by Claire Frank
“These men are all in Halthian uniforms,” Pathius said, gesturing toward the unconscious forms surrounding the wagon.
“They aren’t Halthians,” Daro said. He pointed down at the broken bracers on the ground. “Those are Attalonian. They cut off my Wielding ability completely.”
Two sharp notes rang out over the plain, signaling an enemy retreat.
“It was all cover for this attack,” Daro said. “I need to go see the general.”
Cecily put a hand on his arm. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”
Daro reached up and wiped a smear of blood across his brow. “I don’t care.”
As he stalked off to the stronghold, Cecily grabbed the broken bracers, then ran to catch up with him.
47. THIS HAS TO END
Anger raged through Daro as he walked toward the stronghold. Blood dripped in his eye, but the wound on his forehead was nothing but a hot streak across his face. Cecily kept pace silently beside him, coughing as smoke wafted across their path, and he paused to pick up his Heorun sword, dropped when the Attalonians had attacked him.
He should have known what was happening. A tent had gone up in a blaze of bright orange and he’d come running to help control the flames. When several more fires burst out in the midst of the camp, he should have been on guard, but he’d never thought the Attalonians would be so brazen as to launch an assault in the middle of the enemy army. He’d been wrong. Before he knew what was happening, a noose had cinched around his neck and pulled him backward. Although he’d managed to draw his sword, more coils of rope had been thrown around his limbs and he was yanked to the ground. Someone in a Halthian uniform had rushed in and clamped the black metal bracers on each arm. His attempts to draw in energy were suddenly cut off, his strength sapped, and more cords were wound around his limbs. He had almost gotten to his feet, despite the bracers, when a heavy chain net was thrown over him, quickly hitched to a wagon, and he was dragged across the ground.
His heart still thumped hard in his chest, and he fought down the debilitating sense of panic that threatened to overtake him. He needed to stay calm. Soldiers jumped out of the way to let him pass, but he hardly noticed them, his singular focus on finding General Coryn and mounting a counterattack against the Attalonians who had almost trapped him.
As he stalked into the war room, Cecily close behind him, he found the general standing with several other commanders. Coryn’s mouth dropped open as she saw him and he stopped just inside the door.
“Call for a Serum Shaper,” the general said. “Commander, you’re injured.”
“No,” Daro said. “A group of Attalonians attacked us from within our own camp. We need to go after them. Now.”
General Coryn clicked her mouth closed and crossed her arms. “That’s not possible.”
“What isn’t possible?” Cecily said. “That an attack just came from within our territory? Because I assure you, General, I just saw it happen.”
Coryn sighed. “Lady Cecily, when I need the Lyceum’s input on military matters, you can be assured I will ask for it.”
Daro ground his teeth together to keep from snapping at her, and his limbs shook with anger. “General Coryn,” he said, struggling to keep his voice even, “an Attalonian force infiltrated our camp and made off with at least one of my men. If we move now, we can catch up with them.”
“Commander Daro, you’ve clearly suffered a grievous injury,” Coryn said. “Your wounds need attention.”
“Damn my injuries; do you not hear what I’m telling you?” Daro said.
“I’m well aware of what is occurring in my own camp,” Coryn said, her voice crisp.
“Then what are you doing about it?” Daro asked.
“Our instructions are quite clear,” Coryn said. “We are to hold the bridge and the stronghold. Those are our orders.”
“You’re going to ignore this?” Daro said, gesturing outside.
“I’m certainly not ignoring anything,” Coryn said. “But you can’t come in here and demand I divert resources from our primary objective.”
Daro was so furious he couldn’t get any words out. He clenched his hands into fists, feeling blood trickling down his forearms.
“They’re attacking Wielders,” Cecily said, holding up the broken bracers. “They put these on Daro. At least one wagon got away before we could stop it. Who knows how many Wielders they may have taken.”
General Coryn eyed the broken pieces of metal in Cecily’s hands, skepticism plain on her face. Her eyes flicked to the door. “Lord Pathius,” she said.
