41. Declan

Chapter 41

Declan

T he shrill of the first boulders hurtling toward Saltstone’s walls screamed in my ears. Men at the gates cringed and held their breath. They strained to see through the fog. Fear flooded through them as death’s icy hand reached toward them.

The men in the towers had said their goodbyes.

They knew their structures would be targeted first, along with the gates. Each had accepted their fate. As the missiles approached, a calm settled over these brave souls as they shouted for those below to take cover.

I did not hesitate.

Drawing frigid air from the Silver Mountains behind the Mages’ tower, I poured force into the magic that swelled within me, then thrust out my hand. Blinding light launched from my palm, forming a massive shield, a vertical whirlpool of violent wind that rose high above Saltstone and roared with anger, strength, and power.

Boulders slammed into the shield and fell to the ground. Some shattering pickets. Others created new, more challenging obstacles for the invaders. I felt each stone strike, as though they somehow struck against my own skin. However massive, they were little more than a finger tapping against my arm.

Still, I felt each one.

Kingdom artillerymen stared in disbelief.

This was their moment, the time when they would deal a mortal blow to the bastards who killed their King, but they couldn’t see to aim—and the stones they hurled toward the enemy fell to the ground without so much as a splinter stripped from the walls. Officers screamed, snapping them out of their awestruck gaze. They hurried to ready the next round.

A bolt of liquid flame streaked from somewhere behind the walls. A trebuchet ignited and burned—but the flame’s hunger had yet to be sated. It danced from the weapon to the gunners readying their next stone, sending the men screaming and burning through the surrounding soldiers. Everywhere they touched, flames leaped and spread. In moments, dozens of fires blazed within the Kingdom’s ranks. By the time the flames were doused, three trebuchets and a hundred soldiers had been reduced to ash.

The stench of charred flesh and wood rose from their lines, reminding stout-hearted soldiers to fear their foe’s magical prowess.

When the last stone fell and the Kingdom soldiers turned to reload, I released the wind that formed my shield. A wave of angry air roared across the field, rattling the tightly fitted shields against each other. Soldiers cowered and fell to the ground, guarding themselves from the sudden gust. The trebuchets and siege towers trembled. Some lost stones already loaded but took no damage. When the wind finally died, a cheer rose from the Kingdom men, who believed a powerful weapon had failed to cause harm.

I remained unmoving.

I had not released the wind as an attack, merely a moment’s reprieve from containing the churning power within myself. I knew this would be a long day—the first of many—and was determined to conserve my strength.

A moment later, the screech of hurtling stone sounded again, and my respite ended.

After ten volleys, the sun passed its zenith, and the Kingdom’s trebuchets quieted. Morale swung like a pendulum when the Kingdom’s volleys were answered by our Mages. Not a single stone had penetrated my shield, sometimes formed of wind, other times a swirling vortex of water.

Many trebuchets’ stones now lay before the city’s walls, forming a more permanent barrier. By morning, everything would be frozen in place again, but for the moment, the Kingdom’s front lines were a muddy, sloshy mess—and Saltstone had her western stone wall.