by Morgan Rice
“And how would you stop her, Will?” their commander asked.
Will hated it, but he knew Lord Cranston had a point. Kate was already too far away to stop, and even if he could reach her, what could he say that would talk her out of it?
“All we can do is support her,” Lord Cranston said, “and keep her safe. Men, ready fire arrows! Prepare, draw, loose!”
Will watched the arc of the arrows, then saw the flames rising as they struck, forming banks of fire that seemed to threaten to engulf everything. The wheat in the fields caught fire in lines that spread and broadened in a network, each strand of it linked to the last.
They served like burning rivers, creating islands and pockets of enemies. Will could hear the screams of dying men from within it, smell the smoke as it billowed up from the fires. To charge into the midst of that conflagration would be madness, but he didn’t care right then. Kate was in it somewhere, and she needed him, needed all of them.
“Forward!” Lord Cranston ordered, and they attacked.
Will didn’t hesitate, but plunged into the chaos of it, sword hacking into the first enemy to get close. He fought now, not for loyalty or because he had been ordered to, but to try to fight his way forward to Kate. Rushing out like that, she would have placed herself at the heart of the enemy, and Will was determined to ensure that he got to her before their greater numbers proved too much.
He blocked a blow, shoving a man back, hacking at another who threatened the soldier beside him. The man flashed a grin Will’s way, and then his eyes widened in shock as a spear thrust through him from behind. Will stepped in close to stab at the man who had killed him, and kept going. He fought his way through the melee, trying to catch a glimpse of Kate, trying to work out where she might be in the chaos of the fight beyond the city.
When Will finally caught sight of her, it was worse than he had imagined.
She stood in the center of a rough circle of fire, at least half a dozen soldiers closing in on her even as the flames did the same. Kate looked defiant, but she didn’t have the superior speed that she’d had, and even her skills couldn’t bring down so many men in one go. Will stared, hoping that he would spot some way to help her, some gap through which she might—
The ring of steel on steel brought him back to himself, and Will turned to find Lord Cranston there, his sword up to block a blow that had obviously been meant for Will’s head. Without thinking, Will thrust with his sword, plunging it into the gut of the attacker, watching as the man fell back.
“Thank you, my lord,” he said to Lord Cranston. “I hadn’t thought you would want to save me.”
“You are one of my men, Will,” Lord Cranston replied.
“But with Kate…” Will began.
“I was concerned about you being together because I thought that you would distract her, or she would distract you. That you would spend battles trying to save one another, rather than obeying orders.”
“And now?” Will asked, pointing to where Kate stood trapped, jabbing at the advancing men to keep them back.
“Now I think you are wasting time. Go to her.”
Will didn’t need any encouragement. He ran toward the wall of flames, Lord Cranston following in his wake. Will coughed as he approached, the thick smoke filling his lungs. The heat of the fire was like one of his father’s forge fires, almost a physical force pushing him back. Only the sight of Kate there, parrying and thrusting, barely avoiding a blow aimed at her head, was enough to keep him standing so close.
“There’s no way through!” Will yelled.
“A soldier finds a way!” Lord Cranston called back. He stamped at one of the nearest patches of fire, unhooked his cloak, and took out a water bottle, emptying it over the material. He tossed it to Will. “Just how badly do you want to save her, boy? What would you do? What would you give?”
There was only one answer to that.
“Anything,” Will said. He added his own water to Lord Cranston’s, then wrapped Lord Cranston’s cloak tightly around himself, hoping that the material would provide some protection at least.
He plunged forward, leaping through the patch where the flames seemed lowest, leaping over the fire, through the fire. The wicked heat licked at him, burned at his skin, but he and Lord Cranston had beaten the flames down enough for this leap. Will rolled, flames guttering out on his borrowed cloak, and came back up to his feet in time to hack at a soldier’s leg. The man staggered back, and that created an opening for Kate to lance her sword through his throat.
There were still five of them, though, and the flames were still closing in.
“We have to go!” Will yelled to Kate above the roar of the flames. He grabbed for her, managing to catch hold of her arm and pull her to him. He looked around for a spot to leap through, but now there were no places where the flames were low and the heat avoidable. Yet there was no waiting either, because every second brought the fires closer.
Will knew that there was only one thing to do.
“I love you,” he said, before he folded Kate into his arms. He wrapped himself around her, the cloak wrapped around them both. He only hoped that the combination would be enough to keep Kate safe.
He plunged them both into the fire, the pain immediate as the heat struck. Will had spent enough time around the forge to know that pain was good, though, because the worst burns went through pain and out the other side, taking away the body’s ability to even feel them.
This had none of that cruel mercy. Instead, Will screamed as he and Kate went through the fire together, although the heat took even the breath from his throat. Their leap through the flames could only have been a heartbeat or two of movement, yet it seemed to last for an eternity.
They tumbled to the earth, and every touch of it brought Will pain. His back was in agony, the remnants of Lord Cranston’s cloak falling away, still aflame.
“Will!” Kate cried out. Will stared up at her, making sure that she was all right, that she hadn’t been hurt by the fire. That was the part of this that mattered, not whatever pain was creeping through his body right then.
