The firedrakes met them with a barrage of fire. Kaden barely touched the guide bar, and Exsis banked to avoid the danger. Even so, the heat rose around them as they soared over the first drake. The monsters didn’t hesitate to press their attack. Though clumsy in their maneuvers, the black beasts were fast in a straight flight path. As soon as they turned around, they raced after the dragon riders.
Using Exsis’s agility to his advantage, Kaden curved around so sharply that it snatched his breath away. They soared diagonally across the top of a firedrake, blasting its rider with fire. It was a direct hit, though too fast to know if he had incapacitated the man. Even if he had, they’d learned the day before that firedrakes fought with or without their riders. They were fierce, brutish beasts compared to the dragons, and their wild instincts drove them to fight.
Flaming a couple more in his path, Kaden looked toward the wall and glimpsed a few firedrakes hovering near it. Kaden motioned to some of the other dragon riders and dove toward them. Claws outstretched, Exsis descended on one of the firedrakes, smashing into its side. The beast roared as the dragon latched on. In a flurry of wings and snapping teeth, they both fought to stay airborne and mortally wound their opponent.
Kaden yanked out his sword. Pushing himself as far forward as possible, he thrust the blade into the firedrake’s neck. It took nearly all his strength to pierce the scales, but the blade sank in halfway to the hilt. With a shattering roar, the firedrake broke away, dripping dark blood, and flew off to recover.
Exsis quickly regained altitude, and Kaden looked for any other threats to his comrades on the wall. Finding none in the immediate vicinity, he tried to locate his men. Most battled nearby. The sun was nearly above the horizon now, giving them plenty of light to see by.
Kaden caught sight of one of the younger riders engaged in battle with a huge firedrake, and urged Exsis to attack from the opposite side. The firedrake went wild in an attempt to dislodge the two dragons, and its rider flailed his sword around, but didn’t have quite enough reach. Kaden gripped his own sword again and slashed at the firedrake’s vulnerable wings. Between him and the other rider, they dealt the beast serious injury. As a final measure, Exsis shot a scorching stream of fire toward the drake’s head, engulfing the rider and searing the scales of the monster’s neck. The beast at last broke away, but its shredded wings faltered and it plummeted to the ground in a twitching, tangled black heap just outside the wall. One less to worry about.
When he surveyed the area again, Kaden found the firedrake force surprisingly thinned. He frowned. They couldn’t have killed so many so quickly. It was impossible. He turned in the saddle and found the missing beasts amassing to the west. But why? A tiny flash of light caught his eye like sunlight on metal. It came from the wall a couple of miles off.
He pushed Exsis in that direction, avoiding the firedrakes along the way, but he didn’t have to go far for his answer. He scowled. Just what they needed. He curved Exsis around, back toward the fortress. That’s when he spotted other firedrakes gathered to the east as well. Not good.
Kaden dove down and glided just above the wall as he searched for Marcus among the men. When he spotted the Landale group, he brought Exsis down toward the parapet. Digging his feet into the stirrups, Kaden held on tightly as his dragon scrambled for a hold and clung to the edge of the parapet in front of the men.
“Marcus!”
In a moment, his brother appeared at the front.
“There are men on the wall. Coming from the west and east.” As far as he could tell, the firedrakes had ferried them up there under the cover of darkness. They would probably transport even more units of men as the day went on.
Marcus glanced to the right. “How many?”
“A few hundred to the west, and I’m sure just as many east. They were about two miles off and moving fast. I’ll see if we can stop them, but warn everyone.”
Marcus nodded and hurried off.
With a couple hard flaps, Exsis separated from the wall, and Kaden guided him up to where the others fought overhead. He had to gather some of the riders and try to head off the approaching force, or his brothers and friends would soon be engaged in a fight of their own.
Despite the dragon riders’ attempt to stop Daican’s force on the wall, the firedrakes kept the soldiers well-protected. The first line of Samara’s defenses farther down the wall held strong for a while, keeping the Arcacians at bay, but eventually began to falter. Arcacia pressed in, more and more men slipping through the ranks.
