Her expression turned distant, already working on the problem, and Yiloch kissed her once more, just in case.
Her smile was shaky. “This will work.” She searched his eyes, seeking reassurance.
“It will.” They faced the doors together. “Let Ian know the wall can come down.”
He watched her eyes trace the magnificent work-manship of the peaked double doors, a representation of the view from the back garden terrace carved into pale wood. Her focus turned inward. After perhaps a minute, she met his eyes and nodded. He shoved open the doors.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
They were waiting for some signal and when it came, the wall would come down in two places. Caplin’s troop, along with those led by Captain Adran and Lord Vyram, would attack through the southernmost of the two breaches. Another force led by Commander Hax, Captain Paulin, and Prince Yiloch was ready to charge the other breach. A number of adepts and archers rode with each invading force to protect them from overhead attacks. Ian rode with Captain Adran and, despite how uneasy the youth’s power made him, Caplin was glad to have him in their group.
Persistent attacks against the wall’s defenders continued throughout the night, keeping them busy and distracting them from the careful redistribution of soldiers for the coming charge on the wall. It was masterfully handled. Throughout the process, Yiloch rode near the front lines of the assault with Commander Hax, keeping his attention on those attacks to support the illusion.
Everyone was in position. Now it was a waiting game. Caplin’s horse shifted under him, sensing his impatience. He wanted to check on Indigo before they entered the city, but he’d been overseeing a portion of the wall assault all day and now he needed to be with his men. Captain Deryk maintained a protective buffer of men between the fighting and the area where healers worked and rested. He had to trust that the man could protect them, especially if the invasion went awry. Besides, he could see Yiloch from where he waited, so at least the prince wasn’t anywhere near Indigo.
Ian lifted a hand, his palm turned to the sky, and Caplin started when a blue light flared above them. In that instant, someone sounded the call to attack and waiting troops sprang to life. He signaled his men and they charged, moving from their apparent haphazard positioning to blend seamlessly with the other two troops making up their force. A column four riders wide, they surged toward the wall. Explosions boomed over the din of charging soldiers. Dust and debris filled the air as a wide section of the wall collapsed in front of them. Before it settled, the resulting rubble flew inward and to the sides, ascard power clearing the route of debris and battering down imperial soldiers who rushed to defend the gap.
Then he truly understood the value of the diverse array of adepts in Yiloch’s army. Healing was obvious in its benefits. The varied specializations of ascard users Lord Ferin had gathered for the prince showed their true worth now. As their column neared the breach, archers began firing from the intact wall to either side. A few riders went down before a massive wall of fire roared up in the opening, its flames licking over the edges of the gap toward the defending archers who fell back in panic. The riders ahead of Caplin didn’t slow. They charged head on into the flame filling the gap.
Illusion? The flame was illusion, though the heat coming off it was convincing enough. Caplin saw amazement and a trace of fear on his soldiers’ faces, expressions mirrored by his own. He urged his mount onward, knowing his men would falter if he did. For a few seconds, stifling heat wrapped around him, making it hard to breathe, then he was on the other side. A large troop was charging them, weapons drawn and faces grim.
Adran and Ian rode near the front of the force. Caplin steered his mount in their direction. The young creator looked absent, his eyes glassed over, and Caplin shuddered with the knowledge that substantial power was about to come into play. Then the front three lines of imperial soldiers fell back, falling into and tripping up the men behind them, some landing upon their startled comrades’ ready weapons. A bitter smile turned Ian’s lips. As the men struggled to reform their charge, Adran signaled attack and Caplin rode with them, driving into the disordered defenders.
They had only begun to route the first troop when horns sounded out from the inner wall. Confused looks met the sound and rear ranks started to fall back in retreat. Caplin cut out with deadly sweep of his sword, catching a man at the gap between helmet and chest armor. Before the man finished falling, he glanced at Adran, raising his brows in question. The defenders hadn’t put much effort into repelling them. Why would they call retreat already?
Adran grinned.
