by Morgan Rice
Hans marched up. “My men are doing their best to hold the enemy back, Your Majesty, but we’re being pushed back step by step. If people are going, they need to leave now.”
“I understand,” Sebastian said. He turned to the people fleeing the city. “Follow the people from Stonehome. They’ll get you to safety. Help those who can’t move as well, and don’t stop!”
He looked over to the soldiers who were helping people to get out of the city. “You men, with me. We need to buy them every moment we can to escape.”
Hans and Will fell into step beside him, soldiers gathering around them as they marched forward to hold a line among the streets of the city.
“Are you sure about this?” Will asked Sebastian. “No one would blame you if you left with the others.”
“I’d blame me,” Sebastian said. “And Sophia would understand. We just need to hold long enough to get them a head start.”
“We will,” Hans said. “My men will stand.”
Will nodded. “I’ve had all the cannons we have left set up on this route. The forces holding the enemy further in will withdraw here, and then… well, I guess we hold as long as we can.”
Sebastian nodded. “Do it, give the signal for them to pull back.”
Will took out a trumpet and blew a short blast of notes. More trumpets answered from within the city, and then there were only the moments left to wait as the enemy’s forces came on.
Their people came first, most running flat out as they strove to keep ahead of the enemy who followed them. Some of Hans’s men leapfrogged one another, firing muskets and bows, then falling back behind the next group to reload. Stonehome’s warriors darted forward and back like barracudas storming through a shoal of fish.
They came level with the line Sebastian had set in place, and he spread his arms.
“Hold!” he shouted. “Form up!”
Some kept running, but far more did as Sebastian ordered, turning and standing even though most of them must have already seen more death than anyone should have to. Plenty of them looked over at him as if wondering what he was still doing there, and Sebastian guessed that his presence was a part of what was keeping them in place.
Then the enemy came into view and Sebastian had to remind himself that they needed to do this; that they were all that stood between the people fleeing the city and certain death.
“Hold,” Sebastian called out to the others. “Hold!”
The enemy ran on, and Sebastian saw soldiers from their own side who had been too slow to flee the fighting cut down. There was nothing he could do except watch, because any breach in their line now would let the enemy through. The New Army came closer and closer, and Sebastian drew his sword, ready for what would come next. He lifted it.
“Ready! Fire!”
The last of their cannon roared, filling the streets with grapeshot, and the first wave of the New Army went down.
“Musket fire, staggered shots!” Sebastian ordered. The soldiers with him started to fire, the front rank shooting and then dropping back to reload while the next rank fired. More of the enemy went down, and more, but they kept coming.
The first reached their ranks, and Stonehome’s warriors cut them down. More came forward, and Sebastian jumped into the fight as a soldier with a bayonet came at him. He chopped the strike aside, then cut back, pushing the man away.
The fight slowed down as more of the New Army piled in behind the first ranks, pushing and shoving, fighting to get through. The confined space of the streets limited the number that could get through, and meant that the main task for Sebastian was to keep swinging his sword, making each stroke count. Every space he cut in the ranks of the enemy brought a fresh foe, his arm quickly growing tired with the effort.
Around him, men and women fought with all the ferocity that they could summon, the warriors from Stonehome moving with speed and grace as they cut down the enemy, the soldiers of Ishjemme and Ashton seeming almost mechanical by comparison. It didn’t matter, so long as they kept fighting, and held the line.
“Everyone down!” Will shouted, and Sebastian threw himself flat, in time for the cannons behind them to roar again. More of the enemy were scythed down, and for a few seconds, there was clear space in front of them.
Sebastian risked a glance back. The refugees were further away now, moving with the kind of speed that only came from fear. Even so, they had to keep holding. They had to buy them all the time they could.
The enemy kept coming. Sebastian saw people on his side falling now, one of Stonehome’s people cut down by a half a dozen sword blows, an Ishjemme warrior charging into the midst of the enemy and laying about him with an axe until hands dragged him down.
“We have to pull back,” Asha said, darting past Sebastian to slice down a pair of enemies as effortlessly as breathing. “To stay longer is to die.”
“And if we run, they’ll cut us down while we do it,” Sebastian said.
Asha nodded, and seemed to be in silent communication with the others from Stonehome. Faces around Sebastian creased in concentration, and in that instant, the world around them seemed to freeze. The soldiers advancing on them slowed to a crawl, drifting into immobility.
“Move back now,” Asha said, starting to back away from the lines. “Quickly, we will not be able to hold this for long.”
Sebastian started to move away, the others retreating as quickly as they could. He took a final look at Ashton, silently saying goodbye to the city in which he’d grown up. He was still looking back there when he saw the tall figure moving through the stationary ranks of his men, the soldiers returning to mobility as he passed them.
“Run,” Asha said. “There is nothing more we can do.”
She made good on her own instruction, sprinting off to join the others while the warriors of Stonehome went with her.
“It’s not enough time,” Sebastian said to Will and Hans. “We have to hold longer, or they’ll catch the stragglers before they get near Stonehome.”
