by C. Greenwood
I had bigger troubles to occupy my mind. With the loss of the althion sphere, there was now nothing to prevent the enemy portaling an army into our midst. The possibly of an attack on the city seemed likelier by the hour.
So I went down to the small storage room behind the kitchen where Jarrod slept. I roused the boy from his blankets and asked if he had delivered my message to the outlaws as instructed.
Drowsy and confused, he sat up in the darkness and gave a brief report of what he had accomplished that evening. It turned out Kiril was away, having left early the previous morning to inform Dradac I had secured the pardons. Kiril’s cousin had promised to send a pigeon with news of the impending attack on the city. But, the cousin had warned, he and Kiril had only recently begun using messenger pigeons to communicate with the outlaws. They had not proved a very reliable method because they were so often taken down by hawks before they could reach their forest destination.
The implication was clear. We could not be confident Dradac and the others would receive our news.
I debated but quickly dismissed the notion of riding out for Dimmingwood myself this very night. We could use reinforcements. But leaving was not an option while the city was in peril and I responsible for its protection. Thus far, my duty was unofficial and known only to me. But that did not make it weigh any lighter on my shoulders.
I returned to my chamber and tried to get some rest. I would need my strength for whatever the coming day brought.
As I tried to sleep, Praetor Tarius’s earlier words and my responses kept tumbling around in my head. He had been so sure I was “ruthless” enough to follow in his stead. I had informed him that particular quality was not one we shared. But what if, when he saw himself reflected in me, he wasn’t merely seeing what he wished to? Perhaps it was I who had closed my eyes to what I didn’t want to remember. Those long-banished memories rose now to taunt me through the small hours.
There was the time I had nearly sacrificed Terrac’s life in pursuit of my own aims. I had sent him helpless into a trap in order to create a diversion while I rescued Brig’s corpse from the enemy. I hadn’t been much more than a child at the time, and my intentions were born of a twisted notion of honor. But none of that changed the fact I hadn’t hesitated to gamble with Terrac’s life.
And that wasn’t the only time my single-mindedness had clouded my judgment. Not so long ago, I had justified the torture of a captured Skeltai warrior with the belief that good ends justified any means.
I shifted uncomfortably at the memory and tossed the blankets off me, suddenly overwarm. It was no use regretting the past. What mattered was, whether I liked to acknowledge it or not, Praetor Tarius had known better than I what I was capable of. He knew it because we shared the same blood. Blood that was clearly unfit to rule.
In the semidarkness, I rose, padded across the room, and concealed the Praetor’s letter and signet ring behind a loose stone over the fireplace. They were safe for now, but their future was as increasingly uncertain as my own.
____________________
Thick clouds shadowed the moon, creating a brief veil of darkness during the final hours before dawn. The waters of the lake, whipped by a light breeze, lapped gently against the pilings of the old docks. Wood creaked, and the few small craft tied up to the docks bumped gently against the piers. Atop the nearest span of city wall, a flag bearing the Praetor’s symbol of a rearing bear snapped smartly in the wind.
A lone watchman guarded this stretch of wall. Facing out across the lake, it was not a section requiring extreme vigilance. Breaching it would require swimming or sailing the long distance around the island from the closest shore, an effort no sane army would undertake.
But it wasn’t an army that scaled the lakeside wall now. It was a small party of a dozen warriors, their weapons strapped to their backs, their deathly pale skin glowing faintly beneath the shrouded moonlight.
Swiftly and noiselessly, the climbers slipped over the top of the wall. The guardsman dozing at his post was easily dispatched without sounding any alarm. The next watchman to block the intruders’ path was silenced just as quickly with an arrow to the throat.
The stealthy party crept along the wall, overpowering occasional resistance until they had circled half the wall and reached the shore-facing main gate and bridge.
Security was tighter here, with a dozen city guardsmen keeping the entrance, some stationed atop the gate and others below.
