06 - Rule of Thieves (21 page)

I leapt aside, barely avoiding being struck as it sped past. At the end of the street, the driver attempted a turn onto a thoroughfare that would have led him out of the city. But he took the turn too fast, and the carriage lurched sharply to one side before rolling over with a crash. Wood splintered and horses screamed.

Immediately, the nearest Skeltai warriors converged on the smashed conveyance, doubtless assuming someone of importance was inside. I had a brief glimpse of a terrified Asmund Summerdale being dragged from the carriage and cut to ribbons. It had been a mistake for the cowardly counselor to attempt fleeing the city at this late hour.

I dismissed him from my mind. I had my own problems. My presence had attracted attention, and a knot of Skeltai fighters were converging on me. Caught alone, I was cut off from the other defenders. I managed to let loose two arrows and made them count, taking down the two leading warriors.

But then the horde was upon me. I found myself backed against the wall near the closed gate, too close to use my bow any longer, and fending them off with my puny knives. Useless for blocking the blows coming at me, the knives were an impractical match against spears and axes.

A spear sliced my side when I failed to dance aside quickly enough. White-hot pain shot through me. Distracted by the pain, I dropped my guard, my vision growing fuzzy. The enemy closed in.

Even as I saw the end coming, I felt no fear. Only a vague sense of the inevitable.

A Skeltai warrior hefted his spear to deliver the killing blow.

Suddenly, through the haze blurring my vision, I saw a shadow falling from above. A Fist hurtled down from the top of the gate, landing at my side. Gleaming sword in hand, he cut a swath through my enemies.

“Terrac!” My startled exclamation was drowned out by the cries of the Skeltai who fell under Terrac’s blade.

Maybe it wasn’t over after all.

Terrac kicked my bow to me, and I caught it though I hadn’t been aware until now of having dropped it earlier. Gritting my teeth against the pain in my side, I drew strength from the magical bow and forced back the darkness threatening to swallow me up. The blurriness receded.

With Terrac covering for me, I fired arrows into the enemy ranks while we inched our way along the wall.

Behind us, the other defenders opened the gate long enough to pull us in. Then the entrance was swiftly slammed closed and barred to our enemies.

Temporarily safe, I collapsed against the wall to catch my breath. The pain from my injury was lessening, fading into a dull throb. Some nameless soldier wearing the uniform of a city guardsman handed me a waterskin, and I drank greedily.

Terrac collapsed beside me, mopping sweat from his brow.

“Well, that was a first,” he panted. “I’ve never gotten to rescue you before.”

“Even I have an off day,” I gritted, passing him the waterskin. “Don’t expect to make a habit of it.”

I peeled my tunic away from the sticky wound in my side. A quick check revealed the injury was shallow, the trickle of blood too slow to be an immediate danger.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Terrac said. “There’s too many Skeltai. The most we can hope is to hold them back as long as possible.”

“Long enough to let the people of the district evacuate to the keep?”

“That’s the hope,” he answered.

“Then give me a boost.” I nodded toward the wall. “Maybe I can pick off some of them before they break through.”

He grinned through his blood and sweat. “There you go, needing my help again.”

He gave me a step up, and I slithered onto the narrow ledge above the gate. Here I was badly exposed to the throwing spears of the enemy, but at least they didn’t seem to have any archers in this bunch.

I loosed arrow after arrow into the horde, the bow glowing so fiercely hot in my hands it was almost painful. I could sense the bow’s chant in the back of my mind.

Death. Vengeance. Kill.

At least one of us was having a good time.

I cut down many Skeltai, but for every one that dropped to the cobbled street, two more seemed to replace him. The Skeltai shaman must be portaling reinforcements somewhere inside the city. Clearly, they had finally discovered the Praetor’s althion sphere was no longer active to hold them back. And there weren’t enough of us to match their numbers.

Below me, a Skeltai warrior threw a spear that sailed wide of my head. I instinctively ducked and nearly lost my footing as a tremendous crash reverberated through the wall. The Skeltai were slamming into the gate in unison, trying to break it down.

