by S D Smith
“My son,” Helmer said, letting go of Picket and staring at him. “I thought …”
“I can hardly believe what I saw,” Emma said, looking Picket over.
“It looked awfully familiar to me,” Uncle Wilfred said, running up to embrace his nephew in his turn. “Seems I’ve seen something like that before.”
“There’s more to do,” Picket said, returning the embrace. “What’s the plan?”
“Helmer is shifting Ronan out and the other armies back to fallback position two.”
“And you?” Emma asked.
“I’m taking the Warrenguard reserve east,” Uncle Wilfred said.
“Your Highness,” Helmer said, as they moved back to his commanders. Lord Booker gazed across at Emma with relief, then over at Picket with awe. His eyes glistened.
“Fallback two?” Emma asked.
“Yes, Your Highness,” Helmer said, “but we are sending extra ground forces to the old east wall, Wilfred commanding. The rest to the rooftops.”
“Good. What do you advise I do?” Emma asked, her gaze drifting back to the battlefield where medics rushed to help the wounded and dying. Picket realized that she carried the weight of every loss here in a way none of them could understand, even Helmer.
“If you could give a speech like you gave here at each turn in the battle, our bucks would run through walls to fight for you,” Helmer said, smiling kindly at her. “But since that isn’t practical, I suggest you return to the command center in your palace. I will join you very soon.”
“Well done, Lord Captain,” she said, voice catching. Then she turned, took a few steps, and stood apart a moment, turning her back to the gathered commanders. Uncle Wilfred and Lord Booker both began to move across and comfort her, but Picket raised a hand. Give her a moment. They nodded.
“Is Emerson ready?” Helmer asked a waiting aide.
“Lord Captain, aye. The Highwallers are set. He reports that all stands ready.”
“Tell him to be just as careful of our assets as we planned. The Terralain change is welcome, but we still must have enough to hold the city. If we are forced out, there will be no returning.”
The aide bowed. “He is entirely of your mind on this, sir.”
“Go,” Helmer said.
“Master, what can I do?” Picket asked.
“Accompany the princess back to the palace,” Helmer said. “Ready the R.F.A. as best you can. I’ll be there soon.”
Picket saluted, and he crossed to Emma. They hurried together back toward the stairs where she had given her address before the battle. As they passed soldiers, she regained her poise, praising and encouraging them as she made her way up the stairs to the top of the city wall. Picket saw the prepped archers and engineers and mounds of arrows among and in between the catapults and bowstrikers. Barrels and keglets of blastpowder lined the sides, and each soldier seemed eager. The first section of Highwall Wardens stationed near the stairs noticed Emma and dropped to one knee. The honor rolled back, reaching the last of the high defenders. Emma, stepping forward, raised a hand to bless them.
“Your Highness,” Emerson said, rising and hurrying over. “How may I help you?”
“We’re crossing back to the palace,” Emma said.
“Should you like to use a catapult?”
“No, thank you,” she said. “Only, be bold and do as Captain Helmer has ordered.” She gazed into the distance, where the first wave of raptor attackers—a vast armada of wide-winged messengers of death—was only minutes away. “I have to believe we may find a victory in this, impossible odds or not. We must believe that the end might be our Mended Wood, even if only a few survive to see it.”
“I believe,” Emerson said. “We all believe. And we’ll die fighting for the peace that must come in the mending.”
Chapter Forty
THE ARCHER AND THE PRINCE
Jo sent an arrow home into the heart of an angry wolf as it snapped back at two injured bucks. The wolf died, falling onto the bucks. Jo ran on, his quiver nearly spent in ending enemies as the Terralain forces ripped into the wolf army with deadly effect. After the first wave had knocked the vast pack sideways in the wake of their king’s astonishing death, the wolves had recovered and were pressing the Terralains back all along the line. Lord Ronan’s forces crashed through the middle, splitting the wolf army in two, and Jo stood on the edge of that battle, his bowstring hot with its urgent work.
