Anais and the Broken War (The Blood Mage Chronicles Book 5) (11 page)

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FYNN, GORMAN, AND I walked along the parapets, passing soldiers bearing crossbows positioned in even increments until we entered the shadows of an empty alcove. Several of the men had given me strange looks as we had ascended the steps and walked along the wall, but not one dared to question me. Since no other soldier wore a copper helmet, I must look incredibly strange. However, Gorman’s presence with us had provided me armor against anyone wishing to turn me away. Everyone paid deference to him.
 

After ducking into the alcove, I gratefully removed the helmet and dropped it onto the stone floor. Although it wasn’t heavy, it was awkward and impaired my vision.

“That thing is ridiculous,” Gorman said.
 

“Thanks,” I grumbled.

“Where did you find it? Soldiers haven’t worn helmets like that in a hundred years.”

“It’s one of my props,” Fynn admitted. “The artist who used to own my studio painted military miniatures…” Fynn’s voice trailed off. His jaw dropped as his eyes hit the ground below. “Shyte! I didn’t realize there were so many of them.”

Following Fynn’s gaze, I took in the expansive view from our perch on the wall. Hundreds of slick blue-black bodies loomed amongst the trees–more than I could count. As we watched, three furies broke from the trees and scrambled toward the wall.
 

The soldiers readied crossbows and a shout curdled, “Four, Seven, and Eight.” Three bolts arced through the air. One bolt slammed into the body of a fury, knocking it to the ground.

“Five and Nine,” the voice shouted, and two more bolts shot out into the air. This time they each hit their target.

“Why aren’t we using the cannon?” Fynn asked.

“There’s only one,” Gorman responded. “It’s manned and loaded, but it takes an age to reload, and it isn’t very accurate. We’ll use it if we have to–if they come at us en mass. But, crossbows are preferable.”

“I’ve never seen the canon,” I said.

“Because it’s hidden within the tower. If there’s a siege, its neck sticks out of a square opening in the wall. The opening is covered up in peacetime. You would have no reason to know it exists.”

“When do you think the fat man will send out the skins? You still think he’s going to do it, right?” Fynn asked.

“Soon,” Gorman said. “I can feel him deciding.”

“Ani broke the fat man’s connection to me. She can do the same for you. You don’t have to go through with it.”
 

Gorman shook his head. “No.”

“Gorman, be sensible. There’s no reason for you to put yourself through a massacre,” Fynn said. “Ani can break your bonds. She can do it now.”

I nodded fingering the necklace around my throat. “You don’t want to go out there.”

“Don’t waste your magic on me, Anais.”

“It’s not like that. It’s not finite.”

“Look, I can’t abandon my men. A quarter of the guard are skins. I’m not letting them die without me. I have a responsibility to do the right thing. Please understand, I’m not a coward.”

“Then why am I here, if not to save you. What purpose is there in bringing me up here? I’ve seen the furies before, Gorman. This war isn’t new for me. Why am I here?”

“You’re a wildcard, Ani. The fat man wants you to find some way to use your magic to minimize the carnage. He thinks you might make a difference.”

I inhaled sharply. “I’ll do what I can, but Fynn told you how little control I have in this sort of situation.”

“Still, it’s worth trying. Shyte, at the end of the day, all we have is our best efforts.”

“What about me?” Fynn asked. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t have any magic.”

Gorman shrugged. “Do whatever you want, Fynn. Run away if you must. You’re not a skin anymore.”

Fynn sighed. “Please, reconsider,” he begged. “Martyrdom is overrated.”

The gate creaked open as two soldiers turned the lever. Gorman closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they were covered in a glassy film.

“Gorman…” Fynn clasped his arm. “Don’t…”

Gorman ripped Fynn’s hand away and walked in slow controlled steps down the length of the parapets toward the stone stairs. He wasn’t alone. Three dozen men dropped their weapons and followed Gorman. They walked with wooden steps through the archway and the gate closed again in their wake.

“Shyte,” Fynn said. “It seems you really did break my bonds. I don’t feel the slightest inclination to join them.”

My eyes glued to the scene below, I nodded. “Good.”

“Reform,” a shout echoed. Soldiers along the wall redistributed themselves, filling the gaps left from the departed skins.
 

“This can’t be happening,” Fynn muttered. “This can’t be real.”
 

Ten furies broke from group who were milling in trees and leaped toward the skins. Two of them jumped on a boy I didn’t recognize, their talons ripping his throat. Blood gurgled from his open lips. One fury gorged on the boy’s throat while another fury took the boy’s arm. The furies shouldn’t have wasted time feeding, but perhaps they couldn’t control themselves. Another skin I didn’t recognize slammed his sword into the back of one of the furies and then the other. Making quick work of the two monsters.

Another fury pushed aside the boy with the sword and buried his teeth in the dead skin’s flesh. The boy who had lost his weapon stood, picked it up, and lopped the fury’s head clean off. While he swung his sword, a fourth fury broke from the trees and started running in their direction. I wanted to scream out and warn the skin, but I was too far away. He would never hear me. The fury jumped on the skin’s back, driving him to the ground. A dozen other furies broke from the trees, and they fought over the boy’s body, tearing him to pieces. I didn’t want to look anymore.

I moved my attention across the battlefield to Gorman. He had a sword out and was slashing madly. He took down one fury and then another. He held his ground, but he couldn’t keep it up for long. He must be growing weary.

A naked man took several steps out of the trees but didn’t join the melee.

“Oh shyte,” Fynn said. “What’s he doing out there? He’s human.”
 