Jace stood with those of Landale, gripping his sword tightly as the first of Daican’s men reached them. All around him, the sounds of battle rose up—swords clashing, men screaming. He forced away the old memories that resurfaced and focused on the threat.
When a black and gold figure appeared in front of him, he raised his sword to block the advancing blade. He’d never had to fight in such close quarters before. He would have to take care not to harm any of his allies, or get too close to the edge of the wall where he could topple to his death. His legs weakened at the thought.
Parrying one more attack, Jace pressed forward for a counterstrike. His blood flowed hot now, fueling his reflexes, driving him on. For one of the first times in his life, it brought no shame. It was merely an advantage to help keep him alive.
The soldier fell before him. He regretted having to take another life, but had no time to dwell on it. More soldiers were on their way. Marcus’s men were about to be put to the test.
Shouting orders, Marcus kept his militia in tight ranks, holding back the Arcacians. The rest of the men from Landale stood behind to face those who slipped past. The struggle turned into a frenzied mass with as much pushing and shoving as blade wielding. Once spacious, the wall didn’t seem so wide now. Jace would rather they had an open plain with freedom to move. Attacking would be so much more effective without the fear of hurting one of his comrades.
A soldier turned up just to Jace’s right and engaged him. Their swords crashed together in a violent ringing. The man was big and strong. The force of the impact tingled in Jace’s fingers. They traded a couple of back and forth blows, testing each other.
Jace had just finished a counterattack when something smashed into his back, forcing the air from his lungs. He recovered just in time to block his original foe’s next attack and glance back. A second soldier loomed behind him, his sword rising for a second attack. Jace’s chainmail had stopped the cutting power of the sword, but his shoulder blade ached fiercely. The next blow would surely kill him, but if he turned to engage the man, his original foe would take him out from behind. With room, he could take on both, but not here in these cramped conditions. His only choice was to try to block the second man’s attack with his arm. He would probably lose it, but what was worse? Instant death or losing his arm?
He had no time to debate. The first man swung, and Jace batted the attack away with his sword while raising his arm to stop the second attack aimed for his head.
Just before it would have connected, another blade caught it and forced the soldier back. Jace gasped as Holden came to stand at his back, freeing him to focus solely on the man in front of him. They both dropped their opponents in a few moments and turned to face each other.
“Thanks,” Jace breathed.
Holden flashed a smile. “You’re still one up on me.”
Before he could reply, a flash of gold caught Jace’s eye down in the courtyard. It was only a glimpse, but several men disappeared around the corner of the keep, straight toward the entrance. If the doors had been left unlocked to allow wounded soldiers access, Daican’s men might overpower the guards and slip right in. Jace’s heart stumbled.
Kyrin!
Even from within the thick stone walls, Kyrin could hear the dull, distant ringing of swords. She and Leetra had seen the beginning of the attack, but it was too hard for Kyrin to watch. Both of them had shortly returned to the infirmary. Casualties had been light the day before, but Kyrin didn’t belie
ve they could hope for such today. Would her stomach take it? Already it twisted sickeningly inside her.
A crash came from the front of the keep, and a woman’s scream made Kyrin jump. One of the refugee women rushed into the room.
“They’ve broken in!”
Kyrin’s blood went cold. There were soldiers inside the keep? How?
Leetra sprang to action first, whipping out a pair of twin swords she had strapped to her back. The not-so-seriously-injured soldiers pushed up from their cots, ignoring their wounds, and Josef reached for a sword he had propped against the wall.
Only a moment later, five black and gold clad men burst into the room. A couple held torches they had grabbed from the wall. Kyrin could just imagine what they meant to do with them. Without a second’s hesitation, Leetra rushed to meet them. How could a girl so small be so fearless?
