Sasha shook her head. The old barbarian had an uncanny knack of being in the right place at the right time.
A loud grunting drew her attention closer to her hiding spot. Three-Finger was grappling with one of the city’s defenders, stabbing him repeatedly through a hole in the man’s armour. Blood splattered his scabrous face but he kept on stabbing long after the soldier had stopped twitching. He saw her watching him, gave her a yellow grin which turned to a bellow of pain as an arrow suddenly pierced his shoulder.
She squinted up at the battlements. The militiamen had returned to the wall in force and were now raining arrows down indiscriminately, hitting mercenaries and Watchmen alike. Dark-skinned Sumnians and scarlet-clad Dorminians fell to the ground, pierced by missiles.
There was a sudden blur to the side of her. Like damned souls escaping from the gates of hell, the White Lady’s pale servants glided past with unnatural speed. The women went straight past the fighting, ignoring the arrow-strewn killing field, and began scaling the walls with their bare hands.
Sasha’s mouth dropped open in shock. They crawled up the stone like spiders — a sight so unnatural it filled her with sudden horror.
The first of the women reached the top and disappeared over the side. A moment later the broken body of a militiaman tumbled over the wall, his head at a crazy angle to his neck. More conscripts fell from the wall, dropping like flies.
Sasha glanced at the hillock again and saw General Zahn gesturing wildly at General D’rak and his company. The thousand mercenaries raised their weapons and began to advance.
She reached for another bolt and her hand came away empty. She hesitated for a second, then discarded the spent quiver and drew her sword. The mercenaries and Watchmen were locked in combat outside the walls, while just inside the city pandemonium had broken out. The White Lady’s servants were seemingly unstoppable, moving with blinding speed and striking with bare hands that carried the force of a hammer blow. They twisted and spun and attacked from impossible angles, bending like quicksilver to avoid the desperate lunges and swings of the Watch and militiamen. Soldiers fell with their heads crushed, their necks broken, their spines shattered.
She had to look away. Not even the Watch deserved this. Salazar was their true enemy. Brianna’s last desperate act had disrupted his magic, but she knew he was still up there in the Obelisk, watching them, waiting until he was sufficiently recovered to launch another deadly spell.
Come on, Cole. You can’t fail. If you do, there will be nothing left of the city but corpses.
You can’t fail.
Come the Hour
‘Lord Salazar is unharmed, Commandant.’
Barandas breathed a sigh of relief. The magical assault on the Obelisk had been completely unexpected. He had feared the worst when he saw the explosion.
Kalen adjusted his ponytail and stroked his bow thoughtfully. The young Augmentor carried no quiver on his back. The weapon he held in his hands provided its own ammunition. ‘I saw the Halfmage on the way to the Obelisk.’
The Supreme Augmentor grimaced in annoyance. The accursed wizard should have been on the western wall helping defend the city! ‘Did he care to explain why he abandoned his station?’
Kalen shrugged. ‘He said only that our lord required his presence. I feel sorry for the poor sod he had pushing him.’
Barandas sighed. He didn’t trust the Halfmage as far as he could throw him, but there was nothing to be done about it now. If the sarcastic bastard didn’t have a good reason for showing up at the Obelisk, Thurbal would send him packing soon enough. He had bigger concerns.
Captain Bracka’s last report indicated the mercenaries were getting the better of the Watch at the western gate. Barandas had wanted to send more militia out to bolster the defenders, but the company approaching from the east would soon lay siege to that side of the city and he wanted men held in reserve. The situation as it stood could be better — but they need only hold the walls a few hours longer.
The nightmarish visage of Garmond loomed into view, a black silhouette against the afternoon sun. His plate armour clanked as he paced back and forth, squeezing his gauntleted fists together as if every moment spent away from the fighting was mental torture. ‘When do I get to kill something?’ he rumbled from behind his demonic helm. Three of his colleagues nodded in agreement.
Barandas had gathered almost all his elite enforcers to him, a dozen Augmentors in total. They made for a motley assembly, but there was no deadlier force in the Trine. Each man was worth ten normal soldiers. Some, such as the restless giant regarding him with his vambraced arms crossed, no less than twenty.
‘Patience, Garmond,’ Barandas replied. ‘Were it not for recent events and the terrible losses we have suffered, I would not hesitate to send you against the enemy. But we are no longer forty. We are no longer even half that. I must use you wisely.’
Legwynd. Rorshan. Both gone. Falcus, too, more than likely. Whatever happened at the Swell?
The expedition to the Lord of the Deep’s resting place was supposed to have provided raw crystallized magic with which to forge new Augmentors. Instead they had received nothing but silence. Falcus could have returned to Dorminia in less than a day, in the event of an emergency. That he had not done so could only mean the expedition had ended in disaster.
He shook his head. They had known the voyage would be perilous. He thought of Admiral Kramer’s poor family, the relief they must have felt at seeing his death sentence rescinded only to lose him again to the vagaries of the Swell. The world is fond of such terrible ironies.
Someone was approaching from across the street. It was Captain Loric, judging by the hitch in his step. ‘What news from the east gate?’ he demanded.
‘They will be within range of the city in a bell,’ replied the captain.
‘How many men do we have on the wall?’
Loric wiped sweat from his brow. He possessed a distinct band of white at the front of his otherwise dark hair. Unsurprisingly, that physical quirk combined with his penchant for harassing the men under him had resulted in his nickname of the Badger. ‘Fifteen hundred militia. Two hundred Watchmen.’
Barandas thought for a moment. ‘Keep the militia on the battlements. Launch a sortie to disrupt the siege weapons if necessary. We must hold them off for long enough.’
The captain opposite him blinked in confusion. ‘Hold them off long enough for what, Commandant?’
‘Let me worry about that, Captain. See to your orders.’
‘Aye.’ Loric saluted. He hesitated for a moment. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve seen Lieutenant Toram?’
Barandas shook his head. He remembered the moustached officer from his brief visit to Malbrec. Not a good day.
‘No matter,’ Loric replied. ‘By your leave, sir.’ He saluted again and limped back across the square, heading eastwards.
Barandas watched him go. Faces peeked at him from behind drapes and then melted away again. The streets were empty except for soldiers and the odd militiaman scurrying about. Houses stood silent, shops closed, taverns barred shut. All those not actively involved in the defence of the city — women, the young, the old, the infirm — were taking refuge behind closed doors.
He thought of Lena back at their estate in the Noble Quarter. She would be waiting for him, sick with worry — and perhaps other things. I’m going to be a father. He had not seen his wife since yesterday morning and the guilt gnawed at him. I have a duty, he reminded himself. To the city. To the people. To my lord.