“Cecily is right,” Pathius said as he walked in. “They were in Halthian uniform, but they weren’t our men. They infiltrated the camp and made off with at least one of our Wielders, possibly more. I just saw Raed and the other Imarans. They stopped more of them on the other side of the camp, but Cecily and I saw some get away.”
Coryn’s eyes lingered on Pathius. “Thank you for the report, my Lord,” she said, after a brief pause.
“I’ll assemble my men,” Daro said.
“You will do no such thing,” Coryn said.
Daro gritted his teeth and took a steadying breath, feeling his sense of control slipping. “We cannot allow the enemy to sneak into our camp and abduct our men.”
“I cannot afford to weaken our defenses here,” Coryn said. “We’ve already taken heavy losses and there is no sign of reinforcements arriving.”
Daro held up his blood-smeared forearms. “Ten minutes ago, I was trapped in a net, being dragged away from the camp. How long do you think you would hold the bridge without me? If it weren’t for me and my men, this place would have fallen during their first attack.”
“Commander Daro, although I commend you for your bravery, don’t overestimate your necessity here,” Coryn said. “This is a well-trained army of thousands.”
“Then let me take my company and go after them,” Daro said. He didn’t even try to hide the exasperation in his voice.
“It would not be a proper strategic decision,” Coryn said. “Our orders are clear.”
“You’re going to let them make off with one of my men?” Daro asked. “With no response whatsoever?”
“Casualties are a consequence of war, Commander,” Coryn said. “It’s an unfortunate reality, but a reality nonetheless.”
“General, with all due respect,” Pathius said, stepping forward, “I think Daro is right.”
The general’s eyes moved from Pathius to Daro and back again. Cecily stood tense beside him.
“I fully expect another full-fledged attack from the Attalonian army,” Coryn said. “They’ll know we are in disarray after this evening, and they have only pulled back far enough to be out of range. We are to hold the bridge and the stronghold, and we cannot do that if we leave it unguarded. I will redouble the perimeter defenses and, depending on the state of my forces after the next attack, we will send a small rescue mission. But we have taken too many losses already. I don’t have the men to spare.”
Daro shook his head. “General—”
“No,” she said, cutting him off. “That is my final word on it.”
Daro ground his teeth together and took a step forward. “This has to end,” he said, his voice low.
Coryn met his eyes. “You have your orders, Commander.”
For a brief moment, Daro imagined smashing his fist through General Coryn’s smug face, but he turned and stalked out of the room.
Veering outside, he went to his command tent, Cecily and Pathius still at his heels. “We need to gather everyone together,” he said as he ducked below the folds of the tent.
“What are you going to do?” Cecily asked.
“I’m going after them.”
“Daro,” Pathius said, “you can’t go against your orders. I think Coryn is making a mistake. But she’s in charge here.”
“I don’t care,” Daro said. “Coryn is in command because there was no one else. All our generals with any real experience are dead. She can’t think outside
of the words of her orders to make a good decision.”
“She has a point,” Pathius said. “Attalon will probably attack again, possibly before dawn. You can’t abandon your post.”
“I can’t let them make off with one of my men,” Daro said. “And they can attack us at will if they have access to our camp from the north. None of us are safe as long as they are free to roam through our land.”
Pathius threw up his hands. “Can you talk some sense into him?” he said to Cecily. “He can’t defy the general’s orders like this.”
“We can’t just let them get away,” Cecily said. “And if they attacked once, how long before they do it again? Next time it might be you wrapped in a net with bracers on your arms.” She held up the metal gauntlets.
Daro looked up at him. “I don’t care what my orders are. She’s wrong. If the Attalonians have access to us from the north, they’ll attack again. We have to stop this before it gets worse.”
“The men look to you,” Pathius said. “You can’t leave the wall. At least wait until morning, when we can assess the situation.”
“No,” Daro said. “We leave as soon as I can assemble my company.”