Wood splintered and the gate sagged inward. On the other side of the wall, the Iron Fists and city guardsmen were organized by Terrac into a line. There they awaited the inevitable.

Another crash, and the gate went down in pieces. The horde rushed in.

The forces clashed, defenders’ swords meeting invaders’ axes and spears.

Looking down on the frenzy, I couldn’t fire down on the fighters for fear of hitting our own men. I dropped down onto a Skeltai, slitting his throat, then exchanged my knives for the sword of a nearby fallen Fist. The sword, never my favorite weapon, felt strangely heavy in my hand. There was no time to grow used to it.

I fought my way to Terrac’s side, and together with the other defenders, we held the line as long as we could. We were about to be overrun when, out of nowhere, reinforcements came rushing to our aid, running through the fallen gate and attacking our enemies from the rear.

I didn’t immediately recognize the green-clad newcomers. Not until I caught a glimpse of the bows and rough-hewn quarterstaffs some carried.

Dimmingwood outlaws.

What were they doing here? They couldn’t possibly have got my request for help so soon. Yet here they were, evening our numbers and slowing down the Skeltai advance.

We fought as long as we could, then fell back to reorganize at the next street.

In the moments before they came at us again, I somehow found myself alongside Dradac.

“How did you get here?” I shouted over the noise.

The redheaded giant informed me the outlaws had been aware for days of increased activity along the Black Forest border. Clearly something big was coming. When Skeltai were seen scouting around the city walls, the outlaws realized almost too late when and where the final clash was coming.

“Our presence won’t be enough to turn the tide,” Dradac admitted. “But most of us voted to join the fight nonetheless. We’ve no wish to live in a province overrun by Skeltai. Even worse than the Praetor, they are.”

I was torn between gratitude for them coming and regret that they would probably die for it.

Before I could express either, the next wave hit and the fighting became too thick to think of anything but staying alive from one breath to the next.

That morning was a series of fallbacks and regroups as we fought from street to street, slowing but never defeating the enemy. Gradually, I became aware ours was not even the heaviest fight going on in the city. From several streets over came the sounds of a greater battle taking place. Our foes’ numbers dwindled as they abandoned our skirmish to join the growing army amassing in that other part of the city.

Eventually, we dispatched the last of our enemies, only to realize there was no one left to fight. Not because we had won but because the Skeltai were streaming away to the new battlefront.

Terrac appeared beside me. “Where do you think they’re going?” he wondered.

He looked worse than I felt, his armor coated with blood, his face begrimed. I had noticed him struggling to hold his own during the fight. His bad arm was clearly troubling him again, and I feared he would not make it through another clash.

We looked to the new battlefront, and I noticed for the first time just how much ground we had given. We were barely in the Common anymore and only a short distance from the garden district.

That was when I realized where the real fight was happening.

“Hadrian and the magickers are making a stand at the temple,” I said.

I explained quickly to Terrac about the magickers at the temple, and he agreed we must rush to their aid. On arrival, we found the fight was happening not on the temple grounds but in the near gardens. There a glowing blue ring cut a hole in the ground through which Skeltai warriors poured by the hundreds. On the other side of that window, I glimpsed the Black Forest and a wild-eyed shaman, holding the portal open for the others.

The Skeltai leaping through were met on our side with fireballs and shards of lightning cast by the Swiftsfell magickers who had taken up stations around the portal. Their efforts took a toll on the enemy, but it was clear they wouldn’t be enough. The enemy would soon overwhelm them by sheer numbers.

In front of the magickers, I spotted the blur of Hadrian’s gray robe, as he whirled, blocked, and attacked the oncoming foes. Instead of fighting with his magical powers, he made good use of his sword.

Seeing how Hadrian protected the magickers, I shouted for Terrac’s soldiers also to surround and shield them. Terrac echoed my orders, and we charged into the fray, encircling the magickers fighting for us. Freed from the need to focus on self-defense, they could now direct all their attention on stemming the flow of Skeltai flooding from the portal.

The enemy slowed down as many were blasted into ash and charred bone the instant they set foot on our side. But there were still enough of their warriors getting through to create havoc. We remained hopelessly outnumbered, I realized, even as I severed the head of my nearest foe. The portal must be closed.