“Will, you’re hurt,” Kate said, kneeling beside him, her fingers touching his cheek with surprising tenderness.
“I’ll… be okay,” he promised her.
“What were you thinking?” she demanded. “You could have been killed.”
“That doesn’t matter, if you’re safe,” he said.
“Of course it matters, you idiot,” she replied. “I love you.”
Those few words seemed to take away more of the pain than Will could have believed. He would have suffered far worse to hear them than a few burns.
“We need to get you to safety,” Kate said. “We need…”
She trailed off, and it took Will a moment to realize that she was looking out beyond the boundary of the fire they’d put in place, to a spot where a small group of Ashton’s soldiers had found a way onto the dunes, through a small space where the fire had burned itself out. They were creeping forward in silence, weapons out, toward the spot where Sophia stood directing the defense against the attacks from the sea.
“Go,” Will said. He could see the worry in Kate’s face, the determination to do something.
“But I can’t leave you here,” Kate said. “You’re injured. You’re—”
“I’m not the one who is going to rule Ashton,” Will said. He leaned up to kiss Kate, in spite of the pain that the movement brought. “And I’m not going to try to hold you back out of the battles you need to fight, Kate. Go. Save Sophia.”
Kate nodded and set off at a run, a few of Lord Cranston’s men following her, stepping in her footsteps as she hurried through the same gap the group of killers had gone through. Will watched her go, sitting up so he wouldn’t have to take his eyes off of her again. He wouldn’t risk losing track of her now, wouldn’t risk losing her the way he thought he had before.
It meant that he got to see Kate rushing forward, no time to be stealthy, no attempt to
be cautious. She flung herself at the men approaching her sister, cutting the first of them down before he could turn. A second started to spin to face her, but Kate’s saber caught him across the arm and then the throat. She snatched a pistol from his belt even as he fell, firing it with her left hand.
The men following slammed into the force trying to sneak across the dunes, the sound of shots and steel carrying even over the battle they were in. The noise of it was more than enough to attract the attention of Sophia and the others there, and Will saw her forest cat turning, racing down to join the fight.
Around him, the fighting went on. Will saw men falling as blades struck them, and others running, crying out as they tried to keep ahead of the fires. Lord Cranston walked toward him, holding out a hand.
“What are you doing down there, soldier? There’s still a battle to fight.”
Will took it gratefully and the older man drew him to his feet.
“I’m proud of you, Will. What you did was brave.”
“I’d run through more than a fire for Kate,” Will assured him.
“I wasn’t talking about the fire,” Lord Cranston said. “I was talking about being brave enough to let her go back into the fight.”
“As if I could stop Kate,” Will said. He winced at the pain in his back.
“As if any of us could,” Lord Cranston said. “Now, are you ready to keep fighting?”
Will wanted to say no. He wanted to pull back from the fight and nurse his injuries, but he couldn’t do that. As long as Kate was out there, and the fight was still going, he would do what he needed to.
“Yes, sir,” he said, picking up his sword and steeling himself to return to the fray.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Cora ducked into a doorway as musket shots skittered across Ashton’s cobbles. She had to force herself back out there as soldiers rushed into the street, charging at her and the others in Ishjemme’s forces.
The two groups slammed together with sickening force, and a soldier thrust a pike at her. Cora managed to throw herself to one side just in time. Her cut in response missed the mark, but Aidan was there then, his sword bringing down the man attacking her. The violence came in a brief burst, threatening to catch them all out in the street for archers or cannon to bring down, but in moments they were clear, running to join up with Hans’s main force.
Emeline stood by his side as Sophia’s cousin directed the fighting in this section of the outskirts. Cora guessed that she would be giving him updates on Sophia’s situation, if there were any to be had. Judging from the worried look on Emeline’s face, there weren’t.
“More soldiers,” Cora said, as they got close.
“They’re fighting house to house,” Hans said in response. “They know that they have the advantage of knowing the city better than us.”
“Not better than all of us,” Cora pointed out.
Emeline nodded at that. “Cora used to work at the palace, and I know all the best ways through the backstreets.”
“We could cut down Sheerwater Street,” Cora suggested. “If we get up into the theaters there, they’ll have good views out over the nearby rooftops.”
“It would be good to have the high ground,” Hans said. “Very well. We’ll follow your lead.”
Cora swallowed. She hadn’t meant that she should suddenly take charge of a whole army.
“You can do this,” Emeline assured her. “You just have to show us the best way.”
Cora nodded and then set off, Ishjemme’s forces following in her wake. She led the way along narrow streets, cutting through a space where butchers had hung their wares after slaughter. The scent of it was far too close to the one that already filled the streets.
She pushed through it, shoving aside the sides of beef and pork that hung from hooks, setting them swinging. She was still doing it when a figure ran out of the chaos, a meat cleaver in his hand.
“Die, invaders!” he yelled. He wasn’t wearing the uniform of any of the groups of soldiers, and looked more like a butcher than a fighter. Even so, the cleaver swinging for Cora’s head was more than sharp enough to split it if it connected.
