Erin had still not awoken when the forces of Stryn returned. As the cavalry charged across the bridge, the earth shook beneath the collective force of their hooves, the tremors even reaching the tower Jasper, Ihra, and Tsia stood open.
The moon had long since set, and the sun was still a few hours rising, so the black riders merged nearly seamlessly with the shadows of the bridge. The sound alone betrayed them, as if an invisible army charged toward the fallen gates. But the thunder of hooves was matched by a roar from the defending troops, the dull percussion of weapons against shield, and thousands of voices raised in hoarse defiance.
“We should be down there.” Tsia twisted her fingers as she watched the charge, faint sparks of lightning dancing between her knuckles as she failed to rein in her essence.
“We’ll help them more by taking out their commanders,” Jasper replied. “If we go down there now, we’ll be out of essence before a third of those horsemen are dead, and once our essence is gone, we’re just a crappier, weaker warrior.”
“But if they fall-”
Jasper placed a gentle hand on her back. “I don’t think you’re giving S̆ams̆ādur’s troops enough credit. The durgu will hold, at least for a while.”
“I hope so…”
The sounds of battle drifted up to them as the first lines of cavalry crashed into the hasty fortifications Marīltu had assembled in the marketplace. What followed was an outright slaughter as the caltrops, arrows, and S̆ams̆ādur’s spells melted a few hundred horsemen in a matter of minutes. But the horsemen kept coming. Slowly the caltrops were buried beneath scores of the dead, the volleys of arrows thinned as their stores were depleted, and the true battle for the top of the formation began.
“Time to go.” As the last of the cavalry clattered onto the far side of the bridge, Jasper rose. His hand grazed Ihra’s back as he cast Spectral Wings on the two of them, and Tsia rose jerkily into the air beside them, her control of flight still far from ideal.
Cloaked in darkness, they flew across the moat unnoticed by the soldiers below until they reached the castle on the far side, where Jasper expected to find their quarry.
Jasper whistled appreciatively as the broken castle finally came into view, the first time he’d seen it since the battle to reclaim the city. “Damn Tsia, you did all of this?”
“Unfortunately,” she replied with chagrin.
While it was too dark to see the many scorch marks that crisscrossed the walls and gates, there was no missing the two massive piles of rubble where the gates and their supporting towers had once stood. Only the central keep remained untouched, its solemn watch over the broken walls unbroken. Most of the keep lay dark, but faint light gleamed from a few of the arrow loops at the lower levels, while a pair of braziers at the very top still smoldered with burning coals. Though it was still too dark and distant for Jasper to see anyone, he was willing to wager that’s where the commanders would be found. “Is there anyone up there, Ihra?”
“Twenty or thirty; can’t see their armor well enough to tell if they’re commanders or not.”
“Seems like too many to just be guards,” Jasper grunted. “Do we hit it or keep looking?” He slowed his flight, hovering in position a hundred feet above the tower’s peak as he glanced at the others.
“I’d prefer to do more scouting,” Ihra admitted, “But if we do, there’s a chance they’ll go inside. They’re exposed now.”
“Tsia?”
Her eyes drifted toward the city, where the battle still raged, before responding. “Let’s get ‘em,” she growled.
----------------------------------------
Idiot. If there was one good thing about the folly of a night attack, at least Markînu didn’t have to hide his expression as he watched that fool of a commander sacrifice thousands of soldiers in a charge.
He didn’t know what the king was thinking, putting a fool like that in charge simply to prevent his niece from gaining a little glory from her victory. Sure, he’d always known that there was tension between the two parties. King Shadaddur was a usurper, after all, a second son who’d seized the throne after his father’s passing thanks on the back of his popularity with his troops. It had been a bloodless succession, though, as his eldest brother, Nissilat’s father, had chosen not to drag the realm into a civil war. Since then, Shadaddur had reigned unchallenged for forty years, so one would think that the king’s paranoia would have abated by now.
And yet, he continued to persecute his brother’s children. Nissilât’s brother had been sent on one expedition after another against the trolls until he fell in battle, and S̆adaddūr had been positively livid when she’d joined the army. The king had done everything in his power to keep her from advancing, but time and again she’d proved her competence and he’d begrudgingly been forced to acknowledge her.
Indeed, when the king appointed her in command of the forces that would take Birnah, Markînu had thought S̆adaddūr had finally made peace with his niece - it wasn’t like she was any threat to the lines of succession, after all - but the day’s turn had shown him his folly. The king wasn’t willing to allow her to succeed, and he wondered what Shadaddur’s plan would have been if the mindworm had delivered on his promises. Did he plan to turn her over to the mage? The suspicion flitted across his mind, and he wondered if the protective amulet she’d been given even worked.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
He shifted uncomfortably against the parapet’s rough stone, still wet from the torrential rain of the days before, as Nissilât’s face flashed through his mind again. He’d seen the betrayal in her eyes, the tightening of her lips, the tenseness of her shoulders when none of the commanders had stood up for her. Not even him. But what was I supposed to do? The king broke protocol, but it would be my head on the line for treason if I’d refused to obey.
