“You need to get past those soldiers … and use your demon to tear through that shield so you can reach your father,” Sergeant Caulder said.
“Yes,” Prince Harold said, his voice filled with defeat. “And hope the people will listen.”
“So that’s what we’ll do, then,” Sergeant Caulder growled.
“We’re outnumbered,” Prince Harold said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t ask your men to do this. It’s suicide.…”
“You don’t have to,” Sergeant Caulder said, straightening his back.
He turned and addressed his soldiers.
“Men, our mission is to cut our way through those traitor bastards and get our future king to the other side of the shield spell. Are you ready to do your duty?”
“Yes, sir!” the men shouted, and Arcturus was struck by how young some of them sounded. Many were barely older than he was.
“Then let’s go,” Sergeant Caulder bellowed, turning and drawing his sword. “For Hominum!”
“Shield wall,” Percival shouted.
There was a clunk of wood as the men formed up, a wall of flesh, iron, wood and leather. Only their eyes were visible beneath their helmets, staring between the metal rims of their shields.
Arcturus could not believe their courage. They were facing impossible odds, yet here they stood, ready to give their lives.
“Get behind us,” Daniels ordered, his voice emerging somewhere deep within. “You too, Caulder.”
Harold, Arcturus and Sergeant Caulder did as they were ordered, slipping through the thin gap of space left on the edges of the street and joining Rotter and Ulfr with their demons on the other side.
“Forward … march!” Percival yelled.
They were going to war.
CHAPTER
58
THEY TURNED THE FIRST corner and the next, their formation impeccably turning on its axis and up onto the avenue toward the plaza. Arcturus felt helpless, walking at the back. All he could do was stare into the scrying crystal in Sergeant Caulder’s hand, and watch as the traitor soldiers turned and saw the approaching shield wall.
“Let ’em know we’re coming!” Daniels shouted.
Wood clattered on wood as the men drummed their spears against their shields. With each beat, they chanted in unison, a great outpouring of breath.
Hoom. Hoom. Hoom.
Arcturus could feel the sound deep in his chest, and the men stamped forward in time, as if they could shake the very ground with their steps.
Hoom. Hoom. Hoom.
Suddenly, Sacharissa unleashed a howl, the cry so loud and keening that it hurt Arcturus’s ears. The other demons joined in, adding to the din, an unearthly caterwauling that would chill the rebels’ blood.
The Nandi’s roar seemed to rattle the windows of the dwellings on either side of the avenue, and Arcturus heard the sound of locks being turned and bars being lowered on the lower floors, while terrified faces watched from the windows.
“Hellfire, there’s a lot of them,” Prince Harold shouted over the din. In the crystal, the rebels milled around, unsure whether to charge. Behind Harold’s men’s shields, it was impossible to tell if they were friend or foe.
“They don’t know how many we are,” Arcturus yelled. “Give them a taste of steel and they’ll run.”
Hoom. Hoom. Hoom.
Their thin line was so close to the enemy, no more than a dozen steps away. Beyond, the shield’s surface glimmered and swirled, casting their battlefield in an unearthly glow.
“Fire!” Percival screamed.
Eleven crossbows jerked, and as many rebels were hurled back into the mass. There was panic as the nearest ranks scrambled to get back, while those behind blocked their path.
“At will, at will!” Daniels ordered.
More crossbows spat, sending rebels tumbling. They were so close. Now Arcturus could hear the first bolts being fired back, thudding into the wood of the loyalists’ shields. But in their formation, it seemed they were untouchable.
Arcturus saw the elbows of the third rank jerking as they stabbed between the shields, their long spears joining those of the first as the sides met. Screams of pain echoed down the street, and now Arcturus could hear weapons thudding on wood.
“Step over them and kill the bastards. Forward!” Percival cried.
Hoom. Hoom. Hoom.
Their chanting was breathless now, but still the men stepped forward. In the crystal, Arcturus saw rebels throwing themselves against the shields, beating at Harold’s men with their swords. But the shields of the third rank protected the heads of the first, while the crossbow bolts whistled through the gaps and the double row of spears stabbed and stabbed again.
