The roar outside the walls swelled. Without the advantage of surprise, Fidel knew they would face the true might of the Reluwyn army. The enemy’s battering ram thudded against the piled up debris again and again, making the white stones of the city floor shake.
Another few hits and the wall would give in. Rubble from the top of the makeshift structure loosened and tumbled down into the courtyard. No one needed to avoid the falling pieces, the courtyard was empty, the contingents placed around the edges behind barricades, waiting for the enemy army to pour in. There was not much talking now as everyone listened to the steady pounding, the battle cries of thousands. They had made good headway in the first battle, but surely this would decide their fate.
“Where is she?” The King’s question rang across the courtyard.
Fidel could see fear in those dark eyes, though the tone of his voice was as fierce as ever.
“I don’t know Trevisian, she was with you just yesterday.”
“I know that!” The King reached up a hand and pulled off the helmet he had been wearing. His black hair was slick with sweat, and yesterday’s blood and grime covered his face. “I’ve been with the Commander and when I returned to our quarters she was gone.”
Did that mean the King had not slept since yesterday? Evidently not. And the Commander? Fidel looked up to a building near the inner side of the courtyard to where he knew Ikara was standing on the roof with Hendra. They had been up there some time assessing the Reluwyn forces over the wall, and she looked as aloof and distant as ever.
“We can go and find her,” Johan offered.
“They are about to breach the wall,” warned Fidel as another shudder went through the ground. Great chunks of rubble rolled into the courtyard and Dainus picked up his hooves nervously. Trevisian reined him away from the centre, coming around to the inside of Fidel and Johan’s barricade.
“We must take up our positions,” Johan urged.
“What if she’s…” The King looked away over the wall to where their fallen comrades lay.
Johan grabbed a hold of Trevisian by the arm, his height making it easy despite the horse. “You must go, I promise we will find her.” The King looked ready to say something more, but a final blow on the wall sent him cantering towards the building on which Ikara and Hendra had been stood.
Sections of the wall were falling freely now, rumbling down to the floor. Fidel saw the King join Ikara - they had both taken a leading position before, but this time they would be coordinating the small contingents from behind. Standing at the frontline, Fidel realised that this may well be his last battle. He felt a lancing pain as he thought of the things he still wished to say, which might now never be uttered.
“Cheer-up!” Calev and Jaik came out from a building behind Johan and Fidel’s barricade.
“What?”
“Looking all pale like, you can’t lose heart now, not when we’re going to have a jolly time running this lot around the city and picking them off like flies.”
“Or any other insect like creature.”
“Yep, exactly, Jaik.”
They both faced Johan, their small wiry frames dwarfed by the warrior. Unintimidated, they stuck out a hand each.
“Johan the Radichi – we’ve been assigned to your contingent.”
Fidel watched Johan’s eyes flick between the identical twins. It had taken him long enough to know them apart and he had lived with them for the past few years.
“Is this a joke?” Did Ikara doubt his battle skills this much that she had sent these two to watch him like a child?
“Probably,” answered Calev.
“We wanted the frontline position. It’s kind of our expertise.”
He was right, thought Fidel, this is what they had done in the forest for the last few years only this time they exchanged living columns and canopies for stone buildings and streets.
“It’s going to be so much…”
There wasn’t time for the rest of that sentence. The wall which had been threatening to give way finally crashed down in a tremendous crescendo. A huge ‘v’ appeared in the centre, as the majority of the rubble disintegrated before the battering ram. There was a brief lull while the enemy drew back their battering ram, and then they poured in like water bursting a dam.
Soldiers came thick and fast, scimitars raised, eyes feverish with blood lust and screams of death coming from their mouths.
“Ready brother,” Calev put a hand on Jaik’s forearm.
“Ready,” returned his brother, grasping his arm briefly before both of them drew out pairs of long daggers.
Jaik looked mischievously round to Fidel and Johan. “First wave’s ours.”