“Reckless,” Pathius said with a shake of his head, and he shot a glare at Daro. He turned and walked out of the tent.
Daro looked up at Cecily. “You with me?”
“Always,” she said.
48. CLIFFS
The scent of the sea carried on the breeze and seagulls flew overhead as Daro led his party westward, late on the second day of their search for the Attalonian raiders. Merrick scouted ahead while Daro and Cecily rode behind, followed by Griff, Serv, Stoker, and Shale. As they picked their way across the rocky terrain, Daro’s frustration rose. They should have caught up to them by now.
They had discovered that it was Blur who’d gone missing. Determined to mount a rescue, Daro had told the others of his plan. He’d been honest, telling them General Coryn had ordered them to stay at the stronghold. Pathius had made his disagreement clear and he, Dashal, and the Imarans had stayed behind, while Daro and the others slipped out of the camp under cover of darkness.
Merrick approached and reined in his horse. “We aren’t far from the coast, and the trail veers south.”
“Are you sure we’re still following them?” Daro asked, and Merrick raised his eyebrows. “I know, you can sense their trail, but we’re going to be at the cliff soon and there isn’t any access to the sea for miles in either direction. Where are they going?”
“That I can’t tell you,” Merrick said. “I only know they came this way, and then turned south.”
Daro shook his head, his back tense. He’d been certain they’d catch up to the raiders within a day. They’d ridden out in darkness, only stopping for a few hours before dawn, and traveled all through the next day. After a few restless hours of sleep the second night, Daro had roused the company to move again at first light, but the Attalonians remained elusive, always farther ahead.
Merrick turned his horse around and put his heels to its flank. The group rode on, mostly quiet, the short bursts of conversation dying out quickly as fatigue took its toll. When the sun had crested past its zenith, they came within sight of the sea, the sparkling water stretching out far beyond the horizon. Rocky cliffs plunged into the white surf below. Their trail turned south, as Merrick had said, following the coastline through a sparse copse of pine trees. Even Daro could see the tracks the wagon had made through the fallen needles.
As they emerged on the other side of the pines, Merrick pulled his horse to a stop. Daro and Cecily rode up alongside him, looking out over the clearing near the edge of the cliff. A wagon sat empty, surrounded by several bodies strewn over the ground, their limbs bent at odd angles. Daro jumped down from his horse and ran toward the wagon.
Two of the dead men were sprawled out face down, with gaping wounds in their backs, as if hit from behind while trying to flee. A third had a wide gash across his chest, and a short sword still dangled from his hand. Turning over the final man, Daro found Blur. Blood still leaked from a slash in his neck, and his body was warm.
“It’s Blur,” Daro said, anger crawling through his gut. He stood and turned to the others. “They haven’t been here long.”
Cecily’s eyes were tight with concern as she looked down from her horse. “Were there more? Where are the rest of them?”
Merrick pointed south. “That way. On foot.”
A short distance away, the land curved inward, creating a protected cove. The sound of crashing waves drifted up from the bottom of the cliff and their cloaks flapped in the blustery wind.
“They went down there,” Merrick said, pointing to the cliff side.
“There’s nowhere to go,” Griff said. “What did they do, jump?”
Daro rushed over to the edge and peered down. The bluff ended in a sheer drop, descending to a long, thin outcrop halfway down the cliff. A narrow path cut into the rock, leading to the flat ledge; it looked difficult to traverse, but not impossible, especially for an experienced climber. Metal spikes were driven into the ledge, anchoring thick ropes that hung down the lower part of the cliff.
“Ships,” Cecily said next to him.
Daro looked up. Five ships sat at anchor in the cove with their sails furled, rocking as waves rolled by. Flags bearing the white-eyed face of the Emperor flapped in the wind, soaring above the black hulls.
“Those aren’t Halthian ships,” Griff said as he stood with his thumbs tucked in his belt. “Nor Sahaaran.”
“Attalon,” Daro said. “The image on the flag was on their shields. This must be how they’re getting in.”