Again, Skeltai arrows flew true, and several of the city guard fell before realizing the enemy was upon them. The remaining defenders put up a fight as Skeltai warriors dropped down on them from above. Swords clashed against axes and spears. Shouts ripped through the still night, calling for reinforcements.
But the invading party had planned carefully, and now they used their window of opportunity, while the city guards were overwhelmed, to raise the gate.
On the near shore, an army of Skeltai had amassed, awaiting this very signal. As the massive gate groaned noisily open, the Skeltai army charged across the bridge. The pounding of thousands of feet rolled like thunder across the lake.
____________________
I started upright in bed, heart pounding, adrenaline surging. Even as the last images of the dream faded from before my eyes, I knew with certainty this was no vision of what would or could be. This was what was happening right now on the other side of the city.
The attack had begun. And we weren’t ready.
Chapter Twenty
In a dazed panic, I dashed around the room, dragging my boots on and snatching up my knives. Not until my hand fell on my bow did a sudden calm pervade me. The weapon instantly hummed to life at my touch, as though it had been waiting for me. I shared its satisfaction. I had spent too many recent days living in a confused fog. Here at last was something I knew how to do.
Fight. Defend. Kill.
The bow’s sentiments echoed mine.
When I stepped outside my door, I found the castle in a state of chaos. Word from the gate had reached the keep, and the castle’s inhabitants were spilling out of their beds and swarming up and down the halls in confusion. Most of them were streaming toward the great hall. I got swept up in the current of bodies and pulled along with them.
The hall was packed with frightened nobles and their servants, all taking shelter for the moment when the keep, like the town, would fall under attack. The heat of so many bodies, the hubbub of voices, and the frightened wails of small children drifted up to the rafters.
I quickly escaped the crowded space, ran down the corridor, and found the open doors of the audience chamber. Here was a smaller assemblage, including counselors and a handful of soldiers. A panicked-looking Asmund Summerdale was attempting to issue orders in the absence of the Praetor. But the sudden death of their leader had everyone in disarray, and no one seemed certain who was in command.
Certainly no one was paying much heed to the pale-faced Summerdale as he paced the room looking like a wild-eyed, frenzied horse. Thinking of Lady Morwena’s efforts to destroy me, it was difficult to believe she had thought this weak man capable of leading a province in wartime. If news of her death had reached him yet, he didn’t appear grieved. In fact, no one seemed to notice the lady’s absence, leading me to assume her lifeless body had yet to be discovered.
Summerdale’s voice, strangely high-pitched, rose above the murmurs of the others. “We are outnumbered and must surrender to the savages!” he declared. “The Fists and the city guard will lay down their arms so we can bargain for our lives. Later, when we have mustered support and troops from the other provinces, we may reclaim the city.”
“Calm yourself, Counselor, and stop raving like a lunatic,” Torg Branek snapped. “Surrender with honor is not a concept the Skeltai understand. They will destroy every soul in the city, regardless of whether we choose to fight. And if we lose Selbius, we lose it for good, for neither the king nor the praetors of the other provinces will lend us their armies.”
&
nbsp; I stopped listening to the counselors’ bickering and asked the nearest soldier in Fist armor where I could find Captain Terrac.
He couldn’t tell me.
“Then where’s Delecarte?” I demanded. I might have doubts about his trustworthiness, but the retired captain of the Fists was the next person I could think of who might be coolheaded enough to have a workable plan.
“On the battlements, preparing a defense,” came the answer.
I hurried there in search of the counselor.
Out in the open air, I could look down over the entire city stretched out before me. I saw fire and plumes of smoke rising from homes and warehouses that had been put to the torch. The gray light of early dawn revealed the main gate through which the enemy army had gained entrance, and I could see swarms of armed Skeltai overrunning the city. There were dead civilians in the streets and even more live ones streaming down the roads, making for safer parts of the town. They were coming here, I realized, hoping for protection within the walls of the keep. I doubted we could shelter so many.
