by Sarah Hawke
“Head toward the Randel Street plaza and see if you can contain the enemy there,” he told them. “I’ll send some men to back you up as soon as I can.”
“We will hold the line, Commander,” Kaseya assured him. “You have my word.”
She turned and jogged away, her round silver shield glinting in the moonlight. Her pristine white amazon armor and blue cloak looked incredibly out of place amidst the ragtag outfits of the Darkwind soldiers and the mail-clad Guardsmen, but most of them seemed downright awed by her presence. Aside from the fantastical tales about the legendary warrior-women of Nol Krovos, they had all seen her flying around on the back of the dragon these past few days.
“Red will take out their whole army if she has to, don’t worry,” Valuri said with a wink. “I’ll flush out the other Huntresses.”
Cassel nodded. “Escar watch over you.”
“Sure, why not?” she snorted. “Just make sure you stay alive, Golden Boy. If you break Serrane’s heart, I’ll kill you myself.”
After flashing him a wry smirk, she turned and dashed off. Cassel made a mental note to ask Serrane for details about what had happened between the two of them while he’d been gone…
“I suppose we can’t afford to be picky about our allies right now,” Kerth whispered. “What are your orders, sir?”
Cassel took a deep breath, then turned and shouted up to the knights on the wall. “Aston, Curry, Norel—hold your positions! Moraise, Kerth—you’re with me!”
The knights all signaled their understanding, though between the roaring dragon, the screeching wyverns, and the shouting morass of soldiers, he barely heard them. Thankfully, he didn’t really need to: he could feel their affirmations through their shared bond with Tahira. He had never felt this close to his fellow knights before, not even before the Shattering. Being connected to the same Conduit was unlike anything he had ever experienced before, and the more they fought together, the stronger the bond became. He didn’t know whether it was because of them, Tahira, or both, but it felt incredible.
In time, the Order could become more powerful than ever. All it had to do was survive.
“Sergeant, get your men down Aisling,” Cassel called out to one of the nearby Guardsmen. “And I want two squads down Sutherland for containment. Go, go, go!”
He didn’t have any connection with the regular soldiers, of course, but they still listened to him all the same—for now, anyway. He didn’t even want to think about how quickly their morale would crack if things really started getting bad…
“We’re ready when you are, sir,” Kerth said, his sword and shield in hand.
Cassel nodded and tossed a final glance back to the wall, then drew Retribution from his back. “Let’s go.”
A minute later, he and the other knights were stomping through one of the many crooked streets that wormed through the Iron District. The frozen fog had cleared out a bit, though clouds of smoke were quickly rolling in to take its place. The glow of distant fires was just visible above the rooftops, mixing with the softer light of the city’s lamp posts. The brutal weather was probably the only thing preventing a true conflagration now. The wyvern riders and their magical fireballs couldn’t keep a blaze going for long.
Their soldiers on the ground were doing a far better job.
Cassel heard the fighting long before the fog parted enough for him to actually see it. An enchanted troop crate had crushed a small merchant stand along the edge of the street, and the soldiers who had been inside—probably thirty or forty men, at a guess—had already poured out into the surrounding alleys and byways. The good news was that they weren’t torching houses or murdering civilians…at least, not yet.
One of Serrane’s containment teams had managed to hold the attackers in a T-shaped intersection. The Duskwatch rangers fired from the rooftops, and the fog had given them enough cover to quickly thin out the enemy. A half dozen arrow-riddled bodies already littered the gathering snow, though the survivors were now hunkered behind their shields while their own archers fired back.
This was exactly the type of small-scale warfare that the Duskwatch and the Knights of the Silver Fist excelled at. Since Highwind didn’t have a conventional army, it had always relied upon elite groups of soldiers to carry the day. So if the Inquisitrix wanted to fight tooth and nail in the streets, then Cassel would happily indulge her.
