Shattered sunlight book.., p.62
Shattered Sunlight (Book Five of the Storm Below), page 62
Gritting teeth, Chaylene hauled on the reins. Starwalker banked sharply, wing pointing almost down. She flew back to the lines, quickly passing the heavy engines being dragged by teams of draft horses. She landed hard at the command center, grunting as mud churned about Starwalker’s hooves.
“Stormender’s Wife!” the Wrackthar officer saluted.
“Sound the horns! Order the retreat!”
“But . . .” The man pointed at the field. “We’ll lose the weapons.”
“We’re about to lose more than the weapons. Sound the retreat and light the signal pyre.”
Chaylene drew in a breath. Riasruo, let me have made the right decision.
A retreat could be disastrous. If it didn’t go right, all those soldiers she was trying to save would be cut down as they fled back to the trenches. But she had planned this out. She stared up at Fahnoff above. More ballistae lined the skyland, in range to cover her forces on the ground.
The pyre lit. Bright, red smoke poured into the air.
Let this work, Riasruo.
Horns blared. Three long notes and then three quick. Starwalker neighed in surprise, bucking beneath her. The acrid tension building in her stomach bubbled up her throat.
*
“Fire,” Meirim shouted as she fell back before an Ethinski.
Heits burst into flames. Heat rippled off his body as he advanced. The Ethinski flinched before the heat. Meirim rammed her sword into the lizardman’s guts. Heits followed it up with a hard swing, cleaving into its chest.
It was easier to keep track of the battle after finding his wife. The fear wasn’t as terrible. He worked with his wife, using their Gifts to distract the enemy and kill them. Throughout the line, other Wrackthar had learned similar tricks.
They killed and killed. More came.
“We can drive them back!” Meirim shouted to Wrackthar soldiers Heits didn’t even recognize. It was all confusion. “Kaltein! Kaltein!”
“KALTEIN! KALTEIN!” answered the Wrackthar.
Great blasts of horns trumped behind them. Three long, three short. Heits’s head snapped around, trying to peer back to the hold. He couldn’t see over the heads of Wrackthar soldiers waiting behind him, resting before they rushed up to fight on the front.
“The retreat?” Heits asked. Scarlet smoke rose in the air. His eyes widened. He looked up to Fahnoff. It floated above Lrien Hold. Silver flashed from its surface. “Run! Incoming! Run!”
He grabbed Meirim, hauling her back.
“Heits!” she gasped, eyes wild. “No, we have to fight!”
“The retreat! They’re firing from—”
The shot landed twenty chains from them. The shock wave slammed into Heits and his wife. His ears rang as he slammed into the mud. His entire chest ached, bruised from the largest punch he’d ever taken. Mud and broken Ethinski rained to the ground around them. The enemy reeled back, those not killed knocked down by the explosion, disoriented by the sudden attack.
“Come on, Meirim!” Heits shouted, scrambling to his feet, mud dripping off his armor. “Let’s go!”
“What?” She shook her head.
He seized her shoulder. He understood her confusion. Battle was madness. Your mind could escape you, leaving you just fighting, hacking, or searching bodies without comprehension of the world around you. She didn’t fight as he pulled her to her feet and pushed her forward.
“Just run!”
Detonations boomed behind them.
*
“They are retreating,” the benevolent chirps of the Golden Daughter sang. “They have realized they cannot prevail.”
Uickthio, watching the fight through her spyglass, witnessed the rout. The Wrackthar soldiers retreated beneath the cover of Fahnoff’s ballistae. A smile crossed her lips. It was a smart plan. The hidden weapons were positioned to receive support from above.
“Run them down and cleanse the Wrackthar vermin.” Amiria’s wings spread wide, her golden light driving back the morning chill.
“Captain Lsuuvick, pull our soldiers back. Hold beyond their weapons. Recall the fliers and send the fleet in.”
Amiria turned. “Send the fleet in? Hold our soldiers? The weapons from Fahnoff are still firing.”
“Indeed they are. But we can hold station just out of their range and bombard the Wrackthar soldiers as they fall back. At the same time, we can send our scouts to take out the weapons on Fahnoff. Their pirates exhausted themselves. We control the skies.”