“No,” I whispered to Fynn. “I don’t think so. Can’t you see his eyes?” His eyes were pools of inky darkness so deep I thought I could fall into them.

“He’s too far away…”

I felt a chill descend my back. I could see more than just his eyes. The blood pulsing through his veins, the hairs on his hands, all was visible to me. Tiny pinpricks danced across my flesh. I must have been using magic to enhance my view. I wasn’t even trying.

The man raised his arms, and a second swarm of furies broke from the trees, converging on the skins.

“Ready the cannon,” a shout echoed.

“Do something!” Fynn cried in my ear.

I slashed my palm with my blade, cutting over the barely healed scar. A thin trail of blood drizzled onto the necklace. While I focused my attention on the line of furies in the woods, I decided to start small so that I didn’t risk losing control. I directed invisible lines of energy through the black rock and into my hands. Then I forced the energy to flow out of my fingers and arc through the air towards a circle I had selected. I sunk the energy into the ground, using it to make the ground soften. I watched as three furies started to sink fast beneath the muck. I retracted the twisting threads of power, pulling them back into myself. The furies were still stuck, but they weren’t descending any further. They just writhed while futilely trying to climb back onto solid earth.
 

I took a long breath. That wasn’t so bad. I could do this. Where was Gorman? I found him in the center of the conflict, fighting off two foes. He swung his sword wildly at one and then the other, holding them off. A third fury ran toward him. I flung threads of power at the fury’s feet, tethering him to the ground. It worked. The fury froze.

A loud boom echoed through the air, indicating that the cannon had fired. A giant flaming ball careened into the field and hit a group of battling furies and skins. The bodies scattered and screams tore through the air. Gorman wasn’t in the group. He was still holding off two furies. I directed threads of magic to the feet of first one and then the other, giving Gorman the opportunity to gain the upper hand. As both furies struggled to move their legs, Gorman thrust his sword into the gut of one and then the other. Their blue-black bodies shuddered and then fell unmoving to the ground. Free for the moment, Gorman jumped to the next fight. Three furies had a young skin surrounded. The boy was hopping madly, trying to fend them off, but his leg appeared to be wounded. It looked like he wouldn’t make it on his own. While Gorman stabbed one in the back, I tied the feet of the others to the ground. Gorman pulled the boy away, and I thought for a moment that they would be okay.

The man at the edge of the woods raised his arms in the air again. An army of furies piled onto the field. I tethered one fury to the ground and then another, but I wasn’t moving fast enough. I couldn’t keep up. I made a large circle around a group of them that had reached the foot of the wall. But by the time I managed to soften the patch of ground, the furies I was trying to target were already clambering up the wall, their legs seeming to stick to the stone as they moved. I closed my eyes. It didn’t matter. Nothing I did mattered. There were too many of them.

I looked back to the field, searching for Gorman. I couldn’t find him or any of the skins. The rush of furies charging forward blurred everything.

“Where is he?” I whispered. “I don’t see him.”

Fynn pointed toward a group of a dozen furies in the field, tearing someone to shreds. “He’s dead,” Fynn whispered.

My lips trembled. It was unreal. How could this be happening?

One of the furies who had been climbing the wall reached the top and scrambled over. A crossbowman dropped his bow and rammed a knife into the fury’s stomach. The other crossbowmen along the wall started fighting furies as they clambered over the ledge. One after another, the furies invaded. They didn’t bother to ascend the wall in an organized fashion; the faster, stronger ones just climbed the backs of the weaker ones until I could no longer count the number of furies on the wall. It wouldn’t be long before they flooded the city.
 

Fynn grabbed my arm. “It’s over. We have to get out of here.”

Unable to move or think, I let Fynn pry the black rock necklace from my hand and shove it in his pocket. My body shuddered, and I went limp. Without the flood of power from the necklace, I was helpless. I looked up at Fynn, and it appeared as if he were swimming in front of me.

He shook my shoulders. “Snap out of it. I need you.”

While blinking several times, I inhaled sharply, trying to wake myself from this dream. Our little alcove was more or less surrounded. There was no way out.
 

“How,” I murmured, barely able to get the word out. I had that drained feeling that always followed an overuse of magic.

Fynn looked around desperately. There was a short wall at our backs. Fynn placed a foot on one stone that jutted out and used it to gain enough height to pull himself over. I followed him, and soon we were standing on another ledge on the reverse side of the wall. This time looking down into the city.
 

He pushed me, and I twisted as I fell. I grabbed the ledge with both my hands. After which Fynn jumped, landing softly in a pile of hay inside the walls of Barriershire. I knew I needed to let go, but I was having trouble moving my fingers.
 

A fury scampered over the short wall and landed on the ledge. It reached for my hand with its talons, and I let go before it could touch me, falling into the hay beside Fynn. Fynn took my hand and pulled me to my feet. The fury jumped and landed in a squat beside us, his muscled blue-black legs straightening as soon as he hit the ground. He was taller and broader than we were, with wild black hair and pointy teeth. Knowing we would lose if we had to fight him hand-to-hand, I tried to come up with a plan. We faced a moment that required action, but I froze, my ability to think still broken from the magic I had used.
 

Fynn threw one of his blades, hitting the fury in the shoulder, giving us the moment we needed to flee. Fynn took my hand again, and we ran toward the glowing lights of the city. How could we escape? It seemed only a matter of time before the entire city would be overrun. I had to trust that Fynn had a plan, for my mind was too muddled to dream up an escape for us.

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