Her action broke Kyrin from shock. The clashing of swords echoed behind her as she turned and sprinted across the room for her staff. One of the soldiers pursued her. Snatching the carved oaken branch, Kyrin turned to face him. She quivered inside, but training took over, and she raised the staff to shield herself from the downward stroke of the soldier’s sword. The blade put a deep notch in the staff. It would only withstand so many of these attacks. Kyrin would have to disarm him quickly.
The sword still pressing down, Kyrin pushed sharply with her right hand, slamming the end of the staff into the man’s vulnerable ribs. Thank Elôm he wore chainmail instead of plate mail. The blow was solid, forcing his breath out in a gust. He jumped back, grabbing for his side, and swore.
Kyrin came after him. With a well-placed blow, she could take him down, but he recovered quickly, batting her staff away and forcing her back. Enraged, he pursued her, no mercy in his eyes.
“Elôm, help me!”
Holding the staff in both hands, she blocked again. Each hacking blow drove her back a step and sent bits of wood into the air. The man didn’t let up, knowing as well as she did that the staff could only withstand so much. Finally, it cracked, and the next blow rent it in two. Still holding one half, she tried to use it as a makeshift sword, but he battered it out of her hands.
Kyrin turned to run, but he caught her arm and threw her into the wall. The back of her head thumped against it. Stars burst before her eyes, and her knees almost buckled. She blinked and fumbled for the dagger Jace had given her. The soldier raised his sword to finish her off, and her heart paused in gut-turning dread. Just as he swung, he froze, his eyes going wide and his mouth opening with a gasp and soundless cry. A moment later, he crumpled. Jace stood behind him. He pulled his sword free, the point glistening red, and their eyes locked.
Fear and concern filled Jace’s expression. “Are you all right?”
Kyrin nodded, her voice still fear-locked.
Jace stepped over the dead soldier and put his hand gently on her upper arm, his eyes searching her face. “Are you sure?”
Again, she nodded, and then collapsed into his chest, weakened by the trauma of near death. He enveloped her in his arms, his fingers sinking into her hair, gently caressing the back of her head and soothing the dull ache there.
“I’m all right,” she finally managed, for both him and herself. Then she remembered. “My staff.” Her beautiful gift from Jace, ruined. Tears filled her eyes. It would be ridiculous to cry over a simple staff, but . . .
He pulled away slightly to look into her eyes. “I’ll make you a new one.”
She sniffed back the tears, but if anything, his words only made them more relentless. He would have to survive to do that, and she cried inside that he would.
Grabbing hold of her emotions, she looked around. Holden, Rayad, Timothy, Aaron, Trev, and King Balen were all there. Seven soldiers lay dead on the floor. Tragically, three Samarans also lay still, crimson pools growing around them. Kyrin’s stomach lurched, especially at the scent of blood and charred cloth. Two cots lay blackened and still smoking. If Jace and the others had not shown up, the soldiers surely would have burnt out the inside of the keep. Faintness swirled inside Kyrin’s head, but she leaned into Jace and took another moment to collect herself.
Balen stepped forward, grimacing at the bodies. “We’ll take them out, and I’ll double the guard at the door.” He looked first at Josef and then Kyrin. “This won’t happen again.”
As he and the other men carried out the dead, Kyrin watched Leetra wipe her blood-slicked swords on one of the soldier’s uniforms and slide them back into place. She had obviously fared all right. Better than Kyrin had. She looked up at Jace.
“Thank you.”
Jace shook his head. “Thank Elôm I was here in time.”
She stared at him. A desperate longing rushed up inside her to ask him to stay with her. He probably would at her request, but she kept her mouth clamped on these words because they would be selfish of her.
“I have to go,” he said quietly, his expression reluctant, as if he somehow knew what she was thinking.
Kyrin just nodded, fighting the urge to cry. It was hard to see him and immediately let him go again.
Squeezing her arm, he turned and hurried away, perhaps before he could change his mind.
Gaining a brief respite, Marcus brushed beads of sweat from his face that rolled down from his forehead and stung his eyes. The warmth of the afternoon sun was oppressive. His saturated clothing encased him underneath his armor, and his throat burned as if it hadn’t tasted water in a month. It was enough to make a man lightheaded, but the Arcacian forces wouldn’t let up, so neither could he.