Amiria blinked her golden eyes. “I chose you as my Sunlight General for a reason. Prosecute the war. Slaughter the tainted Wrackthar and the abhorrent Agerzaks. I want smoke rising to my Mother before She sets.”
“The fire cleanses us all,” Xorale said, fanatic fervor in her eyes.
“The fire cleanses,” Uickthio repeated, taking a deep breath as signal flags were waved.
*
Terror propelled Heits as he raced towards Lrien Hold. He’d thought himself exhausted, all his reserves burned away during the fight, but he was wrong. Fear found new coals to burn to power his limbs. His armor clanked, dragging at him. He ignored the pain swelling in his side, the growing ache in his thighs.
If he stopped running, he would die.
The world exploded behind him. Detonations burst one after the other, death raining from Fahnoff floating above Lrien. He kept glancing up at the skyland. The morning sun painted across the northern face of Fahnoff, illuminating even the rocky underside. But it was the swirls of reds and greens and purples of the coral forming patterns that kept trying to draw his eyes, bemusing him as he fled death. He followed the swirls, transfixed as he traced the patterns.
He stumbled. Before he knew it, he was face down in the hard-packed mud, armor clanking and ringing. He groaned, his chin aching. He pushed up with his hands as other soldiers kept running past him, not pausing to stop, panicked by the explosions.
Focus on running, Heits chided his exhausted mind.
“Come on, Heits,” Meirim said. Only she’d halted. “Let’s go.”
Heits looked behind them. They were past the abandoned ballistae, silvery beasts lying to rust on the plains. Beyond, the explosions had created a wall of obscuring dust and smoke that the enemy soldiers couldn’t penetrate.
They didn’t have problems earlier.
“Why’d they stop coming?” Heits asked as Meirim pulled him to his feet.
“What?”
“The lizardmen. They didn’t stop when we bombarded them on the march forward. Why now?”
She looked to the sky. “The ships. The ships are coming!”
Over the wall of smoke, the enemy fleet soared, white sails billowing before the driving breezes. Mount Wraiucwii shot through his mind. He gripped his wife’s vambrace. “We have to run! They’re going to bombard us!”
“I know,” she croaked.
They were now at the back of the retreating soldiers. He felt naked as he ran beside his wife. He could feel the enemy sighting on them, thinking, Look at those pair. They’re just begging to be killed.
Heits pumped his arms and legs faster. He didn’t remember losing his sword. Was it the fall? Did he drop it when the retreat was sounded, or did he discarded it on the run, realizing it slowed him down?
He wanted to peel off his armor, too.
Shadows flew overhead.
Explosions detonated before him. Armored soldiers vanished in rending clouds of black. Shrapnel hissed through the air. The smoke rolled heavy across the ground, revealing torn body parts and cratered ground.
“Rusted iron,” Meirim shouted, changing direction to race around the crater.
Heits followed. Sweat poured down his face. More ships added their fire. Explosions blossomed red and orange. He looked over his shoulder as shots fell along the abandoned ballistae, destroying them. Others hissed from the sky into the retreating soldiers.
His ears rattled. He charged into the smoke, his Gift immunizing him from the choking vapors. He burst out and spotted the trenches. Soldiers were leaping into defensive positions. Sandbags lined the top. There was cover. Safety.
He ran harder, crossing the last chains. He leaped with Meirim into a trench and leaned against a wall. He couldn’t breathe. The ground shook. He glanced at his wife. She pulled off her helmet, her short hair matted to her face. Mud and blood painted her pale skin.
BOOM!
She flinched.
“We made it,” he told her. “We made it. We survived.”
“We survived,” she whispered and she covered her lower breastplate with a gauntleted hand.
BOOM!
“This time, Heits.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
“Look at them die,” Theisseg sang only for Zori’s ears. “So many mangled bodies. Can you smell the stench of roasted meat? Only the tang of lightning and fresh rain smells better.”
You are insane!
Zori was glad Xorale didn’t have a spyglass. She didn’t have to witness the slaughter. Smoke rose into the air, diffusing around the fleet as it sailed closer. Ballistae fired on the retreating soldiers. She was glad Xorale didn’t peer over the sides to witness the deaths.
