Shadow of war, p.24
Shadow of War, page 24
Speaking of Thorn, where is our High Chancellor? the General thought.
Marks hadn’t seen the man since they’d secretly aided in the evacuation of civilians. He’d assumed Thorn was somewhere on the eastern wall, ensuring their men didn’t do anything stupid like attack unarmed women and children. After the massacre Isabel ordered at Grove’s Pass, Marks hoped someone was looking out for innocents. He knew she meant to send a message, but her slaughter was beyond his imagining. His dreams were still haunted by faces and screams.
Marks heard the clatter of men and horses frantically assembling behind the city walls. Furious stones fell in their midst. More torches flared to life as Saltstone woke from its slumber. After a half hour, the Mage’s Tower bloomed with a luminous glow heralding the presence of the city’s powerful defender. A second later, the familiar swirl of a shield, again made of air, appeared to reject missiles aimed at the spire.
Per Irina’s orders, the stones ceased immediately. Her instructions were clear: when the shield appeared, whether protecting Tower or gate, cease fire. When it vanished, resume. The bombardments were a diversion, and she wanted the enemy, particularly their Mages, consumed with stopping those stones while she focused elsewhere.
* * *
Irina arrived at the southwestern corner of the city where catapults battered the walls. There was a single Tower peering down, its torch flickering in the wind.
“Damn Tower’s Enchanted just like the wall, Your Majesty.,” a gruff Sergeant with an unkempt beard and mustache shouted. Technically, his Lieutenant commanded the artillery here, but it was widely known that the young officer was less useful than stones hitting Enchanted walls. The noble boy, barely seventeen, cowered in his tent while his men continued their work. Irina made note. She’d have to remember this Sergeant—and his feckless Lieutenant.
“Focus all your catapults on the Tower,” she ordered.
“But, Your Majesty . . .”
“Just do it, Sergeant. I know you won’t damage it, but I need the men in the Tower distracted. Don’t stop hitting them until I return.”
The man removed his cap and scratched his wispy hair. “Yes, Your Majesty. It’ll take us a minute to get the targets reset.”
“You have five minutes. When the assault resumes, I’m heading on foot toward the wall between those towers.” She pointed between the lonely tower in the corner and the one a couple hundred paces to its north. The space between was pitch black in the cloudy, starless night. “Don’t be surprised when you see fog rise before the wall. Just keep hitting that Tower.”
The Sergeant gripped the brim of his cap in salute. “Yes, Your Majesty. By your command.”
* * *
A bleary-eyed Quin stumbled into the Tower’s chamber, bracing himself against the doorframe with one hand.
“I don’t know how you’re still standing. I barely closed my eyes before the damn stones started falling again.” The words were strained through heavy breaths.
“I can’t hold much longer. Will the Tower’s Enchantments stand?” Declan asked.
Quin nodded. “They should withstand . . .”
An amber glow flared through the window, freezing him mid-sentence. Quin raced to the window and stared in shock as the city’s wall was now bathed in a sickening, putrid aura. Seconds later, a dozen perfectly coordinated boulders slammed into the western gate, obliterating its logs.
“Shift to the gate!” Quin screamed too late, as the gate’s two watch towers took direct hits. The world paused as the towers teetered, then fell onto the soldiers below.
The sounds of another avalanche far to the south drew Quin’s eye and he watched in horror as the torchlights of the southern watchtowers winked out and their structures fell. He couldn’t see the wall from this distance but knew it was probably gone, too.
The southern wall and towers are gone. Soldiers are pouring in through holes in the wall down here. Órla’s normally comforting voice sent a spike of fear through Declan.
“Arch Mage, they’ve breached the southern wall. Where do I defend?” Declan asked as stones began slamming into the Tower again.
“Protect the Tower. No matter what happens outside. The Tower must not fall!” Quin darted from the window to the door. “I’ll send Mages to strengthen you.”
Declan stood alone at the center of magic’s circle, power blazing from his palms, as Quin disappeared down the stairs.
