Page 93 of A War of Three Kings

I run to him.

I took my eyes off the battle for what felt like a few heartbeats, and it has changed.

They have unleashed those beasts, larger and more vicious than a Cú Sídhe of my court. The black hounds tear through the enemy’s ranks. Their huge feet trample over their own soldiers and their jaws snap at them, but they do not slow their pace. In a single leap, the hounds glide over the top of the furrow and land smoothly on the other side. Then they race their way up the vertical face of the main wall of Fort Blackrock, as though gravity has no hold over them.

My heart stops as pure fear for Keira floods me. It sends a wild panic rippling through me, making my mind spiral. I can’t drag my eyes away.

Those snarling beasts jump straight through the shields on top of the wall, designed to stop the high impact of stones projected by catapults and unable to prevent creatures from striding through.

Chaos immediately explodes on the lowest battlements as soldiers race to engage with the hounds. The intensity of the arrow fire from the walls into the enemy horde halves, then the crossbolts stop firing from Cyprien’s position opposite us. Hounds leap over the cusp of the wall there to attack them.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Drake grinds out as he peers over the side of our battlements. He turns wide eyes to me. “They are running straight up our wall.”

“Prepare to engage the enemy!” I scream, drawing the enchanted sword from my back. I glance over the edge, then quickly rear back. “Five war beasts approaching. Protect the healers’ retreat!”

Fae abandon the bolt launchers, useless at close range, and draw swords and axes instead. Feral growls reach us right before the huge forms leap over the wall’s parapet. They are horrible masses of black fur, with large paws tipped in long claws and snarling mouths filled with great teeth.

A beast with foam spilling from its jaws lunges at me.

I fall to my knees and skid across the stone pavers under its form as it arches through the air. I hold up my sword and slice it through the soft underbelly with all of my might. Blood coats me, and organs slop out behind me. The trajectory of the beast has it sliding across the floor.

Another one charges at me, hot on the first’s heels, and I dive to the side and swing my sword in a killing blow in the same motion, removing its head.The impact of both blows and the essence of life my sword drags from their bodies charges the enchantment in the blade, feeding raw power into me and topping up my reserves.

I am vaguely aware of Silvan dancing across the parapet itself, base jumping in the air and doing backflips as he attacks and retreats, slaughtering a beast before it crests the wall. Klara touches the fur of a single beast, drawing its entire life force from it in a heartbeat. The thing crumbles at her feet, a ruined husk. Her healing magic is the strongest I have ever seen.

A handful more hounds escape over the top of the battlement. The seasoned warriors behind me make fast work of dispatching them, their swords and axes ringing out as they strike through flesh.

I rush to Drake’s side and help him draw up the roots and branches of all the vegetation and trees along the craggy mountainside, growing them into thick claws and trapping the beasts advancing with them. With a quick flick of our wrists, those cages contract instantaneously, crushing the victims within. They let out high-pitched wails that cut off as soon as they start.

I am panting hard as I glance around at my warriors. We haven’t taken a single injury, despite how we are slick with blood and gore. “Back on the bolt launchers,” I order them, and they run to obey.

My eyes flick to the main battlements of the fortress, right over the gate, but there are no beasts left upon the wall and a pile of their smoldering ruins sits at its foot. Edmund must have had a blast, dispatching them that quickly. He is probably laughing maniacally up there, covered in his enemies’ blood.

“That was…anticlimactic,” Drake says.

I survey the battlefield, my heart sinking. “No. It was a clever distraction.”

The enemy has spanned the furrow with bridges in multiple places. Foot soldiers race up to the wall, carrying long ladders to scale it.

I thrust my power outward, ripping down the mountain and hopping through the trees flanking the battlefield until I take hold of those roots within the furrow.

Mine is not the only presence there.

I recognize Cyprien and Drake and many others as I grow woody spikes and thrash them at the ladders on the wall. The flimsy structures snap like twigs and humans fall from them, screaming as they hit the ground. I command more roots to swipe away the bridges and slam into the enemy trying to lay more.

An uneasiness settles deep within the pit of my stomach.

Something is wrong.

Those siege towers hang back behind their entire army. With them in place, they wouldn’t need to cross the furrow to reach the top of the wall. At the towers’ apexes are bridges that unfold to span the distance and grip onto the parapets. It cannot be the catapults launching fire crystals into the fray that hold them back. Built from sheets of iron, the towers would not burn.

It doesn’t make sense.

A horn blows a long note from the enemy command, calling their retreat. The foot soldiers turn and flee, leaving behind their ladders and bridges. As the swarm pulls away from the fortress,they reveal hundreds of bodies discarded at the foot of the wall, within the furrow and across the battlefield. There are so many humans there, dead for little purpose.

“Why are they calling a retreat already?” Silvan growls. “It’s hardly past noon.”

Waves of shock ripple through me. In this sort of siege warfare, this dance is played from dawn to dusk, day after day, until one side breaks.

---