“Oh, Xorale, they have archers on Fahnoff,” chortled Amiria. For everyone else, she sang courageous hymns, bolstering and encouraging the sailors of the Sunrise to slaughter the Wrackthar. Not to think about the men, women, and children who’d die. Not to care about how many of their own would perish to satiate Theisseg’s rage. “The Luastria are falling onto that beastly Wrackthar city like feathered hailstones. Oh, look at them spin as they fall. All those watching on the rooftops are taking cover. Arrows are falling among them, too.”
I hate you! I hate you! Let me free, and I’ll rip off that beak and shove it down your gullet! I’ll strangle you, Theisseg! I will kill you!
“The archers are killing their own people. Wrackthar dying at Wrackthar hands. How delicious.”
“Halt the ship,” Uickthio shouted. Her voice was tight. “We need to flank the ballistae on Fahnoff. They had archers hidden up there. Damn their illusions. None of our scouting is accurate.”
Theisseg, speaking for all to hear, said in Her beatific notes, “Theisseg is the mistress of deception. She clouds with fog and mist. Do not be shocked that our eyes cannot be trusted. But I have faith we shall overcome.”
“We shall,” Uickthio said, “even if we have to sail into the skyland’s fire to destroy them.”
“Should we recall the fliers?” Lsuuvick asked. “The arrows are fierce. They are spending more time dodging fire than advancing.”
“Let me think,” Uickthio said. “What do we have in reserves?”
Once those ballistae are destroyed, it’ll be over. Zori shivered in her soul. And then the fleet has a clear shot at Mupfen.
Zori did not want to watch another skyland fall. She screeched in her soul.
“I can feel it every time someone dies,” Theisseg sang just for Zori. “There’s one. Another. Ooh, three just died. And another. Such sweet deaths. Another soul screaming to Riasruo. Another wound delivered upon my Sister.”
*
Chaylene studied the enemy fleet holding station just out of range of Fahnoff’s ballistae. The ships shelled the trenches. Booms shook the air. She ignored the explosions and the acrid reek of black powder as she scanned through the warships.
“We’ve lost the ballistae,” a woman said.
Captain Meirim Upfich marched out of the trenches, her face smeared in dirt and blood, her armor dulled and dented. With her was Heits. The boy who’d once followed Chaylene around like a piglet searching for a sow to suckle at was gone. He looked old. Blood caked his armor, some blackened like it had burned.
“We did,” Chaylene answered. “Their soldiers were too much.”
“Now they’re weakening us for the attack.”
Chaylene arched an eyebrow, still scanning the skies. “You speak like I didn’t just watch the battle.”
“What was the point?” Meirim demanded. “We lost the weapons. You pulled us back. We could have held.”
“I disagree.” Chaylene lowered her weapon. “Assemble your Skydancers and Firedrinkers, Captain. The horses await in the rear.”
“What?” Meirim gasped. “You want to pull half the troops out of the trenches? The enemy could charge at any moment. They could overrun Lrien Hold.”
“Yes, they could.” Chaylene didn’t have time to argue. She fixed the woman with a hard glare. “We destroyed thirty of two hundred ships by deploying the ballistae ahead. We caught them by surprise and bloodied them, but there are still too many. So assemble your Firedrinkers and Skydancers, get them on their horses, and prepare to charge the enemy ships. Their fliers are attacking Fahnoff. Their ships are defenseless. It’s time to kill skyers, Captain.”
“Chaylene,” Heits said. He mopped at his forehead. “There’s not enough of us left to attack the fleet and destroy them all.”
“I know.” Chaylene slung her pressure rifle. “Heits, we’re not going to destroy them all. We’re going to destroy as many as we can.”
“But . . . Lrien Hold.” Meirim’s eyes widened. “You don’t care about protecting it.” She seized Chaylene’s throat.
Unflinching, Chaylene stared Meirim in the eyes. “I care. I do, but there’s more than your home. There are all the holds south of here. All the skylands of the Agerzaks. We have to slow Theisseg down. We have to whittle their forces. Ary won’t be here in time to save Lrien Hold.”
Chaylene shuddered as the words left her mouth. She fought the tears burning at her eyes as she realized the truth. He was too far away. If they lasted the day, it would be a miracle. The only way to do that was to hurt Theisseg’s ships. To destroy as many as possible. Scare Her, drive Her back, make Her think it was suicide to keep fighting.
