Kates drew his last arrow, and Averella pushed a handful of arrows into his quiver before he managed to raise his arm again. He never had to wait. She did the same for the other bowman. Both shot arrows until there were no more.
“I’m out!” Kates jumped to his feet, swung his bow over his arm, and drew his sword so quickly Averella lunged out of his way.
“Hold the gate!” Sir Eagan yelled. Averella, stay back if you can, at least until the melee passes.
Averella glanced at her father, but he had turned to the southern doorway. She picked up her shield and drew her sword. Her heart drummed inside her head, melding with the beat of the approaching footsteps. She pressed back into the corner of the gatehouse, peeking out an arrow loop beside the northern doorway.
The archers had felled many, but they were still greatly outnumbered. Jax stood at the front of seven men on the northern side of the gate. Averella counted the heads of the enemy and got lost after twenty-three. There were still more than twice that many charging, swords raised.
Why had she wanted to come along again?
Jax drew his axes and crouched. Kates and the others raised their swords.
“For Arman! For our king! Hold the gate!” Sir Eagan yelled.
Averella looked over her shoulder to see her father pacing at the back of the line on the southern entrance, sword raised to the dark sky, yelling so loud his face was red.
This was no time to be timid. Averella stepped through the northern door and stood in the same position as her father. She lifted her sword high.
The enemy was close. Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten. A man fell at the front of their line, tripping two. The enemy trampled over the top of them.
Well done, Mother. Averella smiled, though the act felt oddly cruel.
Jax stuck down the first man to reach him. Two more rushed past. Kates lifted his sword. Metal clashed. Men growled. Screamed.
A man in black sprinted through their line, headed right for the door. Averella put her weight behind her shield and rammed into his side. He bounced off the wood and stumbled, screaming as he lost his footing and fell over the parapet and into the water below.
The fighting went on. Rather than swing her sword, Averella continued to take advantage of the tight space at the door, knocking men over the edge of the wall. She tried to knock them into the water, rather than to the ground inside the bailey, but it did not always work.
A few paces before her, Kates fell to his knees. A black knight stepped over his body and raised his sword to Averella. She lifted her own and did not miss the fact that her blade trembled.
He swung at her head. She lifted her shield to block, but his sword flipped around and cut at her legs. She crouched into the attack, but the blade struck her shield, knocking her back into the doorframe. She dropped her sword and slumped inside the doorway.
The black knight’s trousers swished as he stepped over her. She pulled the knife from her boot and stabbed it into the back of his knee, between the ties in his armor. He screamed, whirled around, and kicked her, flipping her on her side. A prick under her arm turned her head. The black knight stood above, the point of his sword set under her arm where he could drive it through to her heart.
But the man stood still, grimacing, eyes darting about, face pale. He grunted. His sword arm trembled, rattling his gauntlet against the chain mittens he wore underneath.
As he crumpled to the gatehouse floor, Mother’s voice said, Now, take more care, dearest. I am most displeased to find you here.
Averella released her pent up breath. Thank you, Mother. But she did not take care. She pushed to her feet and ran out the door. She grabbed Kates under the arms and dragged him inch by inch into the gatehouse. His body left a swath of red blood on the whitestone sentry walk.
It turned out to be a stab wound in his thigh. Most men died in battle from leg wounds. Not this one, if she could help it.
She reached over to the stormed black knight and pulled her knife from the back of his knee. She cut off Kates’s leather cuisse, then cut through his trousers so she could see the wound. It was not a stab at all, but a slice to the bone. She did her best to wrap it.
When she finished, she dragged him against the inside wall of the gatehouse, sheathed her boot knife, lifted her shield and sword, and ran back outside.
There were only eight left fighting on the northern side of the gatehouse. Four red cloaks, four black. The black knight closest to her cut down the last of her squad that stood between the enemy and her and kicked him over the side. He turned to face her—Khai Mageia.
She gasped. “But you are dead!”
“We’ll see about that, boy!” His nasally voice brought a flash of memories that coated Averella’s palms in sweat. He raised his massive sword, which was as long as Averella was tall, and lunged.