“For Highwind!” Cassel cried out as he rushed forward, Retribution clutched in both hands. The Aether coursed through him, strengthening his muscles until the oversized sword felt like it weighed as little as a dagger, and he quickly put the mighty blade to use. He carved though one man’s bow and torso in a single swing, spraying his startled companions in a mist of gore. Kerth and Moraise struck just as decisively: they bashed with their shields and slashed with their swords until the remaining enemies finally turned to meet them blade to blade, but by then it was already too late. To make matters worse, the Duskwatch rangers on the rooftops fired a volley straight into their now-exposed backs, toppling them one after another.
A minute later, it was all over.
“Gods take you!” Kerth said, wrenching his bloody blade from a corpse and glancing about the intersection. “Is this all they have?”
“Not even close,” Cassel said. When he closed his eyes and reached out to Tahira, he could feel the other knights locked in their own battles across the city. They were holding the line, but only just. A single push could easily tip the fighting in either direction.
“There are more enemy soldiers to the north, Commander!” one of the rangers called down from atop a building. “We’ll move to cover you!”
Cassel nodded as he heard the dragon roar somewhere in the skies again. “Move out! We’ll try to—”
The screech of a wyvern cut through the intersection a split second before the beast materialized from the fog. A barrage of fireballs rained down on the rooftops, and Cassel barely had a chance to conjure a protective barrier over his forces before they were all incinerated. His shield held, thank Escar, and the wyvern vanished into the fog, gone as swiftly as it had appeared.
The rangers weren’t as fortunate.
“Escar’s mercy,” Kerth hissed. The wind and the cold had put out the burning shingles almost instantly, but Serrane’s men were already dead. The charred remnants of their bodies smoldered in the frozen night air.
“We have to keep moving,” Cassel said, choking down the flood of bile in his throat. “Stay low and stick close to the walls. We’ll sweep north and try to…”
Julian!
Tahira’s voice screamed inside his head, followed by a flash of mortal terror. When he closed his eyes, he swore he was standing in the Silver Temple alongside her. He could hear the screams of knights fighting outside the barred sanctuary doors and the buzz of Aetheric energy crackling through the corridors…
“Sir?” Kerth asked, grabbing his arm. “Sir, what’s wrong?”
Cassel inhaled sharply as his eyes fluttered back open. The images flashing though his mind faded, but the fear cascading through his bond with Tahira did not.
“It’s Tahira,” he rasped. “The Silver Temple is under attack.”
8
The Battle for Highwind II
Inquisitrix Marcella smiled as another of the shimmering barriers protecting Highwind’s southwestern wall flickered and collapsed. A flight of wyverns, circling at the ready, soared through the gap with troop crates clutched in their talons. Jurisa and her Huntresses were slaughtering the Knights of the Silver Fist as planned, and another wave of wyverns was preparing to strike. Three more of the beasts launched from the deck of the Vengeance and vanished into the fog, though Marcella could feel them drawing upon her power as they shielded their mounts and summoned flames to their fingertips. The storm severely limited the vision of everyone else on the battlefield, but not her. A Conduit didn’t need to rely upon her own eyes when her followers could see in her stead.
Break the heretics, she said throug
h the Aetheric bond. Cleanse their sins in righteous fire!
Her Crimson Flame channelers were eager to oblige. They unleashed a barrage of fireballs the instant they crossed the breach in the city’s defenses, decimating row after row of hapless archers and militiamen. Highwind’s soldiers still weren’t broken, however—their Ranger-General swept in and engaged the riders from the back of her own wyvern, and her precise aim and devastating highborn magic forced Marcella’s wyverns to scatter and retreat. Only one of them made it back to the fleet.
“Dammit,” Veleca hissed beside her, banging her gauntlet on the ship’s railing. “We must get rid of that elf witch before—”
“General Starwind is a minor annoyance,” Marcella said as her eyes fluttered back open. As always, she could feel the pain and suffering of her channelers before they met their grizzly end, but she forced herself to stay focused on overall battle. All their deaths—all their sacrifices—would be avenged soon enough.
