Page 85 of A War of Three Kings

Aldrin shrugs. “There’s nothing we can do about what is behind enemy lines.”

I take in the scene again, and an idea comes to me. I catch my father’s eye and beckon him over.

“Those catapults.” I point to the wooden monstrosities that are constantly in motion, flicking stone after stone with teams of engineers scurrying around them. “I want to destroy them. Tonight, under the cover of darkness.”

A wicked grin appears on his face.

The time disappears with preparations and planning, then I find myself mounted on a warhorse, waiting for the iron gate to be slowly reeled upward, inch by painful inch. The cogs of the great pulley system squeal in protest and the chains creak.

My heart pounds at the racket.

It seems loud enough to wake the enemy, but their catapults still fire with a rhythmic grind, high-pitched soar and crack. Each time a stone hits the wall of Fort Blackrock, my horse prances nervously. I don’t know how the other soldiers around me seem so calm.

We are arranged in four parties, only mine comprised of humans on horseback. The rest are fae, their light armor and swords glimmering in the moonlight—not that they will use either in this scurry.

“Are you sure you are up to this, Keira?” My father glances sideways at me, his huge stallion raising him even higher above me. “There is no shame in staying in the fort. You are no soldier.”

“I am now,” I say. “This is my fight.”

“This is your fight.” He agrees.

The gate cranks a quarter of the way open, up to the height of my horse, and through it, trickles of falling stones and mortar are visible each time a missile strikes the wall and shakes the entire thing.

“Listen up, everyone!” Caitlin’s voice booms from the battlements above us. My eyes fly to her. She has a hand on her small, protruding belly and Diarmuid at her side. “Your job is to focus on bringing down those catapults, and that alone. We will be watching the enemy and will call a retreat as soon as they put together a force to harry you. Tonight’s mission is not to kill the enemy. It is not to fight any forces they send at you. It is to destroy even one of those catapults and damage their morale.”

A cheer rises from the crowd. My eyes slide to the party to my left, with Aldrin at its head. He gives me a curt nod, and those amber eyes remain trained on me. There is a vulnerability within them—fear of having me on the battlefield—but he would never hold me back. There is pride shining within them, too.

My heart lurches at the sight of the imposing figure he cuts: tall, his broad shoulders accentuated by the long, triangularspikes at the tips of his segmented shoulder guards. His bronzed chest plate gleams under the stars, rippled with muscles molded into it that reflect the sculptured body beneath.

It is enough to make my armor—a boiled leather corset sewn with metal disks, and a skirt of leather straps—seem basic and plain.

Aldrin gives me a half-smile, then tips his head toward the opening gate. I swing around and find it almost halfway up. My heart skips a beat at the enemy army visible beyond, the long arms of their catapults moving in the dimness like dancing spiders, and the hint of a shield wall in front of them.

“Everyone, you know your places!” my father roars. “Wait for my command.” He holds a fist in the air and turns to Aldrin. “Grow the bridge.”

Aldrin walks out in front of our force and raises both his arms, muscles rippling with the motion. The rustling of moving roots and groaning of wood are the first indications of his magic, before huge spears whip out of the gash and knit together. Dozens of tentacles rapidly interweave until a platform grows across the void, spanning it at a width enough for five riders abreast.

“Charge!” my father booms.

The fae race out of the fortress at speeds I can hardly track in the gloom. I kick my steed and lower my body as we humans gallop out behind them, led by my father.

The gate shudders and creaks as I race beneath it. A rain of pebbles and dust falls upon me as stones hit the wall. The thunderous sound rings in my ears and I inhale a lungful of gritty, bitter dust. I blink rapidly to get it out of my eyes. I pray to the gods that one doesn’t strike above my head and crash down on me.

My horse’s hooves hit the bridge, and to Aldrin’s credit, it doesn’t move or shake. I make the mistake of glancing down atthe drop below. Hundreds of wooden spikes reach up toward me and a muddy sludge coats its bottom.I don’t have time to fear falling into its depths.

The surface of the shield wall ahead ripples in waves as the soldiers in it register our charge. They arrange themselves to stand taller.

I focus all my attention on my father, his red mane of hair flowing behind him and froth flying from his stallion’s mouth as they race across the fields at breakneck speed. I push my horse harder, staying on his heels, with the Appleshield Guards Brandan, Liam and Aiden flanking me.

“Shields!” my father bellows.

I weave threads of hardened air to form a protective dome around us, one that defends against arrows fired at us, but allows our projectiles to pass through. I grit my teeth with the effort of holding onto it and forcing the shield to follow us. The men flanking me pour their raw magic into my weave, in the way we practiced for half the day, and the strain within me eases.

We fly across the night, closing the distance between ourselves and our enemy. Horns blast within their midst and a high-pitched sound wails overhead as sporadic arrows are let loose from beyond the shield wall.

The soldiers shift again, and the metal tips of spears poke out of the wall, glinting in the moonlight. I want to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, like we would send such a small number of soldiers to clash against that force.

A thrill pounds through me, making me feel alive and empowered. We are so close to the wall of the enemy that I can see the dints in each shield and the sneers on stubbled faces.

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