “Yes, soldier. Get after them.” He leapt up and ran after his comrades while Emma rose and hurried back toward the gate at Picket’s side.
They were silent for a while as they crossed the abandoned battlefield. Emma’s white gown was stained red in several places—Picket hoped—from others’ blood. The sounds of battle nearby and the urgent preparations of the shifting forces in the city were loud all around. Above them, the archers and engineers busily prepared as the lords directed their armies. They passed Lord Ronan’s force as it poured out of the gate at double time, hurrying to support the Terralains’ rear. Lord Ronan bowed to Emma, gazed wide-eyed at Picket, and then hurried on. They neared Helmer’s command pavilion, where he was issuing orders as messengers came and went. When Helmer saw Picket, he broke off mid-sentence and ran to embrace the young hero.