She scooted aside, keeping her shield in front. The blow struck her shield and knocked her through the air. She crumpled against the parapet and hit her head. Her helm slipped off. She scrabbled to pull it back on, but the damage had been done.
“You,” Khai said. “You thought you killed me that day in Mitspah.” He cackled. “It’s true, my lady. You did. Just as your lover killed my prince by lopping off his arm. But our master cures even death.”
“You are not cured,” Averella said. “You will still die someday, and then you will have to face Arman.”
“Doubtful. For today, Arman will lose once and for all.”
“You always did brag too much, Khai.” Jax stood behind him with the two remaining Old Kingsguard soldiers. All but Khai had been defeated.
Khai sighed extra loudly. “Don’t think you can beat me because you’re a giant. It’ll take more than the four of you to fell me.”
“Everything with you is always an exaggeration,” Jax said. “The boasts from your lips, the length of your sword, the strength of your so-called gods… You cannot compensate for your shortcomings with deception. The truth is always revealed in time.”
“Let it be revealed, then.” Khai screamed and charged.
Jax and Khai spun in a whirl of strikes and parries. But once they had turned halfway round, Khai retreated, running north up the sentry wall. Jax took off after him. Averella followed, not wanting to lose sight of Jax.
At the apex of the scallop that wrapped around the gardens, Khai turned to face Jax. He chanted, hand outstretched, but Averella was too far back to hear. Jax stepped slowly toward Khai, but before he could strike, a green ball of fire shot from Khai’s outstretched hand and into the sentry walk, right where Jax stood. Another struck the battlement. Averella cowered under her shield as the chunks of stone and sand rained down like hail. When the sound stopped, she looked out.
The whitestone floor crumbled like sand under Jax’s feet and spilled into the water. Jax stumbled, and the wall caved under his feet. He reached up to grab the nearest merlon, but it broke off in his grip, and he fell down into the dark water.
Averella’s heart seemed to fall with the giant. She glanced across the destruction to see Khai lower his hand.
“You coward!” Averella yelled.
“Don’t like my style?” Khai extended his arms and bowed. “Come fight me yourself then, my lady.” He turned and fled up the sentry walk toward the watchtower.
35
Achan ran up the spiral stairwell from the dungeon, breath heavy from the weight of his armor. Sir Caleb led their squad, followed by Sir Rigil and Bran, then a half dozen soldiers Achan didn’t know, then Cortland, Manu, and himself. Shung, Toros, and Cole were directly behind him, and the rest of their squad brought up the rear.
Achan hadn’t thought it fair to deny anyone his or her place in fighting for their freedom, not even Sparrow. So Cole had been put in charge of carrying the banner of Armonguard.
Achan tried to focus on the task ahead as if it were merely a training. Take the watchtower. Nothing more. Nothing less. Simply take the watchtower. But his thoughts bounced down trails like a jackrabbit.
> Had he grown up here, as he should’ve, would this stairwell be familiar?
Was Prince Oren lost? Or would he return to his body?
This was Achan’s home. Unless he failed.
But Arman was with him, so he couldn’t fail, right?
If Darkness didn’t recede when Lord Nathak was killed, would Arman explain how to push it back?
Achan craved Sparrow’s encouragement. She had left her mind open to his, a fact that bolstered his hope for their future. He dared a peek through her eyes. She stood on a sentry wall behind a kneeling bowman, who fired into a charge of New Kingsguard knights.
Achan’s foot caught on a step and he stumbled. Shung grabbed his belt, saving him from crashing against the stone steps. Thanks, Shung.
Let the fear strengthen. Let it bolster your sword.
Fear. Was that his problem? Was he afraid?
As if there were any doubt.
At the top of the stairs, they ran through part of Castle Armonguard. Again Achan’s mind imagined scenes of a young boy and his parents walking together, talking. What part of the castle was this? Where would his bedchamber have been? Not likely on any ground floor.
They exited into a courtyard filled with the clamor of screams, clashing steel, and horses’ cries. From the number of red cloaks, Achan guessed the gates had been won and Sir Gavin had been let in. Achan followed Manu. The watchtower stood in the distance. A beacon calling him to arms. Green mage magic lit up the tower’s roof.