Now Jo was tired. He had been on the move for hours, this last push an urgent rush that sapped his energy. He sagged there, bending to catch his breath amid the melee. Only one arrow left. A medic found him and went to work on his arm, a free-bleeding wound he hadn’t even noticed. He accepted a waterskin and drank from it gratefully as the medic stitched the gash quickly, bandaged it, and sped on to others.
“Thank you,” Jo wheezed. He felt a tap on his arm. He turned to see Kylen, huddled with Lord Ronan, Naylen, and a few other captains of both armies. “My lord,” Jo said, bowing to Ronan, then to Kylen, “and Your Highness.”
“Well done, Lieutenant,” Ronan said. “The princes have told me what you did. Do us another service and escort Prince Kylen and some of his guard back to the palace. We believe the prince’s gifts will be best used in command there.”
“In other words, I’m too weak to keep at it out here,” Kylen said with a grimace, breathing hard.
“You’re not that great when you’re fully healthy, anyway,” Naylen said, punching his brother’s arm. “Lord Ronan and I will keep up this fight, and we mean to win it. A dozen of Kylen’s guards will go with you.”
“Do you understand, Shanks?” Ronan asked.
“Yes, my lord,” Jo answered, bowing.
Just then the wolf army’s southern flank advanced in a sudden surge that came close to the hurried conference, and several large wolves broke through to bound at them. Jo turned, raising his bow as the clash came. He shot one wolf, which slowed, spun, then rose again for one last lurch before crumpling down, never to rise again. He was out of arrows, and the other wolves were nearly upon them. Lord Ronan and Prince Naylen attacked one together. Jo and Kylen drew their swords. Two wolves dashed at them, red teeth slavering as they growled in attack. Near and nearer until—a sudden swish and thud—and the two wolves crumpled as arrows pieced them. The shots came from high above and behind them. The guard surged in and fought back the remaining wolves. Jo turned back to gaze at the distant wall and marveled at the shot that brought down wolves this far away. Nate. And Owen or Studge. He had little doubt.
“Let’s go, Your Highness,” Jo said, taking Kylen’s arm.
“Just call me Kylen, Jo,” the gaunt prince said as they jogged on, followed by his alert guards. “I think we’re all friends again, though I can’t help feeling incredibly guilty for what I’ve put Emma and Picket—and all of you—through.”
“You were being poisoned,” Jo said, bending to pluck used arrows from the field and adding them to his quiver.
“It’s no excuse. Emma warned me, and I had every chance to do what was right. I was obstinate and wrong. If not for Naylen—”
“What do you say we express our profound regrets about it later, Kylen?” Jo said, dodging a destroyed cart where many fallen of both sides lay. “Right now, we’ve got a war to win.”
“Let’s go back to Your Highness,” Kylen said, smirking.
“Too late, Kylen old pal.”
They were making for the west gate, which looked oddly barren in the wake of the clash that almost happened there so recently. The wolf battle had veered off to the east, and the rear guard of the Terralain army was still far off, turning toward the north split of the wolf forces.
By the time they reached the palace, the raptor force was nearly to the city walls. The Preylords banked and circled, falling into position in a pattern of gliding that puzzled Jo.
Jo led Kylen, humbled and weak, onto the porch where Emma’s command was centered. Helmer had made it back there. He stood on Emma’
s right, with Picket on her left. Picket was sticking close to Emma, his eyes intent on the looming enemy. Aides rushed back and forth with messages. Whit was there, Emma’s cruelly scarred brother who had joined the resistance and fought against their oldest brother, Winslow. Winslow, who had been pardoned by Emma, was now at his battle station in the hospital, working as an assistant.
Kylen fell on his knees, not far from the very place Winslow had done the same so recently. “Your Highness,” he said, head low, “I am so sorry. Could you ever forgive me?”
“Get up, Kylen,” she said, crossing to give him a hand up. “We have work to do. Together.”
He looked up at her, staying on his knees. “Please,” he said, taking the Whitson Stone from around his neck and handing it to Emma, “take this. It belongs to you.”