And before anyone could object, the twins had leapt over the barricade with the same agility they’d displayed in the forest and set to work.
Fidel and Johan watched as if they were viewing some kind of death dance. Calev and Jaik moved as one, daggers sweeping in elegant arcs, the only sign of battle being the streaks of blood as soldiers fell around them.
Calev ducked away from a lethal scimitar strike, allowing Jaik to lunge forwards and stab the sword arm of one of their attackers. Jaik then ran backwards with as much grace and speed as he would have done forwards, his brother signalling when to lean, before springing up behind him and throwing one of his daggers at another soldier’s throat. Calev finished off the wounded soldier with a sharp, quick stab through the armhole of his armour and into his chest. Jaik retrieved the dagger and they set to work again, swiping and leaping and turning all in one long macabre pirouette of death.
“Break!” Calev shouted after a good twenty minutes of fighting, and with as much speed as they had exited the barricade they returned, Fidel and Johan running out to take their place.
They wielded their heavy swords, fighting back to back, taking out men on either side until the horn would signal when they were to pull the enemy forces into the narrow winding streets of the city and press the rebel’s advantage.
It was not long in coming, the ram’s horn sounded over the fighting again. This time however, the enemy troops were less inclined to follow.
“They’ve learnt from before,” said Johan.
“Look!” cried one of the twins, Fidel saw the enemy climbing the broken wall, grouped close together.
“They’re protecting someone!” shouted Fidel. He jumped to the side, showing his nimbleness despite his stature, just as an enemy blade caught his non-sword arm. He ground his teeth against the pain, feeling the blood rush from the wound and drip from his fingertips. “Retreat!” he called.
He caught sight of Calev eyeing his wound.
“I’m fine – and whoever it is in that crowd will come out quicker if we lead them in.”
Behind them another wave of enemy troops swarmed down the broken wall. There was no time to argue. The four ran for the streets and alleys.
Chapter 29
Fidel pulled hard upwards, his teeth clamped on the piece of cloth Johan had cut from a dead soldier’s uniform. The wound burned, but the makeshift bandage would at least stop the bleeding for now. They were crouched in the ground floor of a small building. The enemy had not come this far yet, and both he and Johan had taken advantage of the break whilst the twins carried on. But they soon heard the clinking of chainmail and breastplates behind them.
“They’re coming up behind us. They’re quick.”
“My sword.”
“Shhh! Wait until they’re upon us.”
The rapid conversation that had just taken place was not between Johan and Fidel. It came from across the street. One of the voices was unmistakably female.
Johan locked eyes with Fidel at the same time, recognition dawning on both faces. They were up and out of the door before a minute had passed, just in time to see Zeb’s green armour disappear beyond a barricade a little further down the street. Both Johan and Fidel ran after him, ducking down before the enemy soldiers were upon them.
Zeb and Kiara were shocke
d for the first few moments before they recognized the colour of the uniforms and the men who wore them.
“Trevisian is looking for you,” Johan said, accusation in his voice.
Kiara’s unmistakable hair was tied back in a tight plait, just visible below her helmet. Fidel saw her chin come up at Johan’s words, “I fight with the rest of my people.” There was dried blood and mud on her face. She had been fighting before today.
“Stubborn.”
“She does what she knows is right,” Zeb looked as irritated as Johan.
“At least we’ve found her, the King can finally be calm,” said Fidel, ever the pacifier.
Johan didn’t answer, his mouth set in a grimmer line than usual. His powerful thighs launched him up over the barricade before any more conversation could be made. He went for the first soldier while Fidel took on another, laying him out dead after a few minutes. They both turned on the biggest one at the same time, plunging their swords into his neck, almost severing the head from the body. Together they were a terrifying force.
Others were coming and soon Zeb and Kiara were fighting too. Fidel and Johan quickly went to Kiara’s side but it was evident after a very short time that she needed no protection. She lunged forwards, out of their protective area and took on a small wiry Reluwyn. Her sword moves were not as powerful but they were twice as quick, taking her enemy by surprise as she wounded him and sent her blade through flesh and bone at his neck.