* * *
“ATTACK!” echoed down the eternal line of Kingdom soldiers that spanned the full length of the western wall. Tens of thousands of men cried out in a deafening roar and surged toward newly formed gaps in Saltstone’s skin. None of the hidden magical traps survived to harry the men, and what little of the barricades was still standing was easily avoided. Deep pits lined with sharp, upturned stakes, more like hidden gouges in the earth than proper moats, consumed the front ranks of soldiers as they neared the wall, but their screams were drowned by the battle roar of their brothers racing overtop their stilled bodies.
The defenders near the western gate, those who’d had time to rouse and don armor or grab bows, tried to form a shield wall, but the Kingdom’s momentum was impossible to stop. Haphazard arrows flew in wild, uncoordinated arcs, desperately searching for a foe to strike. An occasional magical blast flew from the back of the disheveled line, but their force was weak and bore little fruit.
A streak of blinding light blasted from the Mages’ tower. Near-frozen water struck the invaders, scattering them into their comrades in every direction. A sliver of hope swelled among the beleaguered defenders as Declan’s magical onslaught forced their enemy back into the wide wound in the wall. A moment after the first torrent ceased, a second lance of magic flared from the Tower, rending the earth just inside the wall, creating a new, frigid moat twenty hands deep and twenty paces wide, and halting the Kingdom’s advance. Saltstone arrows fired into the bottled-up gap, and men cheered with renewed vigor, quickly forming new defensive lines and dispatching Kingdom men cut off from retreat by the new moat.
Catapults fired in angry response to their army’s repulsion. Logs of the wall surrounding the gap splintered, showering friend and foe with wooden shrapnel. Two volleys devastated the wall before the magical barrier reappeared to quell their stones, but it was too late. The gap in the wall was now a hundred paces wide, and men raced easily around the icy water.
Like ants from an anthill, soldiers streamed into the city.
The southwestern front was undefended. This part of the city contained mostly undeveloped farmland and Lake Esper, the city’s largest body of water. Major defensive structures, such as the army barracks and training compound, were leagues to the north, and no one expected an attack on cattle or cabbage fields. The closest reinforcements were two squads of eight men manning the southern gate. By the time alarms sounded and General Vre ordered his cavalry south, the southwestern quadrant was lost.
Thousands of Kingdom soldiers formed a shield wall, complete with ranks of archers nocked and ready to provide cover. The wave of cavalry was cut down before the first man could even reach the raised pikes.
A second shield wall formed behind the first, then a third. Rank upon rank of silver-armored men stood, shields locked from Saltstone’s western road to the river that snaked through the middle of the city. Once lines were established and defensive efforts died away, General Marks made his way to the front. Isabel and Bril had the primary line, and he was perfectly happy commanding the southern front. His horse, battle-trained from a foal, snorted and bellowed breaths of frosty air as they approached the rearmost shield wall.
Marks turned to the officer trailing him on his right. “Send scouts into the city. It’s too quiet, even out here in the countryside. Something’s wrong.”
The man saluted and turned to bark orders to a waiting messenger.
Marks sat tall in his saddle, surveying the three walls of men, shields, and pikes before him. Thousands of archers still poured through the gap, bolstering his rear with immense ranged firepower. He thought back to Thorn’s mission and hoped his scouts would find the city empty, deserted. The good Spirits wouldn’t be able to save him if Isabel found out what they’d done. He had to play this perfectly.
* * *
As the sun rose on the fifth day of the siege, Saltstone fell.
Doomed defenders were caught between the western swell and Marks’s steadily advancing walls of shields. The orange morning sky darkened with each volley from Kingdom archers, their attacks now coming from the front and side of men struggling to shield themselves. Saltstone’s defenders died quickly. When the battlefield quieted enough for units to be sent throughout the city to secure their gains and eliminate insurgents, Irina gathered her commanders.
They should’ve been celebrating the greatest military victory in the continent’s history or planning the next steps of their invasion, but instead they cowered as their Queen-Regent stalked around the room, fire writhing in her palms.