Bodies began to appear, trampled underfoot. An injured rebel flailed as a member of the third rank stabbed down, ending the traitor’s life before joining the shield wall once more.
“No mercy,” the soldier bellowed. “For Hominum!”
They were winning. The rebels were falling over themselves in their rush to escape the meat grinder that approached them, and the white dome drew ever closer with every step.
But then Prince Harold let out a gasp, and Arcturus looked behind him. Scores of rebels were emerging from side streets, a hundred feet behind them.
“Bastards,” Sergeant Caulder called, brandishing his blade. “Our shield wall will be cut to pieces from behind. It can’t turn around.”
Hoom. Hoom.
Arcturus glanced over his shoulder. The dome was so close—the traitor soldiers in front of it were running around its rim into the corners of the plaza, thinning the mass of men who still fought a running battle against Harold’s loyalists.
But the shield wall could only move so fast, one step at a time.
“Good thing we’re here to protect them,” Rotter snarled. The soldier drew his sword and pointed it down the way they had come, where the new rebels were still massing. It seemed there might have been as many as a hundred dark-clothed men there.
Hoom. Hoom.
“They’re disorganized,” Sergeant Caulder called out, shading his eyes. “Those are no soldiers. They’re citizens.”
Now that Arcturus looked, he could see the different colors of cloth, and the weapons held were mostly kitchen knives and lengths of wood.
“No crossbows,” Ulfr said. “We might just hold them.”
Then, as if some order had been given, the mass of rebels charged.
“Sacharissa, with me,” Arcturus called, firing his crossbow into the approaching mass and watching the bolt disappear into the crowd. Then he threw the weapon aside and tugged free his axe.
“Come on!”
They were four warriors and four demons, a single line against a mass of snarling men and women. But Arcturus didn’t have time to be scared, only step into his place and scream defiance as they met in a clash of metal.
The front-runners came first, a scattered handful ten feet in front of the others. A screaming man ran at Arcturus with a broom handle. Arcturus did not think, only fell to one knee as it swung over his head and then sliced deep into the man’s waist. The man choked and fell, the handle falling from his hands. Sacharissa finished him with a lunge from her teeth, her ribs flaring with pain at the sudden movement.
Then another, a bearded monster of a man armed with a spear, who slowed down, his spear held in front of him. But another rebel slammed into him from behind, and Arcturus chopped down once, then parried as a third man slashed a cleaver at his head, cutting a sliver of wood from Arcturus’s axe handle before Sacharissa opened the rebel’s stomach with a slash of claws.
“Come and die,” Harold yelled beside him, his sword red with blood. “Come and die!”
The Nandi roared, and the nearest rebels slowed, while those behind shoved them forward to be slaughtered. A great swipe from the bear-demon’s claws sent two men flying, and then it pulled another from the crowd and savaged him with its jaws.
“Die,” Sergeant Caulder yelled. He and Rotter held
the edges, while Gelert and Reynard flanked them. The two men were like dancers, lunging and dodging back and forth, while men fell and writhed beneath the onslaught of their blades.
A terrified man was pushed onto Arcturus’s blade as he hacked down, and blood sprayed the air. He had just killed a man, and he felt sick and angry and scared. Yet all he could do was swing again and again, his axe thickening with blood, the rebels pushing back and screaming as the momentum of the mass shifted them ever closer.
“Prince Harold!” Percival called. “Your way is clear.”
“Hellfire,” Prince Harold cursed, hurling his sword into the crowd. Then he and the Nandi were gone. Arcturus had no time to turn, no time to see how close they were. Only step to the side to fill the gap that the prince had left.
Ulfr flanked him now. The broad-shouldered dwarf was red with blood, his own axe making brutal work as men darted close to try their luck. A knife scraped across the dwarf’s chain mail, and the axe bit deep, sending another rebel screaming off this mortal plane.