“You couldn’t bring many men up this way,” Griff said.
“No,” Daro said, “but enough to make our lives difficult.”
“Those ropes are stretched tight,” Serv said, pointing down.
Daro squinted, enhancing his eyesight. Serv was right, the ropes weren’t hanging free. They were taut, as if something out of sight pulled them straight.
“They’re still climbing down,” Daro said. “Stay here.” Bracing himself against the rock, he hurried down the slope as rocks slipped beneath his feet, clattering onto the outcrop and down the side of the bluff. The wound in his head ached, the pain beating in time with his heart, and his anger rose, fresh and hot. These people had tried, twice, to capture him, and killed one of his men. He wanted them all dead.
The ledge was just wide enough for him to stand, and he looked down. Several men descended the ropes, making for dinghies drawn onto a small sandy beach at the bottom. One glanced up and shouted something to the others as he spotted Daro.
Hesitating, Daro considered. Although they could follow the men down the ropes, it was likely some would escape to the ships. Stoker could rain down a barrage of exploding stones, but it might not be enough to get them all. They needed to attack with something bigger.
“Shale, come down,” Daro called. “The rest of you stay back.”
Shale slipped down the path, jumping the last stretch to keep from falling, his feet landing with a thump on the narrow ledge.
“Can you help me break the rock down on top of them?” Daro asked.
Looking up at the cliff above them, Shale raised his eyebrows. “What’s that now?”
“I’ll go to the other end of the ledge, and we’ll break a sheet of rock away and toss it down,” Daro said. “Just don’t let it fall on top of you, and don’t slip off the edge.”
Shale’s mouth opened as he glanced up again.
“Stay back,” Daro called again to the others gathered at the top. His heart pounded. He couldn’t let the bastards get away. Running along the thin outcrop, he stopped where it disappeared into the face of the bluff, and pressed his hands into the stone.
A great wash of energy poured through him. The intensity rose, and he let it come, filling him with searing power. Much as he had at the Duke’s manor in Caerven, he poured it into the rock, and breaks spread across the
surface, racing toward Shale on the other side. An enormous slice of cliff separated with a loud crack and Daro heaved with all his strength, hurling it out over the edge. It smashed against the side as it plunged downward, crashing into the boats at the bottom and sending up a spray of salt water as it hit the waves.
“Again,” he called to Shale and pressed his hands into the stone. As another massive chunk tore free, Daro wasn’t sure he could summon the strength to move it without letting it crush him into the sea. He roared as he heaved, putting everything he had into ripping the wall of stone and hurling it out over the water. Wood splintered and groaned as the rock smashed into the ships anchored in the cove, and the impact sent a wave of water up nearly as high as the outcrop.
Loose stones clattered down the cliff as Daro looked out over the edge, his breath coming in gasps. The men and dinghies were gone, crushed under the weight of the stone and plunged into the water. Three of the ships were smashed to pieces, their remains rolling in the churning sea. Another ship was still upright, but its hull was breached and it tilted wildly as it listed. Only one remained untouched, anchored just far enough away to be clear of Daro and Shale’s barrage.
An arrow whizzed by, clattering off the cliff. Several sailors stood on the deck of the remaining ship, one armed with a bow. Another arrow shot over Daro’s head, traveling in the other direction. It sliced through the air and tagged the bowman. A heartbeat later, more arrows flew, as Merrick and several of the others on the cliff above shot the Attalonians down.
Shale stood with his hands on his knees, breathing hard. The upper cliff was gone, a great gouge torn from the stone, nearly fifty feet across. The path to the top had been torn away with the rest of the rock, but the lower angle of the bluff made it passable, and the others picked their way down carefully.
“Don’t do that again,” Cecily said as she came to stand beside Daro. “That was terrifying.”
“We need to cut the ropes, so no one else can anchor here and use them,” Daro said. “And Stoker, can you lob some rocks at that last ship? We should sink it.”