“Right now, we have to be aggressive. They cannot know how weak we are. Every ship that burns, every one we destroy, will give Her doubt. Fear. Look at what happened when we destroyed thirty. She pulled back. We frightened them. We need to keep doing that. This is about saving all your people, Meirim. Yours and mine. We have to make sacrifices to stop Her.”
“We have to let Lrien Hold burn?” growled Meirim.
“Not yet.” Chaylene stared into Meirim’s yellow eyes. “We can’t stop it.” She pointed to the ships. “That is too much for us to hold either way. We are lucky they held their soldiers back. It gives us this chance to strike. We have to seize it, or they’ll burn Lrien Hold and they’ll keep sailing south all the way to Mupfen. Then your race is extinct! Maybe not for a year or two, but Theisseg will dedicate Herself to eradicating you. The sow holds grudges.”
“Meirim,” Heits said. “She’s right. Every hold knows they could die when we launch a Crusade, crushed when the skylands fall, but has that ever stopped us from fighting?”
Meirim glanced at him. “Never.”
“I’ll be with you,” Chaylene said. “Up there. I’ll provide what little support I can.” I’ll find you, Zori. “And maybe . . . Maybe we’ll destroy them all. Maybe a miracle will happen.”
“Miracles never happen to the Wrackthar.” Meirim released Chaylene’s throat, whirled, and shouted her orders, Heits trailing after her.
“No,” Chaylene whispered. “Miracles never happen for anyone.” If they did, Ary would be swooping in to save the day.
*
The Great Empty/Southern Ressel Mountains
“I’m sorry, Lena,” Ary said suddenly, breaking his silent vigil on the bow of the Varele.
“What?” Esty asked. She stood nearby, worry for him eating at her. He’d been quiet since he’d shouted the crew to their stations. The ship soared east towards Lrien Hold as fast as it could, every bit of canvas unfurled, the strongest wind possible conjured by the Windwarden. “What’s happening, Ary?”
“I don’t think it’s going well,” Ary said. He took a deep breath. “No, it’s not going well at all.”
“What is she feeling?” Esty touched Ary’s maimed left hand. “Maybe you’re wrong.”
“Her resolve has only grown stronger, harder. She’s fighting off grief, despair. She’s bracing herself for loss. And there’s anger in there. Dark, black rage. I know that well. She’s . . .” He took a deep breath. “She’s going to kill Zori.”
“But won’t Zori be on the Sunrise in the middle of the enemy fleet?”
Ary nodded.
“Oh, no. Is that what she’s steeling herself up for? To die?”
His hand slammed down on the railing of the Varele. The wood cracked. “Theisseg-damn her. She’s not supposed to get herself killed. How can I chase her if she’s dead? Eyia doesn’t die, Esty. She doesn’t.”
“She’s just chased forever. Maybe . . . maybe Chaylene isn’t Eyia. Bronith never finds his moon nymph. He’s still chasing her through the starry sky.”
“I will find her, but not if she gets herself killed.” He slammed his fist down again. The railing snapped. Blood flared dark on the back of Ary’s hand.
“She’s smart. She’s skilled. You don’t know she’ll die.”
“No, I just have to wait.” His jaw clenched. “I despise waiting.”
*
Lrien Hold
Anger built in Heits as he marched after his wife away from Chaylene. He wasn’t sure who he was angry with. Chaylene for already believing Lrien Hold was doomed, at Theisseg for bringing the might of the entire skies to massacre his people, or at himself for agreeing with Chaylene.
They were doomed. They had to fight to save as many Wrackthar as they could.
He glanced at his wife. How could he preserve her today? She would never stand down. She was the guard captain of Lrien Hold. It was her people who would die today. She would burn every scrap of fuel in her body, consume it utterly in the mad hope that Theisseg could be defeated here. Ary wasn’t coming. The Sun Lance wouldn’t save them.
So they only had themselves.
She would burn that fuel and die. His nascent family snuffed out. What could he do? Why was he even letting her do this? He should subdue her and carry her from Lrien Hold. To flee like cowards. Like skyers.