Emma bent and accepted the necklace with its brilliant ruby. She put it on. “You gave us a chance today, Kylen. I won’t forget that. Come now, get up.”
“You were always right about me, Emma. You knew long ago, though I had others fooled. I’m so, so sorry.”
“All is forgiven,” she said, “and this reunion—for we are family—will, I hope, be a glimpse of the mending on the way.”
“May it be,” Kylen whispered, squeezing his eyes shut tight on tears.
“They are coming, at last,” Helmer said, stepping forward.
Jo spun around, eyeing the descending horde, their vast darkness casting a long shadow over the city. Jo grabbed an aide as he passed. “Get me as many arrows as you can and as many of the flint-and-fire kind as possible.”
Whit stared at the enemy armada. “There aren’t enough arrows in the world.”
Chapter Forty-One
THE DESTROYERS COME
Picket instinctively stepped in front of Emma as the Preylords dropped lower and lower, nearing the edge of the city.
“Shuffler, you’re going to have to stop doing that,” Emma said, hooking him with her arm. “It’s ‘my place beside you,’ not ‘my place blocking your view.’”
Picket shrugged and stepped aside, smiling. “You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”
Emma smiled sadly.
“Let’s hope the scheme works,” Whit said, stepping to the edge of the porch.
Picket lifted a glass to his eye and gazed at the raptors. Many were armed with what seemed like long spears, others with some kind of smoking black circle on the end of a long chain. Some kind of incendiary. All bore shields in their other talons. There was a collective groan from those on the porch. They had all seen the shields.
“Perhaps they aren’t strong shields,” Jo mused.
The raptors approached in a pyramid formation, with the front line the wide base and each line smaller all the way back to the single massive raptor at the back. One of the Six.
“Can you tell which it is?” Emma asked Whit, passing him her glass.
“It’s a white falcon—no doubt the heir of Falcowit. Winslow says he believes they either slaughter all the family of one of the Six who dies or sometimes promote an heir if he is powerful enough to have survived the maddening aftermath of his sire’s demise and has a spirit of revenge that is useful to Morbin’s plans. They appear to have chosen the latter. This is Falcowit’s son; I’m sure of it.”
“May he meet the same end,” Jo said. Falcowit had been blasted apart by a bowstriker shot in the battle to retake First Warren.
The first line of Preylords neared the rim of the city wall, and the bowstrikers, all lined along the wall, released a barrage of blastarrows. The raptors raised their shields and broke into an evasion pattern, clearly planned, as the blastarrows missed their mark in many cases and exploded against the shields in others. Some raptors were blown from the sky, injured or killed, to plummet down in a spiral. But many more surged past the walls, dropping their smoking black circles on the walls and into the city with an exploding impact that blasted apart sections of the wall and sent rabbits rushing away from blazes all along the ramparts while bowstrikers and catapults broke apart.
It could hardly have gone any worse. And this with a defensive strategy that required near perfection to have a chance. Emma cried out, eyes filling with tears, as bucks were blown off the top of the wall and cut down in midair by darting talons from swooping birds.
Picket grabbed Helmer’s arm. “Should we deploy?”
Helmer shook his head, his face set in a disgusted fury. “We have to give the plan a chance. Otherwise, we are already surrendering.”
“Should we consider surrender?” Whit asked, spinning back to lock eyes with Emma. “I don’t like it one bit, Sister, but it’s only just begun and it’s virtually over.”
“Never,” Emma cried, above the noise of the bursting rock and raining debris. “Look!”
On the wall, the soldiers were recovering their positions on what remained of the bowstrikers. They sent a diminished second volley off against the second line, this time waiting till after the attackers had exposed their bodies in the act of slinging their bombs. The simultaneous fire made a terrific display as the Highwallers suffered another barrage of bombs. But the Preylords suffered too, coming apart in a line of lethal explosions that sent feathers flying and raptors diving to their deaths. A volley of small flint-and-fire arrows sailed into the sky, setting off smaller explosions that wounded many and brought down some of the attackers. The second wave was decimated, and a muffled cheer rose from the wall. Emma turned to Helmer with a clenched fist raised before her, just as a raptor spear sped at the porch.