But they were spread thin now, and the crowd lurched forward. Arcturus felt the scrape of a blade along his breastplate, cutting a shallow wound in his side before Sacharissa clawed the culprit’s legs out from under him. Arcturus finished him with a swift chop, and his arm sang with pain as a length of wood broke itself on the vambrace on his wrist.
“Back,” Sergeant Caulder called. “Back, damn you.”
A crossbow bolt whistled past Arcturus and into the crowd, taking a rebel in the neck. Arcturus snatched a glimpse over his shoulder. The third rank of the shield wall had turned, and were giving them covering fire.
Arcturus did not need to hear it twice. He stumbled over the bodies of dead rebels left in the shield wall’s wake, sprinting for the safety of the line.
A cleaver whirled over his shoulder, and a flash of pain from Sacharissa made him gasp. He spun, only to see the Canid limping after him, a spear through her back leg. The rebels surged.
“No!” Arcturus screamed.
He charged, swinging his axe in a wide arc over the Canid’s head, sending rebels tumbling away under his onslaught. He stepped over her, and then he was on his back, a broom handle clattering beneath his feet. A man yelled and raised a metal pipe, only to twist away as a bolt skewered his shoulder.
Arcturus rolled aside, felt a flash of pain as a knife slashed his calf, and another broke on his breastplate. He was surrounded.
The world pulsed. Wind, curling around him like rapids around a boulder, tore through the mass of rebels and sent them flying back.
A shadow fell across Arcturus and he tried to block the oncoming blow with his hand, but instead he felt himself lifted to his feet.
“Hurry,” Elizabeth said, her Peryton tossing its antlers. “That was the last of my mana.”
Her eyes were wild as she gripped Arcturus by the hood of his cloak and tugged him behind her onto the back of Hubertus.
“Sacha,” Arcturus cried, but the Canid was already nearly at the shield wall, dragged there by Gelert and Reynard.
Then the world was falling away. And he was flying.
CHAPTER
59
ARCTURUS COULDN’T SPEAK, ONLY watch as the world swirled and tilted beneath him. He could see Sergeant Caulder and the troops pouring through a tear in the shield spell’s side, while various bodyguards stood by to reinforce them. And within the shield, on the platform, Harold knelt in front of his father.
“What’s happening?” Elizabeth yelled, the wind nearly snatching away her words.
Far below them, crowds pressed against the dome, battering it with their fists and feet. The anger had reached a fever pitch, and he could see the rebel agitators at the back, shoving people forward, screaming and handing weapons out.
“Arcturus, tell me,” Elizabeth said.
Arcturus choked a breath, his mind still reeling from how close he had come to death. But before he could answer, the world turned a shade darker … and the shield began to warp into a thousand different strands of white energy. The strands streamed and flickered, twisting their way down into a cylinder of stone, held in Prince Harold’s outstretched fist.
It glowed bright red, flashing with an intensity so powerful that every man, woman and child in the crowd turned away, or shaded their eyes from the glare.
Far below, as the afterglow of the light faded from Arcturus’s eyes, Prince Harold’s fingers traced a symbol in the air. And then … he spoke.
“People of Corcillum,” Harold said.
His voice boomed out over the city, so loud that flocks of birds burst from rooftops, cawing in protest at the sudden noise. He had amplified it with mana, so that all the crowds could hear.
“I hear you. I … Prince Harold Corwin, heir to the throne of Hominum, hear you.”
Silence. Not even a murmur stirred the watching crowds. At the back of all four entrances, Arcturus could see the Celestial Corps swooping over the rebels’ heads, threatening them into silence. For now, the frenzy the rebel agitators had whipped the crowd into had dissipated. The shield had done its job, letting the mob expend their energy on its walls.
“Our military is weak,” Prince Harold shouted. “Their coffers are empty. They fight to keep us safe with dented armor and rusted swords.”
“What’s he doing?” Elizabeth hissed. “He’s making them angry again.”
“Just wait,” Arcturus said as Prince Harold spoke again.
“Our poor starve, and those who work see even the stale crust of bread they can afford taken from their mouths, to pay for the palace that we do not want or need.”