“Where are the people? How did they escape?” she asked, her voice low, menacing.
“We have units looking for them, Your Majesty. It’s possible they evacuated before we arrived.” Bril dared to make eye contact, then retreated as she held his glance with her unwavering gaze.
“Do you believe that, Marks? They were gone when we arrived?”
“I don’t know, Your Majesty.” Unlike his minister, Marks’s eyes didn’t flee hers. “They had a month to prepare. It’s what I would’ve done in their place.”
One of her minor generals ventured a comment. “Your Majesty, units searching the city found evidence of massive movement out the eastern gate. The ground was muddy and heavily trodden. If the people fled before we arrived, there would be more undisturbed snow.”
She wheeled around and glowered at Bril. “Bril, find the people of Saltstone and bring them home, then round up every man in the units assigned to the eastern siege and execute them. All of them. If you fail, I’ll kill you instead.”
Bril’s mouth opened, but words failed.
“I don’t have time for your incompetence. While the Mages’ Tower stands, the city is not ours.” She turned to leave, then looked back over her shoulder at Marks. “General Marks, find who betrayed me and secure the city.”
CHAPTER 28
DECLAN
Despite his best efforts to juggle between shielding the Tower and blasting troops pouring into the city, Declan’s strength, and that of the normally peaceful Mages, was not enough.
Plumes of smoke rose for leagues as abandoned houses and shops were looted and burned by jubilant soldiers whose discipline vanished with victory. Fighting around the Merchants’ Guild and Army Compound quickly turned the orderly ranks into a brutal tangle of swords, blood, and death. Hundreds of Kingdom soldiers lay unmoving, but thousands of Melucian defenders died. Thousands upon thousands. Roads and fields already covered in muddy slush were now slick with blood, and the reek of death and excrement carried far on crisp breezes.
The white-tipped mountains of the Spires snapped on their fields of deep green as Kingdom banners rose throughout the city. As if screaming the capital’s last act of defiance, the sword, quill, and Phoenix still soared above the Mages’ Tower.
“We’re done, son. You’re barely able to stand. Step out of the circle so we can surrender the Tower.” Arch Mage Quin’s head barely rose as he spoke from the doorway.
“You said we can’t surrender the Tower. We can’t give them its power, or that of the vein below.” Declan strained to maintain his shield around the edifice. The raging river beneath the Tower could’ve fueled him throughout eternity, but Declan’s human body could only channel so much power before needing rest. He had crossed his limit hours ago and was only standing thanks to the exhausted Mages crowded around him.
“I know.” Quin looked up and met Declan’s eyes. “But it’s over, Declan. We’ve lost. They executed General Vre and Guildmaster Burner an hour ago. Burned them alive if you can believe it.”
The Arch Mage stepped forward on wobbly legs.
“My Mages are exhausted, and none of us has the strength to hold off their army. If we surrender, the Queen may let us live to help rebuild.”
He’s right, Declan. I know you don’t want to give up, but you’re too important to die in this battle. We need to flee so we can fight another day. Órla’s voice echoed through his head, somber, yet still powerful. She flew from the window to his shoulder, then nuzzled his neck.
Weary tears of mind, body, and soul streaked down Declan’s cheeks, but as he began to lower his arms and release his magic, the Tower shuddered, knocking everyone off their feet. The shield fell with Declan.
“What was that?” Declan’s eyes darted to Quin as he struggled to regain his feet.
The Arch Mage gripped the back of his head, then pulled his hand away and stared at the blood that now coated it. His voice shook when he spoke. “I don’t know. Nothing should be able to shake this Tower, especially while your shield stood.”
Another violent tremor knocked Declan on his back.
“Everyone out!” the Arch Mage shouted, and wide-eyed Mages scrambled to their feet and toward the stairway.
Neither Declan nor Quin moved.
“Declan, go. I’ll defend the Tower,” Quin pleaded. “My place is here. If we’re ever to retake our country, the people will need you. Go!”
