“No arguments there,” Myron said, stifling yet another yawn. “I could sleep for a month.”
Ferrin was rather jealous of the thought of a full night’s sleep, something he hadn’t experienced since his capture and imprisonment. He stood from the table. “I better get a move on. Those swords aren’t going to forge themselves.” He stretched with a yawn. “It’s been a while since I’ve done any forging. Hopefully, it’ll come back easily enough.”
“Before you go,” Myron said, standing to join him, “I’d like you to take a look at that map of Iraseth with me. I want to make sure we have a clear route of escape mapped out.”
Ferrin nodded. “Good idea. I’ll meet you upstairs.” He sighed and started up the narrow steps. It was going to be a long night.
Chapter 62 | Ayrion
“GIVE US A HAND,” Ayrion shouted as he swung down off his horse. To his right, the sun was already beginning to lower.
“What happened?” Tameel rushed down the front steps of the Justice House to help them carry an injured Abiah inside. “We didn’t expect you back so soon. Were you able to kill Argon? Did you find the nest?”
“It was an ambush,” Bek said, spitting to the side. He had one arm around Abiah’s waist for support. “I don’t know how, but they knew we were coming.”
“My boy. They took my boy.” The taverner was in a daze as they helped him and the other injured into the stone building.
Tameel looked at Zynora, and she shook his head. There wasn’t much they were going to be able to do for Abiah now. Ayrion couldn’t imagine what he must be going through, knowing the fate that awaited his son.
Ayrion felt callous as he shoved thoughts of Willem aside. He needed to focus on the battle that was sure to come in the next few hours. The sun was almost low enough to touch the tops of the buildings.
While Zynora and some of the women organized a healing station on the first floor, a few of the men stabled the horses in the back. Tameel, Bek, and Ayrion gathered around a long table on the second floor holding a detailed map of Belvin. One of the groups sent to sweep the building had found it hanging on a wall in an upper office, probably the city planner’s.
“We are here,” Ayrion said, circling with his finger the small section of the map that represented the Justice House. “The mining community and the entrance to the vulraaks’ nest is here.” Again, he circled another area at the top of the map where the sunken valley holding the old city was located. “We know they’ll respond. Argon won’t be able to let this go unchallenged.
“The question isn’t if they are coming, or when they are coming, but where. Argon knows we have wounded. He also knows the sun is going down, and unless we want to risk getting caught in the open on the road back, we will most likely find a place like this to set up a defense. But to do that, we need to know where their point of attack will be.” Ayrion looked at Bek. “This is your city. You know it better than anyone here. What do you think?”
Bek stared at the map. “The most direct route to us is by way of Dunleeth, here, the same direction we took earlier this afternoon. But,” he said, leaning over to get a closer look, “they obviously know we’ll expect that.” His face tightened, the dirt from the mine gathering in the creases and wrinkles around his eyes. “If I were Argon, I might try taking the longer route around Gunner Branch”—he pointed at a section between the mines and the city square and drew an arc that circled around to the front of the square—“which would bring him up Lassiter, here, coming at us from the front.” He shrugged in frustration. “That’s just a guess, though. I have no idea how this creature really thinks. What about you, Ayrion? You fought him.”
Ayrion nodded. “You’ll be surprised how much you can learn about your opponent during combat.” He scanned the faces around the table. “He’s smart, and he wants you to know it.”
Bek coughed. “Well, I’d say he’s doing a flaming good job of it.”
“Yes, and we’ll use that to our advantage. We’ll let him believe we really are that incompetent.”
Tameel and Bek shared a look, but Ayrion chose to ignore it. “I believe that Argon will direct his creatures around to the front of the square. But I also believe he’ll come at us from here,” he said, jabbing at the map, “and here, and here.” Ayrion pointed out every avenue available into or out of the center of town. “Argon isn’t going to leave anything to chance. He’ll send everything he has against us at once.”
Bek studied the map. “I agree.”
Tameel nodded. “It makes sense. After such a quick defeat, I doubt he believes us that much of a threat.”
“My only concern is the Blind.”
Tameel looked at Ayrion, his bushy eyebrows lowering slightly. “The what?”
“The Blind,” he repeated, not quite sure himself where the term had come from. “In throwing everything our way, Argon will attempt to direct our focus where he wants and blind us to everything else.”
The room disappeared, along with Tameel and Bek. The long table holding the map of Belvin was replaced by one half its size. The stone walls were now nothing but fabric, a tent of some sort. Ayrion was standing over a table with two men in uniform. The first held a bearing that demanded respect and eyes that spoke of experience; the second was as big as a bear. Before Ayrion could get a better look at the map on the table, everything shifted, and he was once again inside the Justice House.
Ayrion squeezed the table as he waited for everything to come back into focus. He wished there was some way to unlock the rest of those hidden secrets buried deep within his mind, if for no other reason than to keep these random memories from popping up at unexpected times. He glanced back down at the map, then turned and looked at the second-floor balcony windows at the front.
“What are you thinking?” Bek asked, turning to look at the windows as well. “You have that look on your face. The one that usually ends up landing me in a heap of trouble.”
Ayrion smiled. “I have an idea.”