Now there were stirrings in the crowd. Furious shouts, and raised fists. The crowds now surrounded no more than a thin circle of bodyguards, and a few began to spit and curse at them, daring them to raise their swords.
“It is a travesty,” Prince Harold shouted. “An abomination of greed and hubris.”
The crowd screamed back, and now Arcturus could see weapons raised in the air.
“Seriously,” Elizabeth said. “What is he doing?”
“Give him a chance,” Arcturus replied, though he too began to worry. Hubertus floated lower, and Arcturus could see the battered prince, his face bloodstained, his eyes wild with exhaustion. What was his plan? Arcturus could not see it.
“Crime is rife. Bandits roam our lands, and the rule of law is flouted by those who can pay for the privilege,” Harold continued.
He stared out at the crowd, letting his words sink in. Behind him, Arcturus could see King Alfric, glowering at the crowds from the platform on his golden throne. Whatever words the prince and his father had exchanged, it seemed the king had agreed to this speech.
“No king who would do this to his own people deserves to rule,” Prince Harold shouted. “A king who would put his own pleasure before the needs of his people is no king at all.”
The crowd roared in agreement, stamping their feet with approval.
“And I am ashamed,” Prince Harold said, his voice cracking with emotion. “Ashamed that I did not stop it. For you are my people too … and I stood by and watched.”
The shouts of anger faded, as if the crowd did not know how to react to Harold’s words.
“So I say, my father’s reign is over,” Harold bellowed, pointing at his father for those in the crowd who might see. “He will never rule again. Never!”
Cheers now, fists pumping the air.
“But who should rule in his place?” Prince Harold said, lowering his voice.
The crowd died down. These were no rebels. Just an angry mob, who had suddenly found the target of their anger, the royal family itself, agreeing with them.
They had no alternative … they did not even know who General Barcroft was. Most had never even seen the battle fought at the southern entrance.
“So I ask you. No, I beg you. Give me that honor. For I will not let this stand.”
Still, more silence.
“The palace tax will be lifted, and the
gold from our own royal coffers will bring our military back from the brink,” Harold promised. “A new police force shall be formed, to keep our lands safe. The poor shall be given work, and the lawless shall be imprisoned.”
He took a deep breath.
“And I swear to you, I will never fail you again. Because I have heard the voice of the people, and I will never be deaf to it.”
It began with a clap. Somewhere at the back, alone in the quiet. Then another person joined in, until the smattering turned into a flood. People cheered, and Arcturus could almost feel the tension leaving the crowd.
He laughed, and felt tears flow down his face as he realized it was over. They had done it.
This was not a joyous celebration, nor was there a palpable enthusiasm that took hold of the crowd. At worst, it was polite applause, at best one of relief. But it worked.
It worked.
CHAPTER
60
ARCTURUS SAT IN THE waiting room, sinking into the plush red seat of his armchair. It was heaven … just to sit down. To be warm and safe. To have friends, to be alive.
He was in the palace. Elizabeth had flown him there after healing his and Sacharissa’s wounds. He had infused the demon so he could bring her with him, but now Elizabeth had taken her leave, and he had forgotten to ask her for her summoning leather, having lost his in the battle. Still, the Canid seemed happy enough within him, even if he wanted to hug her close and sleep for several days.
Finally, after an hour of waiting, several others had joined him, also at Prince Harold’s request. Or rather, King Harold’s.
Not all the soldiers were there. Seven had died in the fighting, while another four were too injured to attend. Rotter was one of the wounded, though Sergeant Caulder had assured Arcturus that the young soldier would be back on his feet in no time.
Strangely, none of the nobles were present. Only the commoners—the three sergeants, the soldiers and Arcturus, all sitting and waiting for their audience with the king. And Ulfr was there too, wringing his hands nervously, his short legs swinging above the floor.
So Arcturus waited, looking at the sumptuous marble floors, the velvet curtains that separated each room, and the grand set of double doors that led to the throne room.