The sound of men screaming from below filled the chamber, and Quin’s eyes lowered. He stood slowly and hobbled to the center of the circle, motioning for Declan to step aside. As Declan left the circle, Órla launched from his shoulder and out the window. The gold-and-silver symbols embedded in the floor flared to life. Quicksilver light swelled around Quin, bathing him in a brilliant, shimmering aura that oozed with a life of its own. His eyes blazed, renewed, and his form straightened to its full height. He uttered one final admonition before starting an incantation whose words strayed well beyond Declan’s understanding.
“GO!” Quin’s quiet voice now boomed and echoed through the chamber.
Declan started, then turned toward the doorway. As he reached the opening, a tall, proud woman in black riding leathers and a black cloak blocked his path. The golden-threaded Phoenix on her chest glittered against the Arch Mage’s power. Declan nearly ran into the woman before she swatted him aside with a wooden staff. He lay stunned against the wall.
“Velius, it’s so good to see you again. I was but a child when last we met.” The woman spoke in pleasant tones, as if she’d just returned home from a long holiday and men weren’t dying in her wake. She raised a palm and intense Fire bloomed forming a head-sized ball, dancing and crackling as if begging for release from her grip. She stepped to the edge of the circle and stopped.
To Declan’s ears, Quin’s voice sounded strangely distant, yet roared in the small chamber. “Who are you, witch? Why do you threaten this sacred place?”
The woman laughed at the Arch Mage. “Oh, Velius, really? It’s only been a thousand years. How could you forget me so quickly?”
Declan pressed himself against the wall and crawled toward the door.
“Irina?” Quin’s brows rose. “How . . .”
She cackled again. “I vowed to repay the ten of you for your . . . kindness. As I recall from your lessons, Mages always keep their promises.”
Without warning, she threw her arm forward and down, slamming the flaming ball into the circle at Quin’s feet. At the same time, her Telepathic Gift screamed in discordant notes in his head. You stole my parents, my friends, and my life from me! Now I will take everything from you!
The mental tirade disrupted the normally unflappable Quin, and his quicksilver shell evaporated. The moment Irina’s fire blasted into the gold-and-silver lines, she stepped forward and ripped the connection to the river of magic from his grasp. It roared up through the Tower and flooded into her. The bloody gems of her crown glowed like seven gory suns, and the walls of the Tower shook violently. With her right hand, she gathered liquid flame and thrust it back into the Tower’s center. It raced over Quin, devouring his body with ravenous hunger. What magic remained within the Arch Mage swelled, and in one last act of defiance, exploded outward and knocked Irina off her feet.
The force of the blast and quaking of the Tower threw Declan through the doorway, tumbling feet over head down the winding stairs. He gained his footing midway down and staggered the rest of the way until he fled the building. He gaped at the horrific scene revealed before him, of blue-draped bodies, broken and bloody, scattered across the grounds.
Declan, run! You have to get away from the Tower! Órla screamed with desperation.
He hobbled as quickly as his aching, wounded legs would allow. The groaning and grinding of stones chased his every step. Small rocks and razor-sharp shards rained from the sky, and he used his final magical reserve to erect a shield above his head. His heart felt each stone that battered that shield.
He made it to the courtyard between the Mages’ Guild Hall and Academy buildings before his strength failed and he fell to the ground. All he could do was turn and watch as massive fissures formed in the Tower. Light, Fire, and power flooded through each crack as magic strained against its chains. Kingdom soldiers now ran from building to building, herding ancient Mages in their cerulean robes like cattle. Declan ached at the look of resignation in their eyes as they gathered before him.
He looked around at the bodies, the blood-slick stones of walkways, the death-masks now worn by men he’d called brother or uncle. Anger and grief warred within, despite his body’s refusal to rise.
Helpless, hopeless, he wept.
And then his soul found peace. A glorious, painless moment of tranquility that descended from . . . he didn’t know where.
