“Isn’t that interesting,” Shea murmured. A mythological was keeping the peace. It made sense in an odd sort of way. She doubted Griffin could control this many, even with a beast call. Overwhelming a beast’s instincts would be amazingly difficult. But, if you had someone there, someone crazier and scarier than anything else on the field, you might be able to establish order for a short amount of time.
She just didn’t know the best way to take advantage of that observation.
“Can we take out the bridge?” her mother asked when Shea tuned back into the conversation.
“That would leave us cut off,” Braden explained. “Without the bridge, you have no way to cross the chasm short of going into the lower parts of the Keep.”
Which no one wanted to do because of the ballyhoo.
“It would be a short-term solution and would do little to solve the problem,” Fallon said, his voice thoughtful. “They could just sit out there with us stuck in here. Eventually, we’ll run out of food and water.”
“Not for a long while,” her mother said. “An underground river keeps us supplied with water.”
“But not food,” Braden said.
“We have enough stores to survive a protracted siege,” her mother said. “It’s part of the tithe the Highlands pay us for services rendered.”
“How long?” Fallon asked.
Lainey’s gaze turned inward as she ran calculations. “Eight months, maybe a year.”
They turned to stare at the beasts outside. Each thinking similar thoughts. How easy was it for whoever was holding their strings to maintain this level of cooperation? Was it something that could be used for an extended period of time?
“Destroying the bridge means we give up all hope of retrieving the Lux from Griffin,” Shea said into the quiet.
“We may not have a choice if we want to survive,” her mother argued.
“We can live today or die tomorrow,” Braden said, his face reflecting the disgust at the decisions in front of them. “Some choice.”
They all looked at Fallon. Ultimately, the decision rested with him. As warlord, it was his leadership they followed. Shea didn’t envy him the responsibility, knowing just how heavy a weight it was.
“Griffin was always the sort who liked to gloat over his victories,” her father drawled. “There’s a good chance he’s still out there, which gives us options. We could catch him if the opportunity presents.”
Fallon studied the scene below them.
“We leave the bridge intact for now,” Fallon said, his words slow as if he was still sifting through his thoughts. “We can destroy it later. For now, we do what we can with the assumption that we’ll win this battle.”
“Is that wise?” her mother asked. It was a sentiment Shea knew would be echoed by the rest of the pathfinder’s counsel. “If we’re overwhelmed, we might not get another chance.”
“Maybe not, but I didn’t become warlord by always taking the safest option.” Fallon turned and speared those behind him with a look. “We leave it be for now.”
Shea looked back at the horde threatening to swallow them whole. She saw her mother’s point, but she also saw Fallon’s. Braden was right. Destroying the bridge was a short-term solution that limited their options in the future. With the bridge still in place, they could draw their enemy in, slowly pick them off in the limited quarters.
Destroy it, and this turned into a war of attrition. Who could last the longest—those in the Keep or those outside? If Griffin was so inclined, he could leave small pockets of beasts in the area to alert him when the pathfinders stirred from their self-imposed exile. To say nothing of what would happen to the rest of the Highlands while they were cowering behind these stone walls.
“They’ve started to move,” Braden said in a terse voice.
Together, they watched as the beasts advanced, a stream pouring onto the bridge. Trateri and pathfinder alike worked together to stem the tide.
Pitch and tar were poured over the side of the walls onto the bridge. An arrow was lit and shot into it to set it on fire. There were high screeches and ear-splitting sounds of pain that reached even their heights.
Behind the Keep’s gate waited several phalanxes of armed Trateri, shields held on one arm as they packed in, shoulder to shoulder in the small space. They were a precaution in case the door broke or beasts spilled over the top of the walls as they had the previous night.
Pathfinders lined the walls in addition to the Trateri archers. As the beasts fought onwards after the boiling pitch had been poured onto them, the archers sent arrow after arrow into their hides with little effect.
These weren’t humans. These were beasts, creatures of myth and legend, the reason humans feared the dark, wild places outside their walls. They weren’t easy foes even at the best of times. Massed together like this they were nearly impossible to repel. They fed on each other’s pain and death, using it as fuel as they bunched at the Keep’s gates.
It was only a matter of time before they broke through.