Jo knocked Emma down as the spear smashed into the far side of the porch, shattering the stonework there in a spray that sent the command center scrambling.
Picket glanced aside to be certain Emma was unhurt. Then he leapt up and ran for the edge of the porch as the raptor who had slung the spear followed its flight and bore down on the porch. The raptor raised its talons, razor sharp blades attached to the already deadly claws, and slashed at Picket. Picket’s sword stroke met the powerful raptor talon blades, sending up sparks as the sword was knocked aside. It was all Picket could do to hold on to his blade as he was slammed sideways. The raptor struck out, but archers fired a volley of arrows at its middle while Whit and Kylen led a band of bladed rabbits to hack at the flailing creature. Finally, Helmer’s thunderous drive sent the raptor falling back, lifeless, to crash in the city square.
“Get the princess inside!” Picket cried, as more enemies poured into the city center, spreading death and destruction as they came.
Emma rushed into the palace as Picket, Kylen, and Whit covered the retreat from the exposed porch. Picket watched, heart racing, as raptors wheeled around the city center, dodging the defenses and wreaking havoc all around. They veered toward the porch once more, and Picket sprinted behind the princess.
Crashing inside the palace, Picket slid for cover amid a hail of shattered stone as the building was rocked by a series of explosions. He scanned the shaking hall for Emma and found her huddled with Helmer hovering over her. The palace felt sure to fall apart.
Cracks climbed around pillars, and large chunks of ceiling crashed around scurrying rabbits in uniform.
Lieutenant Warken ran up, panting hard as he found Emma.
“Your Highness! The east wall is breached. Another wolf army is coming in.”
Chapter Forty-Two
THE BLACKHAWK OPTION
The hall stopped shaking, and Emma rose, tentatively, while Helmer looked aloft anxiously for more crumbling chunks of ceiling.
Emma’s voice rose over the settling chaos. “The first of the six raptor kings is wreaking havoc on the city. The wolves are at the east gate, far earlier than we had planned. What now, my captains?”
“The ground invasion scheme is still sound, and the alcove is secure,” Helmer said, shaking off shards of rock, “but we had hoped to repel the first waves of the Preylords. It’s not clear what is next.”
“We must kill the alphas,” Emma said, “as Picket did with King Farlock. If we
kill their lord, in this case this Falcowitson, then the rest will fall apart.”
“I’ll go,” Picket growled, heading for the stairs to the rooftop.
“No,” Helmer said. “No, Picket. You are needed here. And no one can defeat one of the Six one-on-one.” He spoke calmly, but Picket saw the worry in his master’s eyes.
“Then how do we deal with the alpha—with Falcowit’s son?” Kylen asked.
“He’s far above and beyond the rest,” Jo called back from his spot back out on the damaged porch. Coming back into the hall, he continued. “There’s no archer that could hit him.”
“The Blackhawk Option?” Picket asked.
“We were saving it …” Emma began, but trailed off.
“At this point there’ll be nothing to save it for,” Picket said. “If we survive long enough to get to Morbin, we’ll figure it out then.”
“Agreed,” Helmer said.
Emma glanced around the faces of her commanders, then nodded. “Do it.”
Helmer wasted no time. “Warken, send the signal for Emerson’s Blackhawk Measure.”
“Yes, sir!” Warken called, rushing up the stairs. Picket followed, alongside Jo. Reaching the roof, he saw the long, curved slide and several catapults still operational, while crews worked on damaged assets and cast aside those ruined beyond repair.
Harrowing screeches filled the air as birds of prey swept around the city, wrecking fortifications and heavy weapons stations. On top of the wall nearest the dam the fighting was fiercest, as Nate Flynn’s archers and Emerson’s bowstrikers strove to contend with the swarming Lords of Prey. The Highwallers fought bravely amid the chaos. The former wolves’ garrison atop the dam wall was shattered in several places, and they were under heavy assault now. Falcowitson loomed above, shrieking orders as his thralls fought on.