I found a busy and distracted Delecarte directing what soldiers he had in preparation for when the enemy reached us. With the Praetor gone and the chain of command broken, Fists and city guardsmen alike defaulted to following the capable former captain.
But I was unwilling to wait for the fight to come to me. Not while people were dying in the streets below.
“Is anyone setting up an early line of defense in the town?” I asked Delecarte.
“It looks as though Captain Terrac means to hold the north gate outside the Common district,” he told me, drawing my attention to a small concentration of our soldiers around an arched gate. I took his word that Terrac was among them. To my eye, the soldiers were only small indistinct shapes in the distance.
Delecarte frowned slightly. “I don’t know why the captain chose that spot to dig in. It would be more strategic to protect the garden district as the main route to the keep. That would buy us more time up here.”
I said nothing. The impoverished Common district held the city’s largest and most unprotected population. Terrac would naturally move to make it safe over the less densely populated or heavily guarded areas. Fine houses and warehouses stuffed with goods could be replaced, but lives could not.
Unfortunately, the position Terrac had chosen was one it seemed unlikely he could hold for long. Not with the limited number of soldiers he appeared to have.
“Will you fight with us?” Delecarte was asking. “We could use an extra archer when the Skeltai reach our walls.”
“I’ll be joining the fight,” I agreed. “But not here. Terrac’s going to need all the help he can get at the north gate.”
Delecarte nodded as if it was the response he had expected, and we parted ways.
I abandoned the keep with its illusion of safety. Soon enough, those sheltering within would get their turn to play out the life-and-death battles already underway in the town.
I knew I would have to fight my way through the streets to reach Terrac and his men. But my first fight was with the crowds of civilians streaming up the lane. Carrying their children and other precious possessions, they fled from the very direction I was headed.
Once I got past them, I made quicker headway, ducking down side streets to follow the most direct routes. The streets of the Beautiful were eerily empty, the wealthy inhabitants of the garden district having evacuated as soon as the first alarm was raised.
I hesitated, rushing past the temple grounds, thinking of Hadrian and the handful of Swiftsfell magickers who were likely the most powerful weapon we had on our side. But I could not be distracted from my mission to reach Terrac. I must trust Hadrian to deploy the magickers where he thought best.
Approaching the heart of the city, I got my first close-up view of the invaders as I passed knots of fighting. The city guard here were making a stand against the onslaught. I fired occasional arrows where I saw easy targets but did not stop to join the defenders. The north gate was my priority.
When I neared the entrance into the Common district, I heard a commotion. Turning to look back the way I had come, I saw a carriage with the Praetor’s crest on the side careening down the street. Coming from the direction of the keep, the carriage traveled with reckless speed, whipping around corners, running down anyone in its path, defenders and Skeltai alike.
I leapt aside, barely avoiding being struck as it sped past. At the end of the street, the driver attempted a turn onto a thoroughfare that would have led him out of the city. But he took the turn too fast, and the carriage lurched sharply to one side before rolling over with a crash. Wood splintered and horses screamed.
Immediately, the nearest Skeltai warriors converged on the smashed conveyance, doubtless assuming someone of importance was inside. I had a brief glimpse of a terrified Asmund Summerdale being dragged from the carriage and cut to ribbons. It had been a mistake for the cowardly counselor to attempt fleeing the city at this late hour.
I dismissed him from my mind. I had my own problems. My presence had attracted attention, and a knot of Skeltai fighters were converging on me. Caught alone, I was cut off from the other defenders. I managed to let loose two arrows and made them count, taking down the two leading warriors.
But then the horde was upon me. I found myself backed against the wall near the closed gate, too close to use my bow any longer, and fending them off with my puny knives. Useless for blocking the blows coming at me, the knives were an impractical match against spears and axes.