I traded my sword for my bow, aimed, and fired an arrow into the mouth of the portal. It struck the shaman holding the portal open dead in the throat. As he collapsed, the portal began to distort, twisting and shrinking inward. Its magical glow flickered briefly and then winked out. The portal was gone.

A cheer went up from our Fists and city guards and even from the Swiftsfell magickers. For a moment, it looked as if we had only the Skeltai already arrived to contend with. But our relief was short-lived.

A tremor shot through the ground.

Hesitating, I was nearly skewered by the spear of an opponent. The reverberation rippled through the earth again, this time becoming a series of unmistakable jolts. Everywhere, soldiers of both sides paused in their fighting as they were knocked from their feet.

All around me, cracks zigzagged through the dirt, grass, and cobbled walkways. Bracing myself against the tremors, I watched as the nearby statue of Queen Tamliess, which had stood strong for centuries, snapped and toppled to its knees like a supplicant.

The air was charged, tiny lines of dancing lightning zapping around the empty space where the portal had been. A sharp blue line appeared, the beginning of a new portal. It enlarged until it formed a full circle, pushing outward and growing fast.

On the other side was no swarm of Skeltai warriors this time but a single figure with the head of a wolf and the feathers of a bird. A spear was clutched in its hand.

For an instant I thought I was looking at some mythical creature of legend. Then I realized the silver wolf’s head was only a headdress, framing the lined face of a man whose hard eyes were fixed directly on me.

Slowly, he stepped through the portal, his spear held low as if he had little need for it.

A brave Fist overcame the stupor that had fallen over us all and charged at this new enemy.

With a gesture of his hand, the shaman caused the man to burst, screaming, into flames. I saw no shot of lightning or other fiery missile. The Fist simply erupted as though from within.

Others returned to their senses and made to attack him, but the shaman dispatched them as easily as he had the first Fist. One of the Swiftsfell magickers attempted to cast lightning at him, but the shaman lifted his hand and somehow turned the lightning back on the caster, striking and destroying him with his own power.

I remembered one of the first magical skills I had performed as a child. Scouring my mind of all its fear and anger, I shaped the emotions into a weapon and flung it at the shaman. I expected to see some reaction when it hit. At least a flinch or a flicker of doubt and confusion. I saw nothing. Evidently, such simple tricks did not faze a shaman of this experience and power.

My mind raced, searching for another idea as he came toward me. My eye caught a gray blur of movement hurtling toward the shaman.

No! Not Hadrian!

I could only watch helplessly as the priest rushed at our enemy.

The shaman lifted his hand, preparing to kill my friend with a flick of his fingers. But when he made the sign, nothing happened. A glowing dome of light had suddenly sprung up around Hadrian, shielding him from the Skeltai’s magic. The priest appeared to be fixed midstride, unable to move, unable to fight. But at least he was alive, for the moment.

Angering flashing in his eyes for the first time, the shaman turned on the magicker who had shielded Hadrian, the white-haired Swiftsfell elder, Calder. With a motion of his hand, he made the elder erupt into fire from the inside out, flames shooting from the old man’s mouth and pouring from his eye sockets.

At Calder’s death, rage filled me.

Power of death my master hath, let fly my arrows and loose my wrath.

The words, etched across the arm of my bow, often whispered at the back of my mind. But now they reverberated like a shout, as the bow glowed white-hot in my hand. My fingers felt as if they were melting into the wood, yet there was no pain. Only fury.

I didn’t think. I raised the bow and formed another magical weapon, affixing it to the tip of my arrow. I didn’t draw on the weak trickle of magic flowing through my dragon scale amulet. Instinctively, I reached past the dragon scale, past the wall that I only now perceived had been blocking me from my natural power. For the first time in over a year, I drew deeply on the unfiltered magic of my mother’s people, the same free magic this shaman commanded.

I let loose the arrow but never saw it pass through the air. Flying with such unnatural speed it was invisible to the eye, it nonetheless found the heart of my enemy.