“Staying now is suicide,” Will said.
“I know,” Sebastian replied, “but I have to. I can’t let my people be killed.”
Will nodded. “I understand. Will you do something for me, Sebastian?”
“Anything,” Sebastian assured him. If they were going to die next to one another, this wasn’t the time to hold back.
“Tell Kate that I love her.”
Sebastian frowned in confusion, and then Will hit him, hard. Hard enough that Sebastian’s legs went from under him and the world swam. He tried to struggle back to his feet, tried to face the fight and save his people, but he couldn’t do it.
“You men, get your king out of here and protect the convoy!” he heard Will order, and then strong hands were dragging him back, while at least half the men of Ashton continued to hold.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
Will stood with the last of the cannons watching the advance of the Master of Crows and his men. A glance back told him that the soldiers dragging Sebastian away were already well clear of the fight. That was good. At least one of them would have the chance to survive.
“You know that you could go with him?” Hans said. “We don’t both have to die.”
“Who said anything about dying?” Will countered. “We’ll hold as long as we can, and then pull back when there’s space.”
Hans shook his head. “There’s no need to pretend with me, Will. We both know how this ends, but it doesn’t need to be both of us.”
It was tempting. Will wanted nothing more than to get back to Kate safely, to see her face again and for everything to be peaceful. He wanted it so much that he almost turned and ran. The problem with that was simple: if he ran, everyone with him would run too, and then the New Army would overwhelm them.
The enemy came forward, and now Will was fighting again. He barely blocked a sword blow, stabbing out in return. He pushed an enemy back, then parried a stroke aimed at Hans’s head. The New Army’s men pulled back like waves retre
ating from the shore, but Will had no doubt that they would be back again all too soon.
“That was just a foray,” Hans said. “They were hoping that with half our men gone we would fall without resistance. The trouble is, we will fall with the next serious push. Especially if he joins the charge.”
He nodded to the Master of Crows.
“Then we need to stop him,” Will said.
“With respect, Will, I don’t think either of us will be outfencing a man like that.”
Will nodded. Perhaps Kate could have done it, or Lucas, but he’d never been the finest swordsman in Lord Cranston’s regiment. He’d been an artillerist, and the son of a blacksmith. Neither of those things gave him a chance of defeating the massed ranks of the New Army.
Or did it…
“Hans, I need you to hold them at a distance for a couple of minutes,” Will said. “I have an idea.”
“Musket fire!” Hans ordered. “Volleys with everything we have!”
The weapons started to fire around Will, drawing the enemy into volleys in return and filling the air with smoke. That was probably a bonus, because it meant there was a chance the Master of Crows wouldn’t see what was happening until it was too late.
“What are you planning?” Hans asked.
“I’m going to blow up the cannon,” Will said. He took a chisel and a hammer, hitting hard into the hot weapon, forcing the kind of cracks that his father would have tutted over, wondering how to repair them. Will winced at the thought of his father, but if he did this right, maybe they’d be getting out of there after all.
Maybe he would see Kate again.
The muskets kept most of the New Army back, engaged in the long-range duel, but some came forward. One came at Will, and he kicked the man back for Hans to cut down. He saw men fighting at close quarters now, pushing and cutting, giving no ground.
“Whatever you’re doing, I suggest you do it quickly,” Hans said.
Will pushed to complete his work, packing the cannon with too much black powder, then blocking it with too much wadding. He pushed a cannonball into it, but only as one more source of shrapnel when the whole thing went up. He set a long wick to the cannon, and then lit it with flint and steel.
“Pull back!” Will yelled. “Hurry!”
The men around him ran back through the streets, seeking another place to stand further back. Will ran with them, hoping that they would be far enough away by the time the cannon went up. He ducked behind a wall, peeking over to see how close the enemy were getting. They were charging into the space he’d left, and he felt a wave of satisfaction, because he’d judged it right: they would be level with the cannon by the time it went off. The Master of Crows was at their head, and Will hoped against hope that he would be caught in the blast; that this would end.
Then the fuse went out.
“No!” Will said, banging his fist against the wall in frustration. They’d given up the most defensible position there for this. He’d risked everything. This couldn’t fail.
He wouldn’t let it.
Without hesitating, he ran forward, ignoring the musket balls that flew around him. He ran for the cannon, head down, determined not to stop for anything. A man got in his way and Will cut him down. Another was there and Will dodged past without slowing. If he could reach the fuse, he could still relight it.
Then the Master of Crows was there, those dead black eyes staring at him. Will didn’t have the skills to fight him, but if he could just get past…
The Master of Crows lifted a sword and stabbed him through the chest.
“Brave,” he said, “but foolish.”
Agony blossomed through Will’s chest as the Master of Crows pulled his sword out. His legs gave way, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. His sword clattered from his fingers, but it wasn’t his sword that Will was interested in. He clutched his flint and steel tightly, clawing his way forward.
More pain shot through him as the Master of Crows stabbed him in the back.
“You might as well be still,” he said, evenly. “My first blow pierced your left lung, while if I am any judge, my second has severed one of the blood vessels leading from it. You will be dead in less than a minute.”