As Caplin turned his attention back to the fight, searing pain lanced through his thigh. He grunted, sucking back a cry and clapped a hand around the shaft of the arrow. It was a poor shot, going through at an angle, the tip emerging only a few inches from where it went in. Easy to heal, but knowing that didn’t make it any less painful.
So similar to the injury that had taken Eris down.
Rage flared in him, numbing the pain. He looked in the direction the shot had come from in time to see an archer tumble from the wall with an arrow in his back. The man struck the ground and stayed there in a misshapen heap.
Good riddance you bastard.
Taking hold of the shaft on one side of the wound, he broke it and pulled it free, unable to hold back a pained cry. Rage burned, a blood red edge around his vision. He threw the arrow and kicked his mount into a gallop after retreating defenders. Pain plagued the bleeding wound, a distant nagging, something he should attend to…later. He wasn’t surprised to find Adran swinging his blade to cut down the first soldier they overtook.
Caplin took down the next one. For Eris.
He could feel her arms wrapped around him, holding him in the aftermath of wild passion and smiling in that a way that was somehow wicked and sweet at the same time. Pale amber eyes sparkled in his mind. Then they deepened, becoming vivid blue.
For the lost and for those who stood to be lost, they wouldn’t fail.
Some of the defenders turned and grouped together, knowing they couldn’t outrun mounted soldiers. Adran raised his sword, signaling the troop to alter direction and head down another street. As the column charged past the defenders, a group of adepts and soldiers broke off, surrounding them, taking them prisoner. Caplin’s rage was strong enough that he longed to cut them down where they stood, but Adran veered his mount into his, steering him away.
Three riders that had pulled ahead of them went down, one with an arrow in his throat the other two with gouts of flame pouring from their eyes. Caplin’s stomach turned. Horror muted the anger sustaining him. Ian moved, weaving to the edge of the column and Caplin reined in a little, keeping his mount close to Adran as he watched. The young creator pointed to a nearby building and another man nodded. The building burst into a tower of flame. This time it wasn’t illusion.
Screams rang out and a woman carrying a crossbow leapt from one window. She only managed a few limping strides before a rider barreled down the cross street and charged into her. The impact threw her back into the side of the building and she slumped to the ground like a ragdoll. Another column charged down the next street over, the leader on an impressive dappled gray stallion with silver hair streaming out under his helmet. A smaller troop was closing the gap and dealing with imperial soldiers caught between them. In most cases, they appeared to be trying not to kill enemy soldiers.
On the next cross street, an entire troop of imperial soldiers knelt down and tossed out their weapons in surrender. Several riders from each column pulled up and settled in to guard the prisoners.
Caplin looked askance at Adran.
“They would rather follow Prince Yiloch than die for his father,” Adran shouted.
Caplin nodded and pressed a hand to the wound in his thigh. His rage was fading and pain started to eke out a place in his awareness. The inner wall loomed ahead, its gates drawing together, another outer barrier ready to drop when the last stragglers rushed through
. It would close before they reached it. They would have to take control of the city and start the siege anew at the inner wall.
A different pattern of horn blasts rang out from the inner wall then and several answered back from somewhere within the prince’s column. The gate stopped closing. Caplin knew enough about Lyran war customs to recognize that surrender was declared and accepted, though he couldn’t understand why it came so fast.
The columns slowed. Pain flared in his leg and his foot felt wet in his boot. Blood? The wound wasn’t that bad. As his mount slowed to a walk, he started to reach down and stopped abruptly, choking down a cry as pain tore through his side.
The city tilted. He swayed in the saddle and someone grabbed his arm.
Adran met his eyes, his brow furrowing. “Are you injured?”
“Only a flesh wound,” he managed through gritted teeth.
Adran leaned back in his saddle too look him over, then, to Caplin’s surprise, he laughed. “You could say that.”
“What?” Caplin asked.
Ian was now staring at him with raised brows.
“You’ve got an arrow above your hip,” Adran explained.