Achan ran past overturned carts, burned cottages, drooping tents, fighting men, dead men, and a few dead horses.
Gowzals circled overhead. Some swooped down and perched on the dead, feeding off the carnage. Achan kept his gaze fixed on the watchtower, until a great roar pulled his focus to the gate on his left.
Barthos, the beastly idol from Barth, swirled around the gatehouse. Achan could barely see Inko’s grey head as he stood before the beast, hands raised, no doubt chanting a rebuke.
Achan kept pace with his line as they ran around a charred structure and past a deserted blacksmith’s forge, snaking around dead men. They slowed down when they reached a grassy clearing. The whitestone watchtower loomed above, hundreds of men tangled in battle at its base. Esek would be up there. And Lord Nathak.
A chorus of “Lee-lee-lee-lee-lee!” and a line of Eben warriors charged, most waving long spears and shields, their pale foreheads marked with three black lines.
Achan crouched. He held his shield before him and set Ôwr’s flat against the edge, peeking over the pointed top. Cortland and Manu met the first two Ebens. Achan bounced on his toes, ready to meet the next one, but Toros darted in first and slashed at the Eben’s bare legs.
Four other Ebens circled to Achan’s right. Achan turned, watching them. Shung stood ready behind Achan, and Cole— covered in gleaming silver armor—clutched the Armonguard standard, his eyes peeled wide through the slot in his helm.
Stay back, Cole, Achan told him.
Three of the Ebens ran at Shung. Apparently, they found Shung the bigger threat. Achan couldn’t blame them. Shung expertly deflected each jab.
The last Eben clutched a club the size of Achan’s leg. He swung high. Achan kept his shield at middle guard, flinching as the wood arced toward his face. But as he hoped, the Eben reversed his swing and batted at his legs. Achan shifted his shield into low guard in time for the club to beat against it. Achan hacked over the top of his shield. His blade just missed the Eben’s elbow.
The giant swung for Achan’s legs again. Achan lifted his shield, expecting this to be a feint, but the blow stung his legs through his armor.
Achan stumbled and turned in time to block a spear thrust at his face. Another spear slid across the back of his neck. He rammed his shield against one spear, parried a jab from another, and raked his blade against the club on his backswing.
The Ebens were trying to separate them. Achan needed to get back with Shung. He lashed out and cleaved for his attacker’s legs. The Eben staggered, tripped over a fallen body, and fell onto his rear. He raised his shield over his head. Achan circled him, raining blows like an axe on a log. Splinters of wood and paint went flying. Three of Achan’s soldiers ran up and relieved him, so Achan sidestepped back to Shung and waved Cole to follow.
Sir Caleb’s voice boomed in Achan’s inner ear. Do not engage unless you must. We must get inside the watchtower, for that is where the wielders will be.
And Lord Nathak. His half-brother.
Go, Little Cham, now! Shung yelled as he finished the last of the three Ebens. To Manu.
Achan ran toward Manu’s dark hair and red cape. And the line was moving again. It lost form as they tried to pass through another melee. Manu stopped to deflect a blow. A man shrieked. Achan darted around Manu, safely out of the arc of his cousin’s sword. He peeked at the tower just as a green orb sailed toward him. He leapt back, knocking into Shung. The fireball thudded into the grass, sending singed grass, soil, and silent tendrils of smoke into the air.
Shung gripped Achan’s arm and tugged. This way.
Achan followed Shung through a gap in the fighting. As they neared the tower, the enemy defense came into view. A wall of rectangular shields and mantlets circled the bottom of the tower. They were decorated with three black stripes or painted gowzals. All had a slot or hole of some kind at the top. Arrows and balls of green fire flew out from those openings. An occasional boulder sailed over the top.
Achan lifted his shield to his nose. They’ve got mangonels, Sir Caleb. They’re hurling stones.
I see that. Where are you?
Shung and I are straight out from the entrance. We need a way past the blockade.
See if the duchess can aid us. I’ll gather the men to you.
Agreed. A boulder flew through the air straight at Achan. With no time to dodge it, he crouched and braced his shield. The rock hit, though not with the force he’d expected. He peeked over his shield to see a man’s head rolling away.