Chapter 63 | Ayrion
TIME WAS RUNNING OUT. Ayrion worked as fast as he could to get their fortified wall of wagons built and ready before the sun went down. They lined the wagons with boxes, barrels, old tables and chairs, desks, cabinets, and any other loose item of size they could get their hands on.
Behind the blockade were buckets of pitch, two to a wagon. The same pitch Tameel was using to cover the pyres they had set up around the main pavilion in front of the Justice House.
The last of the day’s light passed below the buildings on the far side of the square as men and women stood ready behind the makeshift wagon barrier, waiting for what they knew was coming. The front of the Justice House lay in silence. No one spoke, everyone listening for signs of the approaching enemy.
Ayrion stood at the top of the steps, the double doors at his back. Beside him, Bek rested his hands on the heads of his hatchets. Neither man spoke. The only sounds were those coming from the second-floor windows behind them as Abiah barked orders to fire only when they had a clear target.
“Was it wise to put him in charge of the bowmen?” Bek asked. “Losing his son like that would push most men over the edge.”
Ayrion turned and looked up at the windows. They had removed the panes to give the archers plenty of room to shoot from. “Best he has something to keep his mind focused on, other than the grief.”
“Do you trust his judgment?”
Ayrion turned back around. “I think he’s angry enough at the moment that the only thing he cares about is killing vulraaks, which is exactly what we need.”
Bek didn’t say anything, but Ayrion could tell he wasn’t exactly swayed.
Above them, the taverner continued shouting directions like a twenty-year veteran. Ayrion wanted to shake his head, knowing that before this week, the man had never seen a day of combat in his life. The closest he’d ever come to battle was the occasional tavern brawl.
“Almost wish they’d hurry up and get on with it,” Bek said as he studied
the empty square. “The waiting has me more on edge than the actual fight.”
Ayrion nodded. He was feeling it as well, the calm before the storm. “It’ll be here soon enough, and then we’ll be wishing we were back to the waiting.”
Bek grinned. “You’re probably right.”
“They’re coming!” one of the lookouts on the far side of the square shouted.
In the distance, the vulraaks’ screeching calls and guttural howls filled the night. They had no intention, or need, to mask their arrival. The half-human creatures poured into the square from every available route, like worker ants clambering out of their tunnels.
Shrieks, gasps, and calls for the Creator’s mercy rose from those standing behind the barricades as they watched the vulraaks empty into the open square. They had no need to light the fires to see where to shoot. All they needed was to point their bows forward and they were bound to hit something.
Ayrion realized he was holding his breath and exhaled. He had expected a large force but not on the scale of what was looming before them.
“I take it back,” Bek said. “I’d rather be waiting.”
Ayrion drew his swords, the black blades singing as they slid from their sheaths. “No going back now.” He turned around and looked up at the second-floor windows, where Abiah and his archers stood ready. “Light your arrows!”
Across the front of the building, like soldiers on the crenelated battlement of a great wall, archers lit their arrows. Abiah shouted at his men. “Aim for the pyres! The general wants light. So we give him light!”
Ayrion pointed his sword toward the massing army across the square. “Fire!”
“Fire!” Abiah echoed.
Ayrion watched the flaming shafts fly over their heads. One by one, the large piles of stacked wood and tar ignited, lighting the square and revealing the vulraaks’ true numbers.
“Creator help us,” Bek said solemnly. “We’re not going to survive this.”
The vulraaks cowered momentarily from the unexpected blaze but quickly regrouped and rushed the barricade.
From behind the wagons, archers on the ground fired off volley after volley, cutting down as many as they could. Most of those hit by arrows kept running. Beside the archers were men and women using long pikes to skewer the vulraaks as they tried to climb over the wagons.
His fighters held their ground. With swords and staves, axes and hammers, they fought, cutting down anything close enough to reach. They weren’t warriors or trained soldiers, or even green recruits. They were farmers and merchants, husbands and wives, people who wanted nothing more than to live in peace but were willing to stand and fight for their freedom.
Ayrion admired their courage. If he had been a general, he couldn’t imagine leading a braver band of fighters.
The creatures were beginning to mount the barricade. Some had managed to fight their way over the top and were opening up spots along the wall for others to follow. His people weren’t going to hold much longer.
“Release the pitch!” Ayrion shouted.
His people pulled back from the wagons, giving those with the buckets of tar room to shower the wall and any vulraak still fighting to get over.
“Retreat!” Ayrion shouted, and the fighters scrambled up the steps.
Ayrion and a small group ran down the stairs, taking two at a time. Bek matched him step for step, his hatchets up and ready to kill. They pushed their way through the remaining pitch carriers to meet the vulraaks scrambling over the blockade.
Ayrion’s heart slowed as he released his magic. Heat poured from his chest into his arms as he turned himself over to it. He didn’t like the idea that he was finding it easier to relinquish control, but he could live with it if it kept them alive.
They reached the blockade, and his twin dragons cut down everything within reach, their steel glowing in the light of the flames. Creatures howled as they came for him, lunging but unable to penetrate his swords. Slowly, they worked their way back up the steps.