Will rolled to his back, trying to form words.
“Ah yes, the boy who married Kate Danse. I am sure it will leave her quite heartbroken,” the Master of Crows said. “Tell me, do you have any last words of love for her, any final message? I’m sure it will distract her perfectly when I go to kill her. Nothing? No? Well, I will leave you to your death then. I have a child to retrieve, and many others to kill before the day is out.”
He turned away from Will, and Will forced himself to crawl again, heading for the cannon, not letting the pain stop him. It felt as though his heart was being sheared in two, and Will couldn’t tell if it was the sword blow, or the fact that he would never see Kate again.
Thoughts of her were what gave him the strength to keep going. Kate wouldn’t stop just because she was hurt. She wouldn’t let someone like the Master of Crows win, whatever it took. She would do whatever she needed to do to make sure that those fleeing were safe.
What it took was an effort that strained every muscle Will had. His body didn’t want to do what he needed it to now. Every inch forward was a battle with muscles that didn’t have enough strength left, a body that couldn’t take a breath without blood bubbling up in Will’s throat.
He thought of what this would do to Kate. She had it in her to be so happy and so vibrant, so free and so generous, but Will knew about the darkness in her too, the anger and the need for a fight. He’d heard what she’d done at the House of the Unclaimed, and he found himself sending up a silent prayer to any god who was listening:
Please don’t let this destroy her.
He felt the metal of the cannon underneath his hands, clambering up it the way a drowning man might pull himself from the water. Will fell back once, gathered his strength, and pulled himself up again. He climbed toward the firing hole of the cannon, poising himself above it with his flint and steel. There were men all around him now, the ranks of the New Army close in as they passed, ignoring him since he was already all but dead.
“Master of Crows!” he managed, with all the breath he had left. Perhaps he shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have given the man any warning, but the truth was that Will wanted to see the look in those eyes when he did this…
The Master of Crows turned to him, and Will saw the shock in his face.
I love you Kate, Will thought, and struck sparks from the flint and steel. The last thing Will saw was the Master of Crows running for cover with more than human speed, and then sound and noise and steel consumed everything.
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
Hans felt the explosion rattling down to the depths of his bones. The smoke and the fire from it bursting up into the sky in a way that seemed to fill the streets before him. Walls tumbled in under the strain, rock dust and rubble adding to the confusion, so that for several seconds, it was impossible to see anything.
“Well done, Will,” Hans said, raising his sword in salute. Will had done more damage in less than a minute than his men could have done in twenty or more. Yet, as the smoke started to clear, he realized that Will had done even more than that: he’d blocked the way, so that the enemy would have to find a new route around as they left the city.
He’d bought Hans and his men a chance to withdraw.
“Pull back!” Hans ordered. “Retreat in order, and be ready to stand as they follow. Hurry!”
His men didn’t need to be told twice. They pulled back at the kind of loping run they could maintain for hours. Hans snatched up a musket and made to follow them, seeing the tall figure of the Master of Crows emerging from the wreckage even as he did it.
“Too much to hope that he’d be dead,” Hans muttered, and ran to join his men.
He hurried with them, making the best ground that they could from the city. In the distance, he could see sev
eral different groups of refugees, each heading in a different direction. It seemed that not everyone believed in Sebastian’s promise of safety in Stonehome. Several seemed to have noble carriages at their heart.
“Idiots,” Hans said, but there was nothing he could do to help any of them now. All he could do was to try to catch up with the main group, slowing the enemy down as much as possible as he went.
He and the others ran and kept running, leaving Ashton behind along the road westward. They reached a village that seemed like the shell of one rather than a living, breathing place, any inhabitants long fled in the face of what was coming.
“I want traps here,” Hans said. “If they’re worrying about tripwires and stakes, they won’t chase us as quickly as they could.”
His men had to be exhausted by now, but even so they hurried to obey the order. Tripwires would stop the Master of Crows from sending horsemen, at least.
“Do you want an ambush set?” one of the men who’d come from Lord Cranston’s men asked.
Hans shook his head. “Ambushes can work against the New Army if you avoid being spotted by the crows, but here?” He gestured upward, to where several of the birds were already circling them. Arrows flashed out to bring some of them down, but more came, and more, flying high out of reach. “Looks as though we’re the center of attention.”
“Better us than the little girl,” the soldier who’d spoken before said.
“That’s true,” Hans said. “And the more firmly we can fix the Master of Crows’ eyes on us, the less attention he has for the others. Time to move.”
He led the way from the village, continuing along the road leading west until they reached a wooded area. Looking around, Hans saw no crows in the trees, none daring to get close enough to watch them.
“This is where we start setting ambushes,” he said.
“Ambushes?” one of his men called out. “More than one, sir?”
Hans nodded. “The first group hits and runs, leading them into the second group, who leads them into traps, or broken ground, which is when the third group hits them. We leapfrog, and we keep going, slowing them down in space where his crows have to get close in order to spot us. Form up! Small groups, and get ready!”