A jolt of nausea gripped him. He closed his eyes and focused on Duchess Amal’s pleasant face. My lady? We could use your assistance.
An enemy soldier charged. Achan pushed to his feet and raised his sword, but Shung darted forward and met the attack. Achan turned in a quick circle and saw only Sir Caleb and a handful of his squad approaching.
Duchess Amal’s voice filled his ears then, music to his anxious soul. How can I be of service, Your Highness?
If Sir Eagan can spare you, we need help accessing the watchtower. They’ve barricaded us out.
I see it. I will take out the men at the entrance. Be ready.
Sir Caleb reached Achan’s side, panting. “What news?”
“She’s attacking now. We must be ready to charge.”
Sir Caleb gathered the men into three lines. The center line consisted of Sir Caleb, Bran, Cortland, Achan, Shung, and Toros. “We all charge together. The outer lines protect the center. Once the center enters the watchtower, do what you can to take the shields and guard the door.”
Now, Your Highness! Duchess Amal said.
“Now!” Achan yelled.
The men charged, shields before them, swords ready. They met no resistance, thanks to Duchess Amal’s storming, and Achan’s line ran inside the tower and up the stairs. Sir Caleb, Bran, Cortland, Achan, then the rest. Shadows on the wall preceded three New Kingsguard knights coming down from above.
Like all towers, the stairs rose on the left, circling to the right. This gave the defender the advantage as his right arm faced the outer wall. Sir Caleb struggled a moment as his blade was obstructed by the center pillar. He switched his sword to his left hand and pressed upward. Achan already held Ôwr in his left hand.
But the narrow stairs allowed for no more than one battle at a time. And when Sir Caleb managed to fell one opponent, only Sir Caleb was able to meet the next. There was nothing the others could do but wait.
Sir Caleb killed the second man and stepped over his body to meet the third.
An external force shook the tower. Sir Caleb’s opponent stumbled and slid down a few steps on his back, his plate armor gliding over the stone. Sir Caleb darted aside and bashed his boot against the man’s head as he went by. Shung finished him off.
The tower shook again. This time the wall cracked at an arrow loop, right where Achan stood.
A snakelike head bashed through the wall, sending bits of whitestone and dust over the stairwell. It knocked Bran down, curled up the stairwell and snapped at Sir Caleb, then swung back, pushed over Cortland and Manu, and screeched.
A tanniyn!
The creature’s breath was a hot putrid wind in Achan’s face. He cowered against the central pillar, hiding behind his shield. Duchess! The tanniyn!
The tanniyn’s next screech was laced with pain. Achan peeked over his shield to see Shung wrench his sword out from the creature’s neck. The tanniyn bashed its head into the steps above, then smashed down through the steps the men stood on. Whitestone steps crumbled underfoot. Cortland fell down the new hole. Manu tumbled down the stairs. The tanniyn nipped at Achan’s shield, then hissed, its maw open wide.
Hold on, Your Highness! Duchess Amal said.
Achan wanted to strike, but the beast’s mouth pressed the shield so tightly against the pillar he could not move, its breath a rotten puff of air. Sir Caleb grabbed one of the creature’s fangs and yanked its head away from Achan. Shung stabbed the tanniyn’s neck again, and it drew back from the hole like a coil of rope. Sir Caleb went with it, still gripping its fang.
“No!” Achan dropped his weapons and grabbed Sir Caleb’s leg. His grip slid down to Sir Caleb’s boot, paused, then tugged free. Achan fell against the pillar, clutching Sir Caleb’s boot. Duchess! The tanniyn has Sir Caleb!
I see him, the duchess said.
Achan couldn’t move. He stared through the dusty air at the hole in the tower wall but could see nothing but Darkness. He waited for Duchess Amal to speak again, but she did not.
Averella paced, studying the broken sentry wall. The interior edge appeared solid, though it was only as wide as her foot in several places. She should go back to Sir Eagan and the gatehouse. Instead, she sheathed her sword and stepped toward the jagged edge of the sentry wall.
From Darkness Won Page 45