“Oh.” Caplin took a shallow breath, trying not to aggravate the wound. “That would explain the agony.”
“It’s well off to the side,” Ian offered. “Not likely to have hit anything vital.”
“Lyran archers have wretched aim,” Caplin grumbled.
“Maybe they noticed your striking good looks and pulled their shots.” Adran chuckled again and turned to a soldier next to him. “Take my troop back and escort the healers in. Be quick about it. There are plenty of wounds that need urgent attention.” He turned to Caplin. “You’d best stay on your horse and wait for healers. Dismounting might cause more damage.”
Caplin nodded agreement, the pain increasing now that there was no fighting to hold his attention. Keeping a tight rein, he allowed his mount to move forward with Adran and Ian. Prince Yiloch and Hax also approached the open gate. A large number of soldiers were filing out. Near the front was a young man with a scar on one side of his mouth that gave a crooked twist to his pleased grin. He and others began to kneel before the Prince and Caplin started to suspect that grin had something to do with the sudden surrender.
*
Indigo slammed a barrier around Myac’s inner aspect. He immediately retaliated and the power she wrestled against brought a cold sweat to her skin. Stronger than her or not, he very obviously wasn’t as run down as she was after long days of healing. Yiloch seized ascard again and swept into the room, taking out two inner door guards in a few seconds. She couldn’t help him now. The man standing to the left of the throne, his elegant Lyran features contrasted by eyes and hair darker than ink, demanded all her strength.
Yiloch moved through the room, cutting down remaining guards while she kept to one side, following from a distance as he left a trail of bodies behind him until only the emperor, Myac, and a terrified attendant cowering in one corner, remained.
Myac glared at her, the promise of pain in his cold sneer as he pounded against her barrier, sending a shudder through it. How long could she possibly control him?
Yiloch stopped at the foot of the steps leading up to the throne. Emperor Rylan rose slowly from the royal seat. He reminded her of the prince in many ways, including the fierce determination that lit his pale eyes. Lifting his head high in defiance of his son, he walked down a few steps. Stubborn pride appeared to be a family trait.
“You came here to die,” Rylan declared. “Myac can give me eternal life. I have no need of an heir.”
“I hope he made you impervious to steel, because he won’t be helping you.” Yiloch’s voice, thick with loathing chilled even her, and they were on the same side.
The emperor glanced at Myac whose eyes remained riveted on her. The little color in Rylan’s face drained away. His gaze jumped to her and he shook his head, a flash of fear in his eyes.
“That’s not possible. What is she?” Rylan backed to the top of the steps.
“She’s my answer to your madness, Father. Your reign ends now.”
Rylan shook his head again and, though he looked little older than his son, she noticed the age in his eyes. Yiloch shifted his grip on his sword and advanced, a predator ready to make its kill. Rylan met his son’s eyes, his expression hardening, and drew his sword.
“We finish this properly then.” He strode down the steps to engage Yiloch.
The two men fought with remarkable speed and grace. Fluid dancelike movements brought their blades together and apart again as each sought advantage. Yiloch wasn’t using ascard now and she silently cursed him. He couldn’t know what it cost her, but if an end didn’t come soon, she would lose the silent battle she fought.
In a flurry of motion, someone’s sword went skittering across the floor. Rylan dropped to his knees and Yiloch leveled his sword at his father’s throat. Sympathy swelled in her. For all he had done, the emperor was still a man and a defeated one at that. They were all guilty of some sins. She shook her head when Yiloch raised his sword. She’d seen so much death already. The edge of the blade glinted in the light of myriad candles around the room. Myac’s power assaulted her barrier with greater ferocity.
Yiloch’s smile was devoid of compassion. “I don’t need you to give me the throne, Father, because I’m taking it.”
He swung the blade. She met the emperor’s eyes, seeing a familiar denial in them.
Hadris.
The blade cut through flesh and blood like a soft cheese. Blood sprayed across the marble. His head hit the floor with a wet, crunching sound that turned her stomach and his body wavered for a second before toppling forward. Nausea threatened her focus.