“Well fought.” Fidel clapped a hand on her armoured shoulder.
Zeb was at her other side.
“It’s not over yet,” said Johan.
“We’re ready,” replied the elf.
They took on ten more, slowly retreating along the narrow streets, hiding in buildings and ambushing their advances. When one of them was tired, they hid in one of the buildings while the others fought. If they continued like this it would go on for hours.
They had just finished off the last of the recent soldiers, Zeb sustaining a small slash to his leg, when something different happened. A group of soldiers, shielding a hooded figure, moved down the street.
Fidel looked to Johan. “A trap.”
The rebels closed ranks, shoulder to shoulder. The soldiers came towards the party. Fidel saw the eyes of the hooded figure, looking over the shoulders of the advancing enemy troops. He saw the figure flash a dagger and lower their shoulders. Whatever the person had seen they were now ready to fight.
The soldiers suddenly fanned out, taking one of the rebels each. Johan and Fidel were drawn off to the left, Zeb had two soldiers in the centre and Kiara was off to the right.
“Something’s not right.” Fidel looked over to her.
The fighting was short and sharp. These soldiers were not tired - unlike the others who had been fighting for several hours now. The rebels were fighting for their lives against an enemy with more energy, more power, more numbers than them.
Fidel saw Kiara take down a soldier in close quarters with a dagger. As soon as he fell, the hooded person came forward. The menacing figure moved quickly to Kiara who waited for her next opponent. Fidel managed to send his sword through the leg of his purser giving him time to move over to where the Queen stood.
As he ran he heard the clatter of hooves. Up ahead the King appeared in the street, his massive beast taking up the width of it as he swung Dainus’ quarters round in a rapid halt. The King’s eyes connected with those of his wife and that was all the distraction the hooded figure needed.
The attacker lunged forward. Kiara parried, but it was too late to prevent being knocked off balance. She had lost her sword in the last fight and all she had was her dagger, the same weapon as her assailant. The difference was, Kiara was on her knees. Kiara’s arms moved as rapidly as they could, slicing from side to side, fending off the vicious attack.
Even as the realisation of a targeted attack dawned in Fidel’s mind, he was at Kiara’s side. But the assailant knew exactly where to hit her. She had repeatedly struck the Queen on one side, making Kiara defend herself with that arm and from her lower position her strength faltered. She groaned with pain. This wasn’t an attack of war, this was an assassination.
The King only had to look once for the fire of urgency to set itself alight within him. He pushed his horse forward, taking down two soldiers with the weight of the beast’s hooves. His eyes were wild, his face desperate, his actions reckless. If it were not for Johan he would have had a sword in the back; the appearance of Calev and Jaik saw the enemy finished off completely.
But it wasn’t over. Kiara’s assailant paused over her, and spoke. Fidel couldn’t hear the words, but he knew it was a woman. With a savage upward stab the woman plunged her dagger up under Kiara’s breastplate making her scream. She fell backward, her shoulder forgotten, her hands clutching the blood which bubbled up from her abdomen.
Before Fidel could take her down the woman turned, saw the King and ran towards him regardless of the flailing hooves. She grabbed a piece of mane and swung upwards, the dagger, covered in Kiara’s blood, now aimed straight at the King’s throat. But before it reached him, he vanished. At least that’s what Fidel thought.
The black horse bucked, twisting, sending the woman hurtling to the floor. Where was the King?
Then Fidel saw the dark, sleek fur appear around the side of the horse’s legs. The horse stood beside the creature, stamping his hooves and snorting at the injured woman on the floor. Like a streak of lightning, the wildcat shot forwards, vicious claws out, fanged mouth open, tearing at the weak body. Screams rent the air, the animal in a frenzy as blood sprayed across one of the street walls. The woman was dead long before the wildcat-King was finished. When he was done he howled, and with an incomprehensible shimmering changed back into human form.