Tuning out the ache of thirst and the pain screaming in his weary limbs, he looked around for Liam. Now that it had come down to hand-to-hand combat, he questioned letting his brother be out here. He’d watched him in training and took time to spar with him. He could hold his own, but facing an enemy out to kill you was something else entirely. It took focus and decisiveness to stay alive. He didn’t doubt his brother, but war was never his calling. Could he handle it? Marcus wanted to trust Elôm to protect his brother, but his instinct to do it himself as the oldest Altair sibling warred with his faith.
When he spotted his brother among the men, relief coursed through him. He appeared to be faring well enough.
An Arcacian soldier broke out in front of Marcus, commanding his full attention. After dropping him and coming to the aid of a Samaran, Marcus caught another glimpse of Liam, but this time was not comforted. Unknown to his brother, who focused on another opponent, a group of spearmen were forcing their way amidst the ranks. With their long range, they had brought the most casualties so far to Samara’s army.
“Liam!” he tried to warn his brother, but his voice didn’t carry above the din of battle. “Liam!”
Desperate now as the spearmen drew closer, Marcus pushed his way toward his brother. He had to reach him before they did. They were close now. Just about close enough to use their spears, and one was on a direct path toward Liam. Marcus’s heart stuttered.
“Liam!”
His brother’s opponent fell, and he turned to Marcus’s voice, but the spearmen had reached him. The man drew back his spear. Marcus lunged toward his brother, throwing them out of the spear’s path.
But a hard impact and fire spread through his right side, taking his breath away as sharp metal ripped through his flesh.
Recovering his balance, Liam turned just in time to see the spear jerk free of Marcus, dripping blood onto the stones. He froze, his thoughts numbing to a slow-moving blur. Nothing seemed to move until Marcus fell to one knee and grabbed at his side. One of Liam’s deepest fears played out in front of him, leaving him paralyzed.
But then, Marcus pushed back to his feet and grabbed the spear. He yanked the man closer and brought him down. The world rushed back into motion. Marcus went after the remaining spearmen, and Liam followed. Chaos ensued. Liam’s body thankfully seemed to work on its own, because his mind had trouble keeping up. This was harder and more brutal than anything he had ever imagined.
He should be dead by now, but somehow he kept going.
Once they dealt with the spearmen, they received a brief moment to breathe. Liam rushed to his brother and grabbed his shoulder. A large split in the bottom of Marcus’s leather breastplate drew Liam’s attention. The chainmail below it glimmered red, and a growing dark stain spattered his pants. It was a lot of blood to have lost already. Liam looked up into his brother’s eyes. They were strong, as always, but pain lurked in them. His face had grown pale. That spear had more than just clipped him. Liam fought panic.
“We have to get you inside.”
Marcus grimaced, his expression reluctant, but he nodded. This scared Liam even more than the blood. His brother would never leave the battlefield without real cause. Liam begged Elôm to let him be all right.
Taking his brother by the arm, he guided him toward the nearest stairs. The going was slow, adding to the desperation. When they made it to the courtyard, Marcus was breathing hard, but at least he was still walking.
At the door, guards let them inside the keep. The moment they entered the infirmary, Kyrin gasped their names and rushed toward them. At the sight of blood oozing down the front of Marcus’s armor, her face turned the same pale shade as his.
“What happened?”
“A spear,” Liam answered.
Josef was right behind Kyrin and led Marcus to a cot, where he sank down with a groan.
“Help me get his armor off,” Josef said.
Liam nodded and worked at the breastplate’s buckles. Here, something took over inside him, a calm determination. While it didn’t replace his fear, it did override it, allowing him to work without hesitation. After they pulled off the breastplate, he and Josef grabbed the edges of the chainmail and lifted the heavy armor over Marcus’s head. The bloodstained gambeson came off next, and finally Marcus’s shirt, giving them the first look at the wound.