The pounding booms he had heard were the sounds of several massive battering rams being applied to the outer gates and wall by five enormous forms, each at least fifteen feet in height and covered in rocks and moss that had melded together to form massive bodies with arms and legs made of entire living tree trunks. Fiery arrows rained down from the walls, burning oil and pitch were thrown from above the gates, and as the five forms approached once more, one of them caught fire. A ragged cheer could be heard from the mob of soldiers manning the walls, but the Prince knew it was no victory.
Earth Daemons could not be defeated so easily.
The form on fire reared back and opened a craggy mouth, filled with gnashing peg-like teeth of rock and bone, and roared, a sound only echoed by the final crashing boom that signified the gate’s demise: it crumpled inward and was left in a twisted heap of wood and metal. The five Daemons pulled back, and the Imperial army began to flood through the now-open gateway.
Arrows from guard towers and the walls shot into the invading army by the thousand, but they had little to no effect, even though the Prince knew the accuracy of the Kindred and knew those arrows were finding their mark.
The army burst through the wall in the gleaming white-and-red armor of Roarke like a bloody wave. The Kindred soldiers, formed up before the wall in the green-silver-and-gold, met them head on, and held them. Arrows began to rain down on the inside of the wall as well, the men and women on the walls firing at the attacking army’s back as it passed beneath them. The Prince was shocked to realize that the Imperial army was being held to a stand-still, forced to bring only a small number of their force to bear because of the bottleneck of the gate, allowing the Kindred the advantage of numbers.
But then the Daemons arrived, with spiked morning stars swinging viciously back and forth in their hands, each the length of two men. Black-hooded figures rode on their shoulders—the Bloodmages who had conjured them and were controlling their movements. They came charging through their own men, flinging figures aside and trampling them as if they weren’t even there, and then they hit the Kindred and the slaughter began.
Men and women were thrown into the air, and all of the Kindred who attacked the monsters were trampled or found their weapons unable to pierce the rock skin of the Daemons. It was over in a manner of minutes, the Kindred fleeing before the onslaught of the five massive forms. Arrows continued to rain down, but now it was cover fire as men and women fled the outer walls and ran across bridgeways specifically crafted to allow them to reach the second wall without touching the ground. One of the Bloodmages saw this, and his Earth Daemon plunged its hands into the cobblestone street and pulled. An enormous slab of earth came free, was reared over the Daemon’s head, and hurled at one of these bridges, connecting and breaking it cleanly in two.
The Prince watched in horror as the Imperial army took the first tier of the city.
The Kindred soldiers retreated to the second level, passing through the gate as quickly as possible. Those who were too far away or who refused to retreat were given up for dead as the gates closed. The stone bridgeways connecting the walls were cut off as soon as the Kindred passed, portcullises with giant metal spikes rolled into place to prevent the Empire’s soldiers from following.
The second gate held, largely due to the presence of mounted ballistae that were heavy enough to give the Bloodmages and their Daemons pause, and scores of dead-eye archers manning the guard towers that struck down any wayward Imperial soldier brave enough to come close. The Prince saw the Imperial army falter, and then tactically retreat in order to regroup. A brief, harsh cheer went up from the Kindred soldiers manning the second-tier gateand walls, and the Prince allowed himself to take a long, slow, calming breath. They had been repulsed—the Kindred had bought time at least.
An iron fist grabbed the Prince’s shoulder and spun him around.
“Get back insidenow,” said the woman, her tone brooking no argument. The Prince shot one more glance out over the edge of the balcony and confirmed that the two armies were backing down for the moment. The Imperial army was bringing the rest of its force to bear, while the Kindred were repositioning their forces along the walls. The Prince turned, tearing his eyes off the sight of the burning buildings of the lowest tier of the city, and came back inside the temporary infirmary.
“This is Aemon’s Stand isn’t it?” he asked.
The woman eyed him in the same draconian manner as before, not deigning to respond. She pointed to the place in the corner of the room where he had woken. He moved to the bed of rags, his wound sending little shocks of pain down his side every time his left foot hit the ground.
“How did I get here?” he asked.
“Quiet,” the woman snapped. She placed a hand on his forehead. While the rest of her was covered with dirt and sweat, her hands were perfectly clean and cool to the touch.
“Arms up as high as they go.”
The Prince did as he was told and raised his arms over his head. His side gave a small twinge of pain, but that was all. The woman shook her head as she began to undo the white cloth tied tight around his torso. He winced as the pressure came off and the wound was exposed to the air.
“You should be dead,” the woman repeated.
“So I’ve been told,” he responded testily.
The woman grunted and thrust a cup of something into his face. “Drink.”
He drank again. This too tasted strongly of mint.
“What wasthat?”
“No questions!” she snapped. She applied some sort of foul-smelling poultice to his wound, which stung and burned. He gritted his teeth, taking it on faith that this woman wasn’t trying to kill him even though it felt that way. Once she was finished, she re-wrapped the bandage.
“You’ve been out for three days,” the woman said, still giving the impression that it was entirely his fault that he had taken so long to recover. “You came in with Captain Autmaran’s unit.”
“Where are Leah and Tomaz?” he asked. She eyed him for a second, and the Prince thought she would refuse to answer again.
“Black-haired girl and great big hulk of a man?” she grunted.
“Yes,” he said, sitting forward. “Where are they?”
“They were the ones who carried you here,” she said. “They come to check on you every few hours, but now that the siege has begun in earnest, I don’t think—stop right there!”
The Prince rose from his corner and moved toward the door on the far side of the room. He paused, unconsciously responding to her tone that seemed to expect his obedience. It was as if his brother Rikard, Prince of Lions, were talking to him; but she was not his brother, and her powers were no more than a normal woman’s. He shook himself and moved on, through the door. On the other side there was a staircase, which he descended.
