Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles, 1) (15 page)

“Let’s get into position,” the Captain pronounced, returning his gaze to the map. “I will be overseeing the main gate on horseback.
They put the most pressure on that gate. Sanders, you should traverse between trouble spots, lending help and fortifying weakness. Daniels, monitor within the city. Make sure the innocents are covered and any breaches are closed or I am notified. Sterling, you have the archers and throwers. Get to the wall and get in position. It will start soon.”

All men answered in the affirmative and turned to leave.

“Wait.”

Sanders turned back, wiping his mind clean and trying not to feel the small knot of worry at the base of his spine. Junice would be okay. Their unborn child would be okay. His family would survive this night, and if not in its entire
ty, at least she and his child—so new Junice wasn’t even showing—would have a future.

The Captain was looking at them,
focusing and frowning. His eyes barely glowed an eerie blue. Sanders couldn’t help but lean in, half terrified, half in awe. They were like the girl’s. His eyes were glowing like hers!

As Sanders stared, the knot of worry wringing his stomach lightened. Loosened. And then dissolved, the worry floating away. Before he could blink in confusion, the rush of determination stole his breath. Strength, power, accuracy—he would win this fight. He was one of the best in this city, and he would show it. He almost smiled, light as air. He felt ten years younger
, transported back to the days when he didn’t have a worry in the world!

The Captain blew out a breath, nodded, and turned. He walked out of the room with a brisk pace. Sanders turned to the others.

Daniels had a slightly confused look, his back completely straight, his brown eyes calculating. “I feel…” The words trailed away.

“Like winning. Let’s go,” Sanders said into the din. The others wasted no time.

It was time to rid the world of some filthy Mugdock!

Malice slammed against her shield in steady pulses, the effect of a mass of people with the same thoughts and motives. Adrenaline pumped through her body, revving her up. Getting her ready. It was a matter of minutes, now. They were coming. Moving as a huge horde toward this city.

Wasting no time,
Shanti marched up to a group of armed and waiting men and took stock of what she was working with. The sturdy twenty-foot-high stone wall ended in a wood gate. The beams and work were well done, sturdy. The problem was the small metal bar that acted as the latch, three inches tall and one inch thick. It stood at her shoulder level and would not stand a chance against a battering ram. What’s worse, that ram would burst the gates inward, probably ripping them off their hinges and crushing everyone on the other side.

Who was the fool that designed this gate? He was about as inept as the artists.

“Why hasn’t this gate been altered?” Shanti asked Lucius, casting her glance at the men. They stood still, backs straight and ready to fight. But they worried. Apprehension and uncertainty shed from their bodies like sweat. In a normal battle, death was honor. You died to protect those you loved. Here, death might open a doorway to their loved ones. To their city. Their home.

Well now, she couldn’t let that happen.

Shanti was marching to the front of the line as Lucius answered, “It’s in progress, actually. The Mugdock has gotten more sophisticated lately. They have more than one battering ram. This is the last gate to be replaced. It’s just not ready yet.”

Shanti glanced upwards to the archers flanking the top of the gate. The top of the wall was fashioned after a castle, providing cover for archers as they fired on those below. There was enough room for two men to walk abreast,
the wall made sturdy and probably able to withstand a heavy attack. Which didn’t mean anything at all when the gate was battered down.

Another push of violence slammed against her.

“They’re coming. We haven’t much time.” Shanti couldn’t control the fear in her voice. Images flashed through. Violence. Death.

The waiting was always the hardest part.

In the distance a hawk screeched, hunting through the night, descending on some unfortunate prey.

Shanti pushed through the
last of the crowd toward the gate, noticing they gathered in a semi-circle, the more experienced knowing the gate would never hold. The anticipation of false safety acted like acid dribbling onto their nerves.

With a confident stride, she marched right up to the metal bar and slid it away. Turning back to the men, authority seeping into her bearing from more experience than anyone in this city, the Captain included, she stared down the men in front of her.

“Lucius, open the gate,” she commanded.

“Yes, sir.”

She wondered at him not asking why. Surely he’d think this was madness. He was trained to obey. Stupid. Battle was a place of madness; following without thought made men into animals. The lines of good and bad blurred, and if someone didn’t maintain the reins of logic, humanity wouldn’t find a way to creep back in. The good side would end up just as corrupt as the bad.

A conversation for another time.

As Lucius opened the door, a few male voices asked each other what he was doing. Two asked her right out.

The doors swung open, a gaping black hole at her back. Gazes stared past her, into the void. Wondering when it was coming. Fearing they wouldn’t be enough. That they couldn’t hold it.

“You will hold it,” she barked in a loud voice.

Gazes snapped to her.

Shanti addressed the group in a loud, clear voice. “Give me a nod if you understand why I have opened those gates.”

A couple heads bobbed within the cluster of men. Many more shifted their feet, uncomfortable. A couple voices muttered something about “foreign woman.” A couple others asked about her safety. One ask
ed if the Captain knew she was here.

She wondered about that last question, too. He would shit himself, then probably strangle her, and not because she disobeyed his order to head to safety. If he found out she made a decision regarding the battle strategy and didn’t go through him first, he would flip.

“These gates will not hold. Those standing near the gates will get crushed. Those not crushed would then have to fight over them. It puts you at a disadvantage and only buys you a small amount of time to stand there and stew in your fear. I have removed the problem.”

