Chapter One Hundred and Fourteen
When the Godless Pray
“How long are you going to stay mad at me?” Oliver asked, popping up to fire a crossbow bolt down on Nikereus’ sea of horrors.
Sarah ignored him, ducking while half a dozen shards exploded on the wall.
The bells were ringing so fiercely that the ability to see straight had become optional while fighting rather than obligatory. Oliver looked over to the nearest turret where the alarm was being tolled, to see a Legacy sitting up against the defences, clattering the bell with a panicked back-and-forth.
Oliver looked back to Sarah and let his head hang with a softer gaze. In the midst of loading another bolt into his crossbow, he stopped and rested the weapon on the ground.
Sarah kept on fighting, paying him no attention, but there he stayed waiting for her to take a breath. She kept up her resolution for a while longer, before taking a second to notice him no longer fighting. “What in the Dark Lands are you doing?”
Oliver thought for a long moment. “Just making sure.”
Sarah frowned as she fired another bolt, yelling nastily, “Of what?”
“That I’m not about to catch a spear in the head. Because if I die here while you hate me, I’ll have no chance to make it right, and I can’t have that,” he said, simply.
His words caught her as she went to pop up again and Sarah stopped. She crouched back down and lowered her weapon. Sarah pulled her hair out of her face and looked at him sternly though not sharply. “I couldn’t hate you, Oli. I hate that you tried to martyr yourself, like you weren’t as worthy of making it out alive. I hate that you weighed your life against mine and decided yours was less valuable. And what I hate most of all is that it was worth so little. You could’ve died there, and for what? To kill a dozen Obthraie? Half a dozen Shade Hounds? Is that really what you think you’re worth?”
Oliver watched her face scrunch up as she spoke, and before he could respond, she stood and fired her weapon over the battlement.
“Sarah.”
She kept shooting, tears welling in her tired eyes.
“Sarah.”
“What!” she barked, turning in a fury as tears ran down her face.
Oliver stood and took her hand. “I’m sorry. You’re right. And I’ll do better- I’ll see myself better.”
Sarah seemed to have trouble knowing what to say. Eventually she glanced at him for a fraction of a moment and then looked to his bruised hand lightly touching hers. “Just... keep fighting, idiot.”
She snapped another bolt into the crowd, and Oliver watched in relief as a soft smile hovered into her face. Sarah loaded another bolt, watching the horde of Obthraie mass up against the edge of the moat, and squinted with concern. “They’re just getting slaughtered like this. What’s Nikereus’ game?”
Oliver glanced over and in the distance, a deep rumble of drums came booming from the cavern entrance. “I think we’re about to find out.”
Lights flickered from the mouth of the hillside and Soiltorn shouts rattled from within. A moment of silence followed before a convoy of Yiraa, all chained together like sled-dogs, exploded from the crevice. They howled and yelped, towing massive stone links behind them, ripped tight with the stress of hoisting something enormous. After a long beat of clinking, clattering chains, a colossal platform of pure black rock was ripped from the opening.
A stone bridge, exactly as wide as the fortress main gate and three times as long as the width of the moat, teetered over the lip of the cave-mouth and came crashing down like a sleigh, ripping through the mud and soil, crushing several Mountain Wolves and dozens of Obthraie who couldn’t avoid it as it slid toward the fortress.
The chained Mountain Wolves dug in their heels, slowing the bridge down. The armies began piling in like worker ants, grabbing at its edges and guiding it toward the gate.
Oliver glanced at Lain, Syon, and Carter further down the line. He began shouting for the ballistae and Klaryah began hand-picking targets for each longbow arrow.
More Mountain Wolves spilled out of the cavern, also bound in chains, connected to the rear of the dark-stone, and began pulling it toward the moat to bridge the gap made by the moat.
Raeken came careening down, lightning flashing and thunder rattling as he sprayed a thick douse of acid toward the device, letting it fall like rain.
The bright green toxins showered down, but the moment they touched the rock, a shimmering purple aura came alight, eviscerating the acid into steam, and Raeken swooped away as the Creations continued moving it into place.
The two front-facing ballistae at the face of the fortress wheeled into position. Flinn was manning the right-turret and Avery operated the left. Without a beat, they launched two enormous, golden javelins into the bridge, only to see them explode in a wave of violet dust, utterly ineffectual.
The bridge was dragged over the muddied ground and across the wide gap in a matter of moments. Dozens of Obthraie attempting to carry it were thrown into the moat without a moment’s notice, and the bridge was ground into place on the overhang of land at the foot of the fortress gate.