A spear sliced my side when I failed to dance aside quickly enough. White-hot pain shot through me. Distracted by the pain, I dropped my guard, my vision growing fuzzy. The enemy closed in.
Even as I saw the end coming, I felt no fear. Only a vague sense of the inevitable.
A Skeltai warrior hefted his spear to deliver the killing blow.
Suddenly, through the haze blurring my vision, I saw a shadow falling from above. A Fist hurtled down from the top of the gate, landing at my side. Gleaming sword in hand, he cut a swath through my enemies.
“Terrac!” My startled exclamation was drowned out by the cries of the Skeltai who fell under Terrac’s blade.
Maybe it wasn’t over after all.
Terrac kicked my bow to me, and I caught it though I hadn’t been aware until now of having dropped it earlier. Gritting my teeth against the pain in my side, I drew strength from the magical bow and forced back the darkness threatening to swallow me up. The blurriness receded.
With Terrac covering for me, I fired arrows into the enemy ranks while we inched our way along the wall.
Behind us, the other defenders opened the gate long enough to pull us in. Then the entrance was swiftly slammed closed and barred to our enemies.
Temporarily safe, I collapsed against the wall to catch my breath. The pain from my injury was lessening, fading into a dull throb. Some nameless soldier wearing the uniform of a city guardsman handed me a waterskin, and I drank greedily.
Terrac collapsed beside me, mopping sweat from his brow.
“Well, that was a first,” he panted. “I’ve never gotten to rescue you before.”
“Even I have an off day,” I gritted, passing him the waterskin. “Don’t expect to make a habit of it.”
I peeled my tunic away from the sticky wound in my side. A quick check revealed the injury was shallow, the trickle of blood too slow to be an immediate danger.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Terrac said. “There’s too many Skeltai. The most we can hope is to hold them back as long as possible.”
“Long enough to let the people of the district evacuate to the keep?”
“That’s the hope,” he answered.
“Then give me a boost.” I nodded toward the wall. “Maybe I can pick off some of them before they break through.”
He grinned through his blood and sweat. “There you go, needing my help again.”
He gave me a step up, and I slithered onto the narrow ledge above th
e gate. Here I was badly exposed to the throwing spears of the enemy, but at least they didn’t seem to have any archers in this bunch.
I loosed arrow after arrow into the horde, the bow glowing so fiercely hot in my hands it was almost painful. I could sense the bow’s chant in the back of my mind.
Death. Vengeance. Kill.
At least one of us was having a good time.
I cut down many Skeltai, but for every one that dropped to the cobbled street, two more seemed to replace him. The Skeltai shaman must be portaling reinforcements somewhere inside the city. Clearly, they had finally discovered the Praetor’s althion sphere was no longer active to hold them back. And there weren’t enough of us to match their numbers.
Below me, a Skeltai warrior threw a spear that sailed wide of my head. I instinctively ducked and nearly lost my footing as a tremendous crash reverberated through the wall. The Skeltai were slamming into the gate in unison, trying to break it down.
Wood splintered and the gate sagged inward. On the other side of the wall, the Iron Fists and city guardsmen were organized by Terrac into a line. There they awaited the inevitable.
Another crash, and the gate went down in pieces. The horde rushed in.
The forces clashed, defenders’ swords meeting invaders’ axes and spears.
Looking down on the frenzy, I couldn’t fire down on the fighters for fear of hitting our own men. I dropped down onto a Skeltai, slitting his throat, then exchanged my knives for the sword of a nearby fallen Fist. The sword, never my favorite weapon, felt strangely heavy in my hand. There was no time to grow used to it.
I fought my way to Terrac’s side, and together with the other defenders, we held the line as long as we could. We were about to be overrun when, out of nowhere, reinforcements came rushing to our aid, running through the fallen gate and attacking our enemies from the rear.
I didn’t immediately recognize the green-clad newcomers. Not until I caught a glimpse of the bows and rough-hewn quarterstaffs some carried.