Yiloch looked at the adept then. Spatters of blood stood out vivid red against pale skin and silver hair. The Blood Prince stood there, the terrifying killer her people gossiped about, his eyes burning with dark hunger. But he was more than that now, he was emperor. His long strides took him up the steps to Myac. Blood dripped from the tip of his sword onto the adept’s boot. He leaned close to the adept, his whisper amplified by sudden quiet.
“All that power, yet here you stand, helpless before me.”
The power within the other adept battered at her barrier with panicked frenzy. Through their contact, she felt his terror and trembled with him.
“I can serve you.” Myac spoke in a steady, almost seductive voice despite the intimate war they still waged. “I can make you immortal.”
Yiloch hesitated. His eyes narrowed.
Be greedy. Accept his offer. Let there be no more death.
Her strength faded, the barrier weakening as days of healing and masking caught up with her. Her mind played tricks on her, turning the head lying on the floor into that of Hadris and then her father.
Yiloch drew back his sword.
Her power faltered. Myac met her eyes and smiled. The barrier gave.
“Yiloch!”
Myac’s sudden assault sent them both flying back from him. Her side struck the wall. Pain stunned her. She crumpled to the floor, struggling to breathe. Myac stalked toward her, loathing in his eyes tearing through her. She tried to focus, to draw on ascard, but pain crippled her, searing agony filling her body and mind. Helpless, she could only stare, throat clenching with fear, lungs fighting for air.
Yiloch struggled to his feet near the throne, his movements sluggish. Blood streamed from a laceration above one eye. A glimmer of hope sparked then pressure closed around her. With the pressure came more pain, blinding agony, and she tried to scream. With no air in her lungs, only a whimper emerged. Myac stood over her, his smile maniacal with rage at her near victory. Tears ran from her eyes. Pressure and pain steadily increased. Ribs cracked. Black swept in at the edges of her vision.
Yiloch’s blade struck Myac from behind and bounced away. The failed attack left him staggering.
Yiloch.
Then Myac flew sideways as if struck by an invi
sible fist and the pressure vanished. Ian appeared in her line of sight with Adran close behind leveling a crossbow at Myac. He fired before the adept hit the ground. The bolt sank into Myac’s side, his shielding disrupted by Ian’s attack. Myac struggled to his feet, clutching at the bolt shaft. Adran strode toward him, loading another bolt. The adept’s black eyes rested on Indigo for a second then he vanished.
She whimpered, still unable to breathe through the pain and too depleted to heal herself. Yiloch knelt beside her. His breath came in ragged gasps and the wound above his eye still bled copiously, but she couldn’t help him.
He clutched her hand. “Get a healer! Now!”
Adran and Ian sprinted from the room. A cough ripped through her, the pain making darkness threaten again, and she tasted the metallic tang of blood. Yiloch stared into her eyes, oblivious to blood running down his face.
“You’ll be all right.”
She squeezed her eyes shut against the agony. He brushed her hair from her face, bringing her attention back to him. People rushed into the room, Adran and Ian and a healer whose name she couldn’t quite recall. The woman knelt across from Yiloch and laid her hands on Indigo’s side. She glanced at the blood running down Yiloch’s face and shook her head.
“I need more help. Another healer to assist with her and someone to take care of Prince Yiloch.”
Emperor. Emperor Yiloch.
Ian dashed from the room again.
Yiloch glared at the healer, his expression so fierce Indigo felt a pang of sympathy for the woman. “She must live.”
“She will.” Indigo could feel the woman working ascard. “I can’t fix this alone.”
Adran moved into the edge of her vision, leaning over Yiloch’s shoulder.
“How did you get here so fast?” Yiloch held her eyes while he spoke.
“Someone sounded surrender before we reached the inner gates. You have more supporters than we suspected. Leryc rallied them when we breached the outer wall and they took control of the inner wall.”
Dissident (Forbidden Things Book 1) Page 32