Markînu forced the image from his mind, willing himself to forget it. I’ll make it up to her somehow, he promised himself, but he wondered if he’d ever get the chance. For so long, he’d strived for her heart and now…S̆ams̆a take you, S̆adaddūr.
He shied away from the sorrow the thought engendered him, choosing to milk his anger as he glared at the king’s lackey. His knuckles whitened as his fingers dug into the ancient stone, as a vein in his throbbed. I wish you’d die.
Then a bright light seared his vision. With a curse, Markînu lurched back, rubbing at the lights dancing across his eyes as a bolt of lightning struck the top of the parapet. It didn’t immediately click that they were under attack, not until the man standing beside him suddenly slumped against the parapet, headless.
What the- Another burst of light obscured his vision as a small swarm of fiery orbs bombarded the group, killing a half-dozen outright, and Markînu’s brain finally clicked into gear. Throwing his back against the relative protection of the parapet, he dragged his shield off his back and readied his axe.
A dull thud echoed from his shield as he swung it in place and he cursed again as he saw the tip of a quivering arrow punch through the metal. Ŝamŝa’s light - how strong is the archer? A man on his left pitched over, an arrow embedded in his eye, and Markinu crouched down, holding the shield protectively as he searched for their attackers.
The night lit up against a bolt of lightning descended from above and he finally spotted them. They were an odd group, a Corsyth, an elf, and something else Markînu couldn’t identify, and very much out of range of his weapon. His axe clattered to the ground as he reached for the pair of knives tucked into his battle.
Ripping it free, he aimed his dagger at the elven woman, but his hand froze as his eyes were unwillingly dragged to a pale, dismembered hand that rose from the rooftop a few feet away from him. The hand squirmed and wriggled in a macabre dance that he could not look away from him, and pain wracked his body as he felt his health mysteriously drain.
Blooms of light flickered at the edge of his vision as their attackers continued to rain ruin upon them, and the screams of his comrades filled the night. The hand disappeared, and he lurched forward, free of its hideous grasp. The knife nearly fell from his numb fingers, but holding on, he reared back and flung it into the sky.
It soared true, straight toward the elfling’s pale neck, but she turned her head at the last second. It left a nasty slice along her chin and grazed her ear before plummeting harmlessly to the ground below. Their eyes locked, and her hand reached for her quiver. With a hasty curse, Markînu reached for the second dagger, only to realize she would fire first. He slammed the shield into the ground and hunched behind it as she fired.
Again, the arrow punched through the metal, pushing through a little farther this time as its progress stopped just a few inches away from his eye. Seeing his chance, he leaned out of protection and threw the dagger.
Time seemed to slow as he watched the dagger fly. It was a perfect throw, aimed straight at her unprotected eye. With any luck, it would take her out of the battle, if not kill her outright. But her hands moved with unnatural swiftness as she reached for the quiver again and retrieved an arrow.
There’s no way she’ll get off it in time, he thought, and he was right. Clutching the arrow between her fingers, she raked her across her field of vision as the dagger neared its target, sending it tumbling to the ground. He tried to retreat behind his shield, but she moved faster, notching the arrow and releasing it before he’d moved more than a few inches. This time there was no shield to protect him. This time, Markînu pitched forward, his eyes glassy as the arrow quivered in his throat.
----------------------------------------
The enemy never stood a chance, which was both a good thing and a bad thing in Jasper’s opinion. Good, because it meant they wiped out more than a score of commanders without any meaningful injuries, and only a mild drain on his and Tsia’s essence. Bad, because it meant that the mages they were also hoping to kill were somewhere else.
“Damn it.” Releasing the spell, Jasper dropped down on top of the roof and cast a cursory glance over the crumpled bodies. “The mages weren't here; think they're inside,” he grunted, remembering the faint lights that had gleamed from the arrow loops in the lower third of the keep.
Ihra dropped down beside him, casting a nasty glance at a soldier who lay crumpled over his shield. “Maybe they needed to sleep it off? They had to be close to essence deprivation after their duel with Erin.”
Jasper was about to agree with her when Ihra’s head suddenly jerked sideways. “Did you hear that? It sounded like an explosion.”
He shook his head, but she stepped quickly to the parapet and leaned over, narrowing her eyes in concentration. “Selene’s grace, what do you want to be that they’re in the city,” she sighed. “They must have snuck them over with the cavalry.”
“On it.” Tsia didn’t wait for his response as she shot into the air, jetting unstably across the moat.
“Damn it, Tsia - wait for us!” Jasper’s hand twisted with Spectral Wings, and a moment later the two returned to the skies. Prinpicks of lights bloomed in the darkness of the city, and Jasper feared Ihra was right. Hold on just a little bit longer, S̆ams̆ādur. We’re coming.