Oliver loaded his crossbow and shouted down the line of defenders, “Archers and crossbows, line up on Klaryah! Prioritise battering-rams!”
As the shooters moved into position, nocking arrows and repeating the order, Sarah grabbed Oliver by his plate-armour and pulled him close. “I’m goin’ down to command the bracers. The moment things go south up here, I want you all out. Got it?”
Oliver’s hands fell to her sides as they looked at one another, and he simply nodded, unsure in that moment how he could possibly say the right thing. She was grimy and bleeding, and bruised on every free space of skin, but all he could think about was the fact that she smelt like sweat, and steel, and firewood. Oliver had trouble focusing on anything else.
Sarah glanced up at him and pulled him a fraction closer, squeezing his armour tight. His face was exhausted, his bright eyes were tired, and his proud shoulders had been brought low. She wasn’t sure there was a way to tell him how beautiful she thought he was, right then. Sarah pushed him off lightly and felt the cold world come flooding back around them, and quickly darted toward the inner-wall staircase.
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Sarah leapt five steps at a time until she reached the bottom. She tore out of the passageway and toward the main gate, crowded by Legacies all looking around in confusion.
The magical colossus that was the main gate of Fort Guardian, was now reinforced with mounds of scrap-steel to keep it shut. It had withheld a massive number of attacks but even the Arcancy bond that held it together was failing as the monolithic drop-bar bent toward them, on the verge of snapping.
Sarah barrelled into the crowd, shouting, “Prepare to brace!” and sending her entire right side alight with blue flame as she forced it up against the gate.
A chorus of frightened shouts ran through the crowd as dozens followed her lead and others backed further from the door. Above them, shouts for arrows and crossbows were screamed in Oliver and Klaryah’s voices.
Sarah gritted her teeth. “Hold!”
Then in a far away called, Oliver called, “Brace!”
The reinforcement-battalion slammed into place with cries and prayers as Sarah echoed the order from the height of her lungs.
Three things happened.
The wave of Legacies collided with the steel door, holding it in place with every ounce of their mortal might.
Two Mountain Wolves leapt onto the bridge, driving it forward, slamming the bridge into the doors like some divine sledgehammer, warping every bolt and gear with a hideous, metallic grind.
The reinforcing Legacies eased back in relief, and Sarah’s fire died, all right before the Mountain Wolves threw themselves up against the barrier.
Completely uncontested, the monolithic piece of steel bent inward, cracking Sarah in the skull, and sending her to the mud as still as death.
A crack of light could be seen through the enormous fortress gates and screams of terror and confusion filled the air. The great drop-bar was only one sizeable hit from shattering at its bend.
A pair of Legacies grabbed Sarah and dragged her out of the way while the rest of the force ran to put pressure on the gate once more. She lay unmoving with a welt on her head the size and colour of a ripe plum. Out from the horde of main gate defenders, James came limping out to her unconscious body. For one hazy moment, the girl’s eyes flickered open to see herself being picked up, and in the next, a sickly ache sent her spiralling into darkness as she passed out cold.
*****
Back on the battlements, the assassin was nocking arrows and loosing them quicker than Oliver could even crank back his crossbow-string. She took aim in the breaths between drawing, and by the time her longbow creaked, she was letting the projectile rip through the heart or head of her chosen foe, smiting them like the hidden hand of god.
Leaving a gap wide enough for the charging Mountain Wolves, hundreds of Obthraie flooded across the bridge and began driving wedged into the thin gap between both halves of the gate, attempting to pry it open.
Every so often, Raeken swept in and washed away the nearest attackers with his acid spray, narrowly avoiding stone missiles and whistling spines of rock as he twisted and spun through the air.
Aroha was hunched against the battlements stringing another arrow with a shaking hand as Lain came slamming into cover beside her.
The armoured woman pulled off her helmet to get in some strangled, panicked breaths and wheezed, “We can’t hold this position!”
Klaryah, moving her head about two inches to avoid a spear, calmly yelled above the noise, “Not an option. The quicker we leave this position, the quicker they break through. Jack’s team won’t be close enough yet- Now!”
Everyone leapt up from cover and sent a rain of arrows and bolts down into a Mountain Wolf, turning it dust halfway across the stone bridge.
Lain knelt back down and shouted, “If we don’t leave this position with a head start then it’ll be a slaughter just trying to get to the keep!”
