47. Declan

Chapter 47

Declan

K ingdom artillery quieted in the early afternoon, allowing me some much-needed rest. I’d rationed the magical wine, allowing myself only a few sips. The fruity liquid presented itself as a light blackberry liquor and lifted my spirits but did little to revive my aching body.

I needed solid food and hours of deep sleep for that.

Hosts of civilians still waited their turn at the eastern gate when the moon crested that night. The evacuation was going as well as could be expected, only stalling a few times when a cart tipped over or a mule refused to advance. More than six hundred thousand now streamed east toward the border state of Pantrel, the friendliest of Melucia’s neighbors.

The effort had emptied the capital of horses, carts, carriages, and anything else that would carry people away from the doomed city quickly. All were heavily laden with personal items, clothing, keepsakes, and anything else the frightened refugees could grab in the few minutes the soldiers allowed for packing. Too many were forced to leave precious heirlooms that were too large or heavy to carry.

The wealthy of Saltstone owned horses, but hundreds of thousands shuffled behind the massive caravan, struggling under the weight of whatever possessions they could carry.

If Kingdom forces chose to attack, those poor souls would buy others time to race for the border.

It was one of many brutal sacrifices required by this terrible war.

Early in the evacuation, a young girl, tears staining her features, had stretched beyond her mother’s grasp to touch the wooden gate as they passed through, a gentle, sullen goodbye to the only home she’d ever known. From that moment, regardless of the frantic pace the soldiers set, each person who exited mimicked her farewell.

As the sun began to fall on the next day, the Kingdom’s catapults remained silent.

A full day of quiet had passed.

Now, thousands of men lined up silently behind their shield wall.

On both their right and left flanks, men on horseback stood in countless ranks, their horses dancing with anticipation. An uneasy stillness settled across the would-be battlefield between the Kingdom lines and Melucian walls.

“What are they up to? It’s been a week, and their artillery hasn’t made a dent. They can’t be readying for an attack. Even with their numbers, that’s suicide.” I ran a hand mindlessly through my stringy hair. I hadn’t bathed since the siege began, and I was appalled as my hand emerged from the oily mess it had become tangled in.

“I don’t know. Just be ready to throw up another shield,” Quin said from his place outside the circle.

“They are moving some of the catapults around, pointing them in different directions. Dozens are moving through the camp toward the southern end of their line,” órla’s voice echoed in my head.

“Spirits! Arch Mage, get word to General Vre to expect bombardment on multiple fronts this morning. They’re heading to the southwestern quadrant.”

As Quin turned, the familiar whooshing sound of catapults releasing their tension echoed through the chamber. I threw out my hands and erected a barrier in the path between the battlefield and tower in time to stop the first stone of the day.

The jubilant cry of thousands of soldiers followed a loud crash as the next stone slammed into the western wall, well south of the Mages’ tower and my protection. Splinters flew in every direction as the boulder slammed into the massive logs. The logs’ reinforcements held, but precious wood now bore pale wounds where bark had ripped away.

A dozen boulders followed, then a dozen more.

I dropped my shield and erected a new one before the wall, redirecting several boulders into the field of pickets below. Explosions sounded as each boulder fell into the Mages’ pots buried between picket rows.

That well-laid trap lost its element of surprise.

As soon as Kingdom forces recognized my shift, ranks of catapults along the northern end of the line launched their stones toward the tower.

A dozen found their mark.

The ancient structure shook with the impacts, nearly knocking me off my feet.

My concentration shaken, the shield faltered, and stones battered the wall again.

Quin helped me steady myself as I recreated my shield. I reduced its height but extended its length to protect part of the wall as well as the tower. More explosions sounded as stones slammed into the magical barrier and fell harmlessly to the killing field below.

“I had hoped to save this card, but we have got to cover the evacuation. Keep that shield up!” Arch Mage Quin yelled. I watched as he dropped to his knees and pressed his palms into the circle. Power surged, as though the Well itself had been called to action. I fought to control the swell, barely noticing how Quin’s entire body began to glow. Between my tunic, the power raging through me, and the Arch Mage’s channeling, the top of the tower shone as a new sun on the horizon.

In moments, Quin rose to his feet and stepped inside the circle to stand beside me. His eyes swam with the pearlescence of magical mist. His skin glowed a brilliant blue.

Through the tower’s window, I watched as the skies clouded, then darkened, then turned black coal. Loud as the thundering of a thousand hooves, frigid air rushed down from the Silver Mountains and over the Kingdom forces.

Snow rained down in thick, wet sheets.

There was fury in the storm’s lament.

By the end of the day, snow as deep as men were tall blanketed the countryside on Saltstone’s western border.