“But they’ll have a clear
shot of us now!” someone in the back yelled.

“They always had a clear shot of you, they just had to break the gate down to do it.
The scant few your archers would have hit while the enemy worked would not be enough to outweigh fighting over obstacles as they rush you with the full advantage. Ask your war veterans.”

There were nods and murmurs.

“Who’s going to take on the attack, now?” someone shouted.

“Lucius, why are you guarding this bitch
? What does she know?” someone else yelled.

They were getting angry. Their fear was boiling into rage and she was the catalyst. Good. Anger fueled courage. The presence was closer now. They were moving forward. Slowly, but it would speed up
soon. She had to hurry.

“They are coming!” s
he yelled. She reached back and drew her sword with a smooth, practiced movement. The metal cleared the scabbard attached to her back, hungry for blood. The sword glinted in the torchlight, a long blade with a graceful arch. Holding it was like shaking the hand of an old friend. Silence descended. The hawk cried again somewhere in the battlefield.

“When they are in range,” she continued, looking to the top of the walls, meeting the eyes of archers, “loose the arrows. Everyone else, stay as you are. I will be the knife that parts the fabric. I have the experience you lack. I have been training for this all my life. I have weapons you don’t realize. I will act as their block, and you will kill anyone who makes it over. Are we understood?”

A
horde of men stood and stared, no one even daring to shift on their feet.

She knew what they saw: she was a woman
in pants with a sword. Foreign and small. She did not belong on their battlefield. She did not belong giving orders like she was born to the role. Her perfect stance, as if she were ready to start a ballet made no sense in their fighting history.

But they found themselves nodding anyway. They found themselves stealing their courage an
d saying, “Yes, sir” into her glowing violet eyes, shining with the glory of battles won, and the pain and remembrance of battles lost. She knew her eyes were as old as the world, but burned with the fervor of youth. She’d traveled a great deal, and heard sweet words as well as curses. She knew who she was, and she was born for this role.

Light sprinkled through the trees as the sun climbed up past the horizon. A roar of male voices surged toward them. Metal clanged in
the distance. Thunder rolled, feet and hooves stomping the dirt.

“
It begins. They are dirty, useless filth! We will be victorious! Fill your lungs with this sweet air, men. Soon we will soak it with blood. Victory!”

The men raised their swords in the air, growling, shouting. Ready.

Shanti bowed slowly to what had just become her men. She turned to Lucius, “You can fall back with the others.”

“I am sworn to protect you. Since I have already failed in that, I will fight with you.”

Shanti laughed, a carefree sound filled with adrenaline and excitement. She was about to do what she did best. “Fair enough.”

Shanti turned, seeing the distant sparkle of steel in the early morning sun. Without needing to look down, she repositioned her throwing knives, making a quick grab easier. She swung her sword in a figure eight, loosening her wrists. She bounced a few times on stiff knees, trying to get her body keyed up. Mentally, she was ready. Her net was out, sensing the minds running at her, bundles of rage and malicious intent. Most had a singular focus:
kill!

The ground shook.
Yelling from the men behind her curled around her ears. Leather creaked. Metal scraped.

Her mental net pulsed, fueled by a rush of adrenaline. She brushed the minds around her, connecting, like holding hands in a pray circle. “Archers, hit the outskirts of the
horde!” she commanded. “Make them come at me single file if possible. Slim them down. Aim for the sides! They will not bother with the wall when the gate is open. They will slow themselves down, waiting like a bunch of washerwomen. Stick an arrow in their eye!”

The men at the wall roared.

“Lucius, are you ready?” she asked in a firm voice.

“More than ready, my Lady. Eager.”

“Good.”

The roar of battle rage filled the sky. Horses came first, harnessing a giant wooden rod between them, the ends of the beam covered with a layer of thick metal.
Chains attached the pole to a harness draped over the horses’ backs. The metal on the front caught the early light, giving it an unearthly gleam.

It looked like the Mugdock attempt at a battering ram, with men following up behind to pull the large contraption, having to let it go to make it swing. It would take a concentrated effort and a lot of strength, but it would’ve worked. Luckily for Shanti, the strange design and homemade quality meant it would be easy to use against them.

The men behind her started to breath
e heavily, adrenaline pumping into their veins. Some growled. Some urged the enemy on. Others shifted in anxiety.

“Courage!” she shouted. “Hold your ground!”

She touched the dull mind of the horses, imaging the fresh smell of wolves wrapping around their flaring nostrils.   As their eyes rolled, she gave them a
twist.
Horses weren’t overly intelligent, and these in particular were malnourished and ill-treated, judging by the silver scars flashing in the dawn—a small discomfort would be enough to derail them entirely.

As expected they screamed and bucked, making the ram between them roll and buck. Metal
squealed as riders fell, landing under thrashing animals. An unshod hoof came down with force, popping a skull beneath it. Blood splattered to the sides, splashing the legs of men running by.

A metallic pop sounded
—the first broken chain. The freed horses reared again, hitting a man running too close. Another pop, then another. The heavy ram burst from its support and slammed to the ground, bouncing and rolling. The crowd pushed behind, trying to get around. The massive rolling log took out a line of bodies before settling into the blood-soaked dirt.

Shanti crouched, feeling the minds around her coil. Feeling the rage charging. Absorbing the viol
ence. Giving her blade a comforting squeeze.