He thought of Elbright, Brand, Mince, and Kine back under the holly tree in the Hovel.
Do they wonder what happened to me? What will they do once Aquesta is gone? When I’m gone with it? Will they remember me?
Movement to the south broke his thoughts and Renwick looked out along the road. A column of riders approached slowly like a parade-no, a funeral procession. He spotted only glimpses of them through the shutter of dark trees and gray stones, blue and gold on white horses. Accompanying them was the sound of music.
“Wax your ears!” Breckton shouted.
The command relayed down the line and everyone, including Renwick, stuffed the soft substance in his ears. Breckton turned to him, nodded, and smiled, sharing their secret.
Renwick smiled back.
The troop of elves came into full view and fanned out in the field before the southern wall. Mince had been right about them. The elves were dazzling. Each rider wore a golden helm in the shape of a wolf’s head and carried a golden spear. The foremost riders bore streaming silver banners. They wore strange armor-shirts of leafed metal that looked light and flexible and greaves that seemed no more than soft satin, all of which shone brilliantly beneath a column of sunlight that followed them.
They sat on animals that Renwick called horses because he had no other word, but they were unlike any he had seen before. These noble creatures pranced rather than walked. They moved in unison with such grace as to mesmerize and bewitch. They wore bridles and caparisons of gold and silk that glistened as if made of water and ice. They formed up and waited with only their banners moving in the breeze and Renwick wondered if they made the wind for just that purpose.
Renwick counted a hundred, no more. A hundred in light armor could be defeated.
Perhaps they won all their other battles by putting their enemies to sleep.
Renwick’s heart leapt at the possibility, but as he watched, trying to look into their eyes, he saw more movement on the road. Another column was coming, foot soldiers with heavier banded mail, large curved shields as bright as mirrors, and long spears with strange hooked blades. Their helms were the faces of bears. These troops moved in perfect unison. Like a school of fish or a flock of birds, they banked and turned. Their movements were graceful beyond anything Renwick had ever seen of men. They formed up in rows, and once in position, not one shifted or so much as adjusted a helm or coughed. Three deep they stood in a line that ran the length of the wall, and still more came. These new troops, in light armor like the cavalry’s, wore bows with tips that swirled like the tendrils of ivy, and strings that glimmered blue when the sunlight touched them. Their helms were in the shape of hawks’ faces.
Still more issued into sight, and even with waxed ears, Renwick could feel the march of these new elements drum against his chest. Great beasts the likes of which he had never seen approached. Powerful animals twice the size of any bull or ox, with horns on their heads. They hauled great devices two and three stories tall, built of poles and levers of white, silver, and green. Ten such devices emerged from the brown bristle tops of barren trees to take position at the rear.
When the last troop was in place, there were at least two thousand elves waiting before the wall. Then more riders appeared. There were no more than twenty and yet to Renwick they were the most frightening yet. They rode black horses, wore no armor, and were dressed only in shimmering robes that appeared to change color. On their heads were masks of spiders. Behind them came twenty more riders. These wore chest plates of gold and long sweeping capes of rich purple. Their helms were the heads of lions.
As Renwick watched, those on the black horses raised their arms in unison and all made identical motions of a complicated pattern that seemed like a dance of arms and hands. He stood fascinated by the fluid gestures. The dance abruptly ended as the twenty clapped their hands, and even through the wax Renwick heard the boom.
The ground quaked, and a tremor shook the wall. He felt it sway and saw the men beside him stagger. Cracks formed, fissures opened, chips of stone splintered and fell. Beyond the wall, trees shook as if alive and the earth broke apart. Hills separated from each other, one rising, the other lowering. Great gulfs appeared, ravines forming, jagged cracks that sundered the land and raced at them.
Another jolt struck the wall. Renwick felt the stone snap, the shudder shooting up his legs, making his teeth click. More cracking, more tremors, and then, between the fourth and fifth towers, the curtain wall collapsed. Men screamed as they fell along with thousand-pound blocks of stone into a cloud of exploding dust. The tower to the left of the southern gate slipped its footing, wavered, and toppled, raining stone on a dozen men. The tremor, having passed through the wall, continued through the city like a wave. Buildings collapsed. Streets broke apart and trees fell. Imperial Square divided itself in two-the platform the empress had recently stood on was swallowed by a jagged crevasse. In the distance, the imperial cathedral’s tower cracked and fell.
The shaking of the earth stopped but the elves did not move. They did not advance.
“We need reinforcements on that shattered wall now!” Sir Breckton shouted down the line as he reached for his horn, his voice muffled, sounding like Renwick was hearing it underwater. “Wave the red flag!”
Renwick turned to see Captain Everton lying dead, crushed by a block of stone. He did not think. He took up the flag dropped on the stone and waved it above his head. Beside him, Breckton blew on his trumpet until another flag responded.
The mist of dust had only just begun to settle when Renwick heard a cry that no amount of wax could block out. The screech came from overhead and he felt a burst of air as a great shadow flashed across the ground. Looking up, he caught sight of a horror that seized him with fear. A great serpent beast with a long tail and leathery wings flew above him. Clearing the wall, the creature dove with claws that cleaved roofs and walls; then, like a barn swallow, the monster swooped upward, hovered for just a moment, and as Renwick watched, let loose a torrent of flame that bathed the homes and shops below. The creature was not alone. Renwick spotted others; dozens of winged serpents swept out of the swirling clouds and descended on the city. Like a swarm of bats, they swooped, banked, and dove, crushing, clawing, and burning. Within minutes, the whole city was ablaze.
Renwick felt tears on his cheeks. Smoke filled his nostrils, and even through the wax, he could hear the screams. Breckton’s hand grabbed him roughly and shoved him back hard. He cried out, but it was too late. Renwick lost his balance and fell off the battlement, plummeting and crashing through the thatch roof of the guardhouse stable. He hit the soft, manure-warmed ground on his back, and every bit of air was driven from him. He could not move or breathe. The wax was out of his ears and sounds flooded his head. The hammering of hooves and the cries of horses were the loudest. Farther away-screaming, snapping, splintering wood, cracking fire, and always the screeching shrieks from the flying beasts.
Renwick managed short shallow breaths as he worked to fill his lungs again. His arms and legs moved once more, and he rolled carefully to his side. It hurt. His head throbbed, his neck ached, and his back was sore. Just as he got to his knees, the stable’s roof was ripped away and three horses were stolen from their stalls. They were pulled into the air by two great talons.
He ran, his feet struggling to stay out ahead of him. Fire was everywhere. He was looking toward the gate, searching for Sir Breckton and his post, but everything was gone-the entire southern gate was missing. Only rubble and a shattered bit of slivered wood remained. Under the pile, he saw hands and feet.
The massive stone wall that had ringed the city was gone. Renwick stood on the street, looking out at the elven forces, feeling naked. Then the front row of hawk-helmed archers bent their bows and the sky darkened with a flight of arrows.