He was covered in blood, hot and sticky across his face, his clothing somehow covered too. He ran forward to where Zeb knelt beside Kiara. All of the colour had drained from her face, the blood collecting in a pool around her.
“Do something!” Trevisian bellowed at the elf.
Zeb remained unshaken. “My healing satchel, it’s in the meeting hall.”
He didn’t need to say anything more. Trevisian was already shifting into a horse and galloping down the street.
“We need to move her. Support her everywhere you can.” Johan pulled off his Laowyn shirt, bundled it up and handed it to Zeb who pressed it against Kiara’s wound. She convulsed, crying out.
“Take her into the building, we may be safe there.”
Everyone surrounded her, raising her and moving her as gently and quickly as they could.
“Who was she?” Fidel didn’t look back at the bloodied heap that had been the assassin. He didn’t ever want to see that again.
“A concubine from the harem. She was Garesh’s Favourite.” Johan replied, trying to squeeze his massive bulk through a door without pushing into Kiara. “He must have sent her here to kill them both.”
“He’s afraid of losing,” Calev said defiantly.
“I can’t believe she was fighting.” Jaik looked down at Kiara’s pale face.
They had reached the top floor and pulled together what they could to make a wooden surface on which to lay her. Blood was still oozing from the wound, though Johan’s shirt had slowed it. Zeb kept it pressed against her abdomen as they lowered her.
“Everyone out.” Zeb ordered.
No one moved.
“We’re not going anywhere,” Jaik responded.
“I have to undress her to treat the wound. Out.” Zeb repeated, turning back to his patient.
No one argued after that, Calev and Jaik left to wait at the entrance to the house to direct the King when he came back. Fidel lingered. “Johan said that the woman was known for her dark arts.”
Zeb’s hand was over the wound holding the shirt. “I can feel it,” he replied, the line of his mouth sharpening. “I’m not sure I can save her.” The acknowledgement was only between them, a moment of vulnerability.
<
br /> Fidel put a hand on the elf’s back. “Don’t tell the King.” If he felt half the love that Fidel felt for Ikara, it would destroy him.
“I’ve killed her.”
Fidel took him by the shoulders. “She’s not dead yet, Zeb.” He turned to leave. “You protected her as best you could.”
“It wasn’t enough.”
“It’s not your fault,” repeated Fidel.
Fidel left him there, staunching the flow of lifeblood from Kiara’s body.
Trevisian kicked the door for the third time to no avail. He finally shifted back, knowing he was without a weapon if any enemies were to approach. He hammered his fists in the grooves on the door that his hooves had just made.
“Open up, in the name of the King!” he shouted at the wood. His voice frayed as he repeated himself, but after a few moments a head appeared somewhere above him.
“It’s barricaded, my Lord King, we cannot.”
It was Zephenesh.
“Zeb’s healing satchel,” Trevisian cried. “Kiara’s dying, quickly!”
After the colour had drained from Zephenesh’s face he disappeared.
A few moments later a call was given and the satchel was thrown down. Trevisian caught it in his teeth, in horse form once again.
He worked his way quickly back through the streets, jumping any obstacles and trampling soldiers underfoot. All the while he pushed furthest from his mind the possibility of what had happened since he’d gone. She wouldn’t die, Zeb was with her. He didn’t much like the elf but he had seen him heal. She couldn’t die. He couldn’t lose her. Sweat coated his flanks, white saliva foaming and dropping from the corners of his mouth and flecking his chest as he charged on.
He had left the Commander in a fighting party to the south of the city, hoping to find Kiara. They had been holding up well when he had left. The rebels were losing far less troops than the enemy forces but Ikara had noted a contingent Garesh was holding back. The troops had not yet reached the meeting hall where the vulnerable rebels were hidden. As thoughts of the battle that raged around him, of the friends who fought for their lives and the lives of others right now, it all seemed pointless. She couldn’t die.
The Edict (The She Trilogy Book 1) Page 29