With a single swipe of his sword, he opened the fronts of two vulraaks as they tried to slip past him and grab those retreating farther up the stairs. Turning, he stabbed another in the neck as it rushed in from the side. Something hit his arm, and he turned to see a head rolling back down the steps from where Bek had stopped one of the creatures from getting in behind him.
The doors behind them were open, waiting for their fighters to make it back inside. Above him, he could hear Abiah shouting orders to fire into the oncoming horde. The front line of vulraaks fell under the barrage of arrows.
“Inside! All of you!” Bek shouted, nearing the top of the steps.
The rest of their people made a dash for the entrance. Ayrion followed them up, cutting down the creatures attacking from the sides.
“Hurry!” Bek shouted. “The doors are closing!”
Ayrion continued fighting; his movements were perfect, his strikes precise. The magic was invigorating. He used only enough force required for the kill and no more, conserving his energy. His blades flashed like streaks of lightning as they reflected the moon’s beams with every strike.
He could hear Bek shouting somewhere behind him as he continued to back toward the shutting doors. White bodies littered the ground around his feet as he cut and stabbed and hacked them apart. The power was intoxicating.
“Get in here, you fool!” Zynora’s voice rang out, pulling his focus away from his magic.
Ayrion turned, and his heart skipped. The doors were nearly shut. He’d waited too long. He released one last wild swing and ran, the vulraaks hot on his heels. He dove for the doors and barely squeezed through the small wedge of opening left, skidding across the floor as they reverberated shut behind him.
A massive wooden beam was dropped into place.
“Cutting it a bit close, wouldn’t you say?” Bek said, helping Ayrion to his feet and clapping him on the shoulder. “Ah, yuck!” He flung black viscera from his hand.
Ayrion moved back into the room to get a look at the second-floor balcony. “Are we ready?” he shouted up to Abiah.
“Ready, General! Waiting for your orders!”
“Then fire!”
“Light ’em up, boys!” Abiah said as he spun back to the windows overlooking the square. “Light those white sons of faeries up!”
Ayrion stood in front of the heavy doors. If the fires didn’t do their job, what they were about to attempt was going to be for nothing. He could hear the screeches and howls coming from the other side. “Positions!”
His fighters took up their places behind him. “Ready the doors!” Six men stood underneath the large wooden brackets and waited.
“Here goes nothing,” Bek said beside him.
Ayrion could feel the pressure building within. It was all or nothing. Come on, Abiah. Where’s that signal?
“Now!” Abiah shouted down to them.
Ayrion raised his sword. “Release!”
The heavy beam swung up and out of its brackets as men on both sides of the doors pulled—opening it only wide enough to allow one or two bodies through at a time. Ayrion could see the flames at the bottom of the steps had engulfed the entire barricade, separating the vulraaks that had made it over from the rest of their force, who were now pulling back from the inferno.
Ayrion squeezed his blades in triumph. It had worked. At least the first part.
Ayrion waited just inside the doors for the first of the white-skinned cannibals to breach the entrance. He had instructed his people to set up blockers on the backs of the doors so they would open only so far and no farther, forcing the vulraaks to funnel into a death trap.
As fast as he could swing, Ayrion cut them down. No creature for the first few moments made it past his blades. Pretty soon, the doors had been forced wide enough for more to get through, requiring him to move back or get overrun.
Bek and the rest of his fighters rushed in, hacking away at any that made it past. It didn’t take long before the creatures had managed to p
ry the doors even further as they climbed over each other to get inside, but still it wasn’t enough to overpower the determination of the people inside.
Ayrion’s fighters slaughtered the creatures. The vulraaks’ lust for blood overpowered any higher reasoning, and without the first thought or care about their own safety, they charged straight into the waiting armsmen. The bodies began to pile up, making it even more difficult for the ones behind to gain access.
Before long, the fight was over. All those between the barricades and the front doors had been utterly annihilated.
“Stack the bodies out front as quickly as you can. Those fires won’t hold them back for long. Then shut those doors and get that bracer back in place.” Ayrion left Bek in charge of the cleanup and headed for the stairwell to the second floor. He stopped at the foot of the stairs when he saw Zynora coming from the back, where the injured were being seen to.
“How are the wounded?”
“They’ll survive.”
“And you?”
Zynora didn’t say anything at first. She took a moment to look him over. “We managed to stockpile some medicines and bandages we found in town, but there really isn’t enough of me to go around.”
Ayrion knew what she was referring to. He shouldn’t count on one of her impulso blasts. “Save your strength. Only use it on the most dire, and only enough to keep them alive.”
Zynora laid a gaunt hand on the side of his face. “Don’t you worry about me, Grey Eyes. You worry about the rest of them. I can manage.”
Ayrion smiled. He knew that no matter what he told her, she was going to do what she wanted to. He hoped her heart for others wouldn’t be the end of her.
She patted his bloodstained cheek, then headed back toward the healing station.
Ayrion continued up the stairs and around the balcony to where Abiah was directing his men to ready the next assault.
“How’s it going?” Ayrion asked as he stepped alongside the short taverner and stuck his head out the glassless windowpanes. Now that the flames were dying, the creatures were beginning to move near the wagons once more.
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