Page 101 of A War of Three Kings

“Assuming the captain of Lord Adalwolf’s guard listens to you.” Diarmuid’s tone is bleak.

“We have thirty Mothers of Magic and the High Priestess. If he doesn’t listen to us, the people of his city will force his hand,” I bite out. I am so tired of men in power who lack empathy.

We make quick work of mounting our advance force and hiding those to be left behind. We break through the tree cover at a dead gallop. The fields fly past us as flocks of sheep scatter at our approach. My heart hammers wildly as we eat up the distance between the forest and the city, hope daring to soar in my chest.

A great pounding and crashing erupts from the forest behind us. I glance back as enemy warriors dash out of the trees to our far right, closer to the city. Fear spikes in the pit of my belly and sends fire racing down my nerves. The mass of that horde keeps spewing out of the trees, their number blackening the field until a hundred riders gallop for us.

We won’t make it to the city in time.

We charge straight for that closed gate, regardless.

Froth flies from my mare’s mouth, but she doesn’t slow her pace. My entire body moves in unison with hers.Horns bellow from the city’s watchtowers. Fynbar pulls a horn from his side and answers the call in a coded message of short blasts.

The pursuing enemy horde parts into two groups, one gaining on us to the right and the other dashing forward and preparing to cut us off from the gate.

“Ride straight for the city!” I scream. “Prepare to engage with the enemy!”

Diarmuid shoots me a wild-eyed look. The hardened soldiers around me merely draw their swords and grit their teeth. The only way we will survive is if we can break through that front rank before the rest of the enemy closes in behind us. I will not allow us to be trapped between two forces.

I pull my bow from my back as dread runs icy claws down my spine. I examine the warband that charges straight for us. The detail of the Explosion Brothers’ crest becomes clear on their shields: two muskets crossed over at the barrel. Definitely not the banners they flew in the battle of Fort Blackrock.

Many of the enemy have their arms raised with muskets pointed at us. My heart freezes at the sight, at all the unknowns of the range and damage of such a weapon—but they haven’t fired yet.

I grip my mount with my thighs alone and loose arrows in fast succession, throwing an air wield behind them to propel the missiles past a natural range with immense force. They find their marks in shoulders and chests, throwing warriors from their horses to be trampled by the riders behind them. They hadn’t raised their shields yet, not expecting my arrows to reach such a distance.

Then they fire their muskets.

Black smoke curls around the enemy as dozens of tiny metal balls race toward us. I throw all the power I can draw at once intoa hasty air shield around my people. Diarmuid’s magic threads into it alongside my own, but it’s not enough. The first bullets hit and shatter great cracks into the shield, allowing a handful of others to penetrate.

One whizzes right past my ear. The trajectory of another slices a gash through Diarmuid’s arm. The Appleshield Guard in front of me falls from her horse as blood sprays from her chest.

I glance back at our attackers as they raise more muskets at our flank. Then I notice the bags of black powder that hang from their saddles. A cruel smile curls on my lips when I remember reading that it is highly flammable.

“Diarmuid,” I call. “The black powder. Set it on fire.”

For someone who calls himself a pacifist, he doesn’t hesitate. Not when he knows what they will do if I am captured. We shoot out small, highly targeted fireballs. Guns explode in hands, severing fingers and forcing the Explosion Brothers to drop them.

A few of our blasts hit those bags of powder in the front line and miniature explosions erupt from them, engulfing men and horses in flames and sending body parts flying.

It has a domino effect as the horses behind rear up and drop their riders or trip over the sudden pile of bodies. We have taken out a dozen of their number, but there are still more of them than us.

Arrows whistle by as Appleshield Guards fire on the enemy finally in their range. Another horn bellows, and my gaze is dragged to the city wall. The gate is halfway up, and behind it a column of horsemen line up five abreast.

Help is coming, but they won’t reach us before both enemy hordes crush us between them.

The band behind us closes in. The second unit that originally veered around to cut us off from the wall turns toward us and charges at a front-on dead gallop.

“Arrow formation!” I scream, and my guards move to obey. “l will raise an air shield before you!”

My whole body shakes as I drag out every last drop of magic from my reservoir and throw up rectangular shields of opaque air before each guard. They reach from the tops of my soldiers’ heads to the hooves of their mounts.

It is incredibly difficult to hold the wields while racing on horseback and ensuring they move with us, but Diarmuid helps me. We are defenseless while we work, so Diarmuid and I move into the center of the formation.

We collide with the frontal enemy at high speed, the tip of our arrowhead formation allowing us to tear through their ranks, parting their number. Every jarring impact of their swords on our shields ripples through me, and I cannot stop every single strike, just most of them. Sweat beads on my brow from the strain and my vision dims at the edges.

Screams and the high-pitched screech of metal sliding against metal deafen me, both sides swinging blades and cutting each other down as we pass. Blood sprays in clouds and its metallic tang fills my nostrils.

One moment we are engulfed on three sides by snarling enemies wearing royal purple and attempting to cut us down, then the next we have pushed through to the other side of the warband.

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