Aroha leant hard over the ramparts and shot one of the Obthraie attempting to jam a stone rode into the gap of the gate. “We’ll have to split the difference then!”
Behind them, the two ballistae fired down over the walls again, sending up a plume of golden sparks and stone dust from the great crowds of Soiltorn.
A teeth-rattling roar sounded from the enemy host as another Mountain Wolf forced itself into the opening and began barrelling down the main-way toward the bridge.
Klaryah strung her arrow and called, “On me! Everyone, nock!”
The line-up fell quiet as many archers ducked in cover to avoid getting skewered while others stood in paralysed fear, blood dotting from the skin of their calloused forefingers.
An airy silence breathed from the walls of Fort Guardian as the monster came bounding toward them. One likely wouldn’t hear it unless they actively tried, for the jarring screams of war covered much of it up. If one did listen, they would hear the suppressed sobs of the terrified and the stifled moans of the dying. They would hear shrieks on the battlefield and cold winds whistling along the fractured ramparts.
The silence, the emptiness, the pure nothing in amongst everything was so much louder, but only if you chose to hear it. The silence cackled in their ears and made all else seem small and faraway. The silence was Life, though few knew it. The wise prayed to gods and powerful people that the silence would remain. For the moment one broke the silence, was the moment it was filled by Death. Filled by the whistling of an arrow. The streaking spear. The landing sword. The everythings you never heard, if fate had decided they were meant for you. They prayed the silence would remain. For many, it did, even when several spears and stones struck down three Legacies. For some, it even remained when the beasts sent up a roar of triumph every time a Paladin or Archangel was slain, echoing their chants across the valley. Even when Klaryah bellowed “Hold!”, the silence was draped so thick over their hearts that it was only their bleeding fingers which heard their leader’s command. Life’s wordless mutterings were missed by a five more as another cloud of projectiles came hurtling their way, and the Yiraa touched the bridge.
The monster sent out a cavernous roar as it rampaged nearer and nearer, tearing long pale scars into the platform with every bound.
“Hold!” screamed Oliver, raising his crossbow.
“Aim for the neck and head!” Aroha yelled. She drew back her arrow with a swift, cold breath between her teeth, and the moment she heard the first syllable of “Loose!” slip from Klaryah’s mouth, her bowstring twanged.
A sheet of arrows and bolts flew down onto the bridge, riddling the enormous beast with projectiles as it fell into a stumble. The monster hit ground, but before its mass could disintegrate, it thumped softly against the main gate, still sending a notably deep rattle through the beat-up barricade.
The jittering sound sent a flare of nerves through Klaryah and she turned down the battlements, shouting, “Archangels Cox and Nightshade! Front and centre!”
Carter and Syon pushed through the lines of archers as Oliver asked, “What’s your plan?”
“You three are going to take some Guardians and start collecting wounded from the med-bay and move them into the keep.” The hitwoman turned to the ranger beside her. “Aroha, right?”
She nodded, watching her friends flee for the stairs.
“You, me, and Lain are holding this battlement. Understand?”
Aroha drew another arrow and shakily said, “I’m with you.” She stepped up to the ramparts and looked over sea of enemies on the other side of the moat. There were a dozen down by the main gate, still failing to pry open the enormous steel doors, and in amongst the bulk of the army, a hundred Mountain Wolves or more were doing their best to avoid ballista javelins while they waited to be sent down the charging line. Aroha looked to the command-tent sitting smugly in the amongst the horde and knew Nichole would be there nearby soon enough.
Aroha bowed her head and took a sharp breath. She’d known many people. Ordinary folk. Paupers. Rich and powerful. But Nicky was someone like nobody else. She held herself upright, but never looked down on people. Her touch was firm with passion, but never anger.
Aroha remembered the day they’d met, cycles before. She’d gone downstairs, tired and thirsty, and found her kitchen-cabinet wide open, with food being moved around by unseen hands. She sat on the steps on watched for a long minute, wandering if a ghost had gotten hungry, before Nichole turned with such a fright that her Arcancy slipped away, like she’d stood on the tail of a dark cloak and pulled it off. And there she was. She had been nothing but skin, bones, and terror that day. Aroha sat with her in silence, doing all she could not to scare her, until slowly she got up took the bread from Nicky’s hands to make young lost one a sandwich. Afterward, despite her hands trembling, and eyes full of alarm, Nicky offered her one half back.
Aroha blinked and tears flickered down her cheeks as she remembered where she was. “Come on, guys,” she whispered, hoping somehow her friends would hear her.