“Starwind destroyed the Hatchery, mistress,” Veleca said. “We cannot afford to—”
“Once I have harvested the Godsoul fragment from the Eternal Priestess, the battle will be over,” Marcella said. “The more forces the enemy sends to defend the breach, the better.”
She could sense the other woman’s hesitation, but it didn’t matter. Veleca wouldn’t allow her doubts to get in the way; she would do her duty, as would all the other men and women in the Raven Queen’s service. That was precisely why they would prevail. Her followers weren’t merely fighting for a city—they were fighting for a cause. They were fighting for the future of the very world.
A future that only a true Goddess could provide.
“It is time,” Marcella said, turning and approaching her own wyvern on the forecastle. The beast was waiting patiently for its mistress, though that was only because she had soothed its mind with her magic. “Launch the third and fourth groups. Order them to shift their focus to the eastern quarter of the city.”
Marcella sent most of the commands herself, of course—through her Aetheric bond, she could communicate with every single one of her channelers as easily as if they were standing beside her, regardless of distance. Not all of the wyvern riders were bound to her will, sadly, but every squad possessed at least one member who was. No conventional army could ever hope to compete with the unity and discipline of her soldiers. Horns and flags and shouted commands were no match for the coordination of a Conduit.
“Mistress, I must implore you to reconsider,” Veleca said as Marcella hoisted herself into her wyvern’s saddle. “The dragon has not taken the bait. If he comes after you—”
“The dragon is about to have his own problem to deal with,” Marcella said pointedly. She paused for a moment and swept her masked gaze across the other soldiers on the Vengeance. They were all looking at her, their bows at the ready. “The end of our glorious crusade is finally within reach. Do not fail me.”
Veleca nodded behind her own mask. “We won’t, mistress.”
“I know,” Marcella said, and meant it. She stretched out her right arm, and Veleca clutched and squeezed her mistress’s hand. Marcella could feel the other woman’s worry even through their gauntlets. They were more than master and servant—her Sanctori were friends and warriors and lovers. For a moment, Marcella could imagine herself back on Nol Krovos surrounded by an army of loyal, powerful amazons united in glorious sisterhood. Everything had seemed so clear and simple back when she had been waiting for Zalheer to be named her Maskari…
Marcella pulled her hand away and clenched her teeth. She had learned long ago that rage, properly channeled, could provide much-needed clarity in times of crisis. It was absolutely vital that she remembered why she was here—and what was at stake. Her crusade was about justice, not merely vengeance, and people across the world were counting on her to succeed whether they knew it or not. She was the only one who could spare them from the tyranny of sorcery.
She was the only one who could ensure that the lies of the moshalim and the fury of the dragons never claimed another innocent victim.
“I will return,” Marcella said. “Azien tova kesh!”
She kicked her heels into her wyvern’s flank, and the beast let out an eager shriek as he rushed forward and leapt into the air. The wind and the cold should have greatly slowed its ascent, but Marcella shaped a wide, protective bubble around his body to block out the storm. She steered the beast far enough northwest that the fog would prevent anyone from seeing them approach, though it wasn’t as if the city’s archers could threaten them at this distance. Besides, she had given them plenty of other problems to deal with.
Through the eyes of her minions, she watched as Highwind’s defenders spread through the streets to engage her soldiers. Originally, she had planned to conquer the city this way—the Hatchery was supposed to provide dozens more crates and wyverns along with an arsenal of alchemical firebombs. The Ranger-General and the Senosi traitor had thwarted that particular plan, but it didn’t really matter. Thanks to the Eternal Priestess and her Godsoul fragment, Marcella wouldn’t need soldiers to claim Highwind.
She choked up on the reins and steered her wyvern even higher into the clouds. The Ranger-General was still soaring over the Iron District, providing lethal air support for her soldiers, and the dragon was busy chasing her wyverns over the city. Every time she felt one of her channelers die to his fiery breath or vicious claws, she was tempted to intercede and destroy him now before—
No.
Marcella seized up in the saddle as the voice of the Godsoul reverberated through her entire body. “What?”