Aidan was there then, intercepting the stroke and shoving the man back. He raised his sword for a counterblow, but Cora caught his arm.
“Aidan, wait, he’s just someone protecting his home,” she said.
Aidan stood over him, and Cora knew without being told that he would be going through the butcher’s thoughts.
“You’re right,” he said. He turned to the fallen butcher. “We aren’t here to hurt you. We just need to go through your building.”
“To slaughter innocent people!” the butcher said. “I know what you outlanders are like, you’ll—”
Cora realized that there was no chance of persuading him. Instead, she kicked away his meat cleaver and ignored him. They had a city to take. She kept leading the way, coming out onto Sheerwater Street, where a couple of crumbling old theaters stood above the rest of the surrounding buildings, leaning out so far over the road they almost touched.
“There,” Cora said, pointing. “If we get up there, we’ll be able to see where the royal troops are hiding.”
She and the others moved forward along the now empty street. That was a strange feeling in Ashton, where normally any journey meant being hemmed in by dozens of strangers, having to watch your purse in case of pickpockets. The sheer quiet of it was disconcerting as Hans signaled men forward to the doors of the theaters, carrying axes that looked more suited to chopping down trees than fighting a battle.
The axe blades bit into the doors, and they splintered open. In an instant, the quiet gave way to shouts and the sounds of violence.
“There are soldiers in there!” Cora yelled, as more of Ishjemme’s troops poured into the space. A man fell back from the violence, his tunic coated in blood. Cora did her best to pull him away from the fight as he fell, trying to get him to some kind of safety.
But there was no safety to be had. As quiet as the street had been just moments earlier, now it was awash with fighting figures, some coming out of the nearby buildings, others marching in from side streets. Cora didn’t know if they’d been waiting in ambush, or if they’d just rallied around to the sounds of violence. In the twists and turns of Ashton’s streets, it was impossible to tell what was going on.
A cluster of soldiers ran at them, and Cora found herself face to face with one of them, who had a sword raised for a downward blow. Remembering her brief sword lessons, Cora thrust, and felt the blade she held sink home. That was a very different sensation from beating Emeline in a practice match. There was none of the same joy to it, only the sickening sensation of flesh giving way to a sharp edge, mingled with relief that it wasn’t her who was collapsing to the ground, dying.
She took a step back, giving ground as another soldier came at her, parrying a blow. Aidan stepped into the gap, shoving the man back, and they kept fighting. In a matter of seconds, it seemed as though things had grown so that there was fighting everywhere. Cora saw Aidan caught in a hand-to-hand struggle with one of the soldiers, the two locked together, neither able to release his grip on the other’s sword arm.
Cora snatched up a musket from a fallen man, working to load it. It seemed to take forever, her fingers shaking with the need to work quickly. She had to pour in powder and ram down wadding, add in a lead ball and prime the fuse, all while men struggled around her, blades clashing around her. Forcing herself to stay calm, she lifted the musket, aimed it, and pulled the trigger.
For a moment the smoke from it filled the world, but when it cleared, the man who had been struggling with Aidan was staggering away.
Hans and Emeline, meanwhile, were pushing their way closer, through the press of it all.
“We need another route!” Hans called out, over the noise of the battle. “Which way?”
Cora tried to think, then pointed. “This way. We might be able to get through to the market.”
“Good, we can r
egroup there,” Hans said.
Cora led the way, the others following her. It seemed to take an age before they came out in the market square, stalls and tents abandoned where they had been set up. She strode out into it, Hans’s people following, the sounds of battle still there in the background as the slowest of them fought a running battle with the enemy.
“When I came here, I wasn’t expecting this,” Hans said. “War is supposed to be neat, orderly. Armies are meant to face each other on the field, not scuffle in the streets.”
“Somehow, I doubt that war has ever been neat,” Cora said, thinking of what it must be like for the ordinary people of Ashton as two armies fought their way through the city. Even with Ishjemme’s soldiers trying to be careful, how many would die, caught between the two?
“This needs to happen,” Emeline said, obviously seeing some of her thoughts. “You’ve seen the country the Dowager created. Rupert will be worse.”
Cora nodded. She could agree with that. It was just that what it took to change it all was so chaotic. Still, they started to impose some of the order that Hans wanted in his army as they moved into the middle of the market, starting to form up their forces, ready for the next push. They formed into tight squares, men taking a moment to rest as they readied themselves to march on toward the palace.
Then the enemy soldiers started to march in down the side streets that led to the square.
There were more of them than Cora could have believed, dressed in the colors of a dozen or more of the city’s noble families. That made her frown, because she wouldn’t have thought that the nobles would care enough about the Dowager’s family to want to fight for it. That didn’t matter right then though. What mattered was that they were wheeling cannon into place.
Cora threw herself flat as they roared, then roared again. Soldiers fell around her, left and right, as the weapons sounded. She looked around for Aidan and Emeline and found them crouched behind the slender shelter of a market barrow. Hans was with them, clutching a wound in his leg that had already bled through the dark cloth.