You will not confront the Wyrm Lord until after you have harvested the priestess!
“I am in command here, not you!” she snarled into the rushing wind. The Godsoul hungered inside her, desperate to feed and grow. It yearned to consume the power of the Eternal Priestess far more than it wanted to eradicate the Wyrm Lord.
Marcella was tempted to ignore its warning and attack the dragon now rather than later, if only to prove her dominion over this strange presence inside her. She could easily give the order; her wyverns could come about and distract the dragon while she swept in and struck the decisive blow. She might never have a better opportunity to confront him without the aid of his companions.
You cannot defeat the Wyrm Lord without the priestess’s power. He is stronger than he was at the Fount. He is stronger than any sorcerer in generations…even you.
Marcella hissed beneath her mask. The voice was probably right, even if she didn’t want to admit it. If Jorem really had grown that powerful, then confronting him now would be foolish. Her crusade against sorcery was decades in the making, after all. She could afford to wait a few more moments…especially when she considered just how pleasant those moments would be.
Curling her claws tightly around the reins, the Raven Queen steered her wyvern straight east. The city walls rolled into view, and just as she had anticipated, the western gate and its towers were only lightly defended. The darkness and the fog concealed her approach so thoroughly that the archers barely had time to nock their arrows before she was upon them. A single stroke of lightning leapt from her outstretched claws as she flew overhead, electrocuting one soldier and then arcing wildly between the others. Their scorched, quivering bodies dropped to the battlements one after another, but she didn’t wait to see how many she had killed. Her eyes remained locked on the only target that mattered:
The Silver Temple.
Even with her vision obscured, the decadence of Highwind’s Redwater district was readily apparent the moment her wyvern soared overhead. Any one of the estates here was probably worth more than an entire block of houses elsewhere in the city, and the bastion of the Silver Fist was every bit as extravagant. The massive bell tower, the gilded parapets, the marble statues in the courtyard…
It was hard to believe that the so-called paladins who dwelt within had once been humble and pious warriors dedicated to defending the weak. Like all men
tainted by power, however, they had degenerated into twisted shadows of their former selves. The Shattering might not have destroyed them, but Marcella was more than ready to finish the job.
“You know what needs to be done,” she said, reaching out through the Aether and touching the mind of her wyvern. “Now go!”
The wyvern screeched as it beat its wings and gained precious speed. At this point, the beast was little more than a decoy—her attack on the gate should have drawn the attention of the Ranger-General and perhaps even the Wyrm Lord. But just before her mount passed over the eastern wall cordoning off the Redwater District from the rest of the city, a mere block away from the temple, Marcella gritted her teeth, squeezed her hands into fists, and vaulted out of the saddle.
The fall should have crushed every bone in her body. She landed with a thunderous crash, but her protective barrier redirected the force of the impact outward rather than upward. Stones exploded all around her as if she were a tiny meteor, and an invisible wave crushed a nearby streetlamp and merchant cart.
On any other day, the Silver Temple would have surely been surrounded by dozens of acolytes, knights, and priests, but Marcella’s forces had obeyed her orders and left this entire district completely untouched so far. She doubted that the Silver Fist would be stupid enough to leave their temple completely undefended, though it honestly didn’t matter one way or another. No paladin was a match for a trained amazon warrior, let alone a goddess.
Marcella drew her sword and strode toward the temple. The runes etched into the surface of the steel flared to life in the presence of her magic, casting the frozen streets about her in an eerie blue glow. Like all blades wielded by the Tel Bator Keepers, her weapon was designed to suppress and unravel magic, though she doubted she would need to rely upon its special powers to defeat a handful of pampered knights.
She was right. Three men were guarding the entrance to the temple, two on foot and one on barded horseback. They saw her coming well in advance, of course, but Marcella didn’t sprint or even jog to confront them. She wanted them to see the silhouette of her bladed armor approaching. She wanted their hearts to fill with dread at the realization that the One Goddess herself was about to bring them to justice. But most of all, she wanted that fear to ripple through their bond with their own Conduit.
