Rise (War Witch Book 1) (70 page)

"This is for making me run that far, assholes," he managed to get out, filling the air with fireballs.

Rakin and Fallows hauled as hard as they could, trying to ignore how weary they already were as they pelted down the walkway, bound for the next cannon. Ahead of them, they spotted a half dozen Doppelgangers firing arrows at the street below.

Several lay dead around them already, heads missing. Rakin didn't take time to wonder how that'd happened as she tightened her grip on her sword and nodded to Fallows. He returned the gesture, and slid behind her as they both moved to the center of the walkway.

The Demon Seed didn't even hear them coming over the booming of the cannons from the citadel and thumping of the mystic ones on the castle. The two soldiers laid their backs open without ever breaking stride, leaving them to die slowly as they raced on.

"You take the one coming up," Rakin ordered.

"Got it, Sir," Fallows said.

Swinging past the device, she glanced back to see him diving into the seat, bringing the cannon around quickly and filling the air with flames. Pouring on the speed, she raced for the last one. She just hoped the others could get to the mystic weapons in time to save the city.

"Castel," Vernit snapped, pointing at the mystic cannon as they approached it on the other side of the castle from their fellows. "Take it and get it firing!"

"On it, Sir," he replied, grabbing the rails to stop himself, and swinging into the seat quickly.

The thudding of the mystic fire filled the air a moment later as she and Wells raced on. It was echoed by the cannons from the citadel, bombarding their city.

"Gods damn them," Wells fumed.

"Ignore it, soldier," Vernit barked. "Remember what the Lieutenant said. Today, the War Wolf howls out names with pride."

"Yes, Sir," he said, but still, he couldn't help but feel anger boiling up as he watched his city being devastated.

For Vernit, it was every bit as hard, but she shoved it down and focused on getting to the next weapon. These things, whatever they were, wherever they had come from, were the only chance they had. The damn Demons had a head start on them, but she was determined to even the score.

"Now and then," she murmured. "You will find yourself called upon to act outside your typical chain of command. Through some disaster, or event of unexpected origin, you will have to band together in a unit comprised of people you don't know well, and still be able to act as an effective squad."

Wells chuckled. "Here I thought he was blowing smoke."

"Yeah, me too," she laughed. "Looks like the Lieutenant knows his stuff, though."

Wells shook his head as they approached the next cannon. "I'm gonna owe him a drink after this."

"Shit," Vernit called. "I'm gonna owe him a damn fuck!"

Wells laughed at that as he slowed, swinging for the mystic weapon. "Give him an extra for me!"

"Bring that damn thing down, and it's a deal," she called back, racing on alone.

Somewhere on the wall, a member of her squad was running for the same cannon she was. It was a race, she told herself, to see who got to it first. She kept telling herself that as Lansing was rocked by explosions, fires burning wildly everywhere she looked.

If she thought of it any other way, she would falter. The sheer enormity of what was happening was too much to handle. Narrowing her focus, she ran as hard as she could for the last cannon.

Maret watched as Lansing was torn apart by cannon fire. He couldn't help but smile. Renfro was dead, or soon to be, and he was the only one left to claim the glory of capturing the largest city in the north east. With Lansing under the heel of the Demon Gods, they could take the entire continent, from Pirnot in the northwest, all the way to the Yestin Sea.

It was a good day to be a Sky Commander.

The citadel rocked suddenly as something struck it. The mystic energies that kept the massive floating fortress aloft were a delicate thing. They couldn't be misaligned too much, or they would topple. He had seen it happen before.

"Report!" he snapped.

"Uh, well, sir," the Orc at the observation station said tentatively, tired of giving all the bad news today. "It looks like the castle is returning fire."

Maret blinked. "How is that possible? Show me!"

The mystic image swung in front of him, showing the weapon belching fire, and then pulled back as two more joined it. Maret's face contorted in anger. Where in the Hells had these people gotten mystic cannons?

"Order the gunnery crews to target those damn things!" he barked.

"Sir, yes sir!" the Hob Goblin behind him yelped, swinging around to the pipes.

Before he could give the word, the citadel bucked, pitching him forward and smashing his face against the communication tubes. Cursing, the Hob Goblin wiped blood off his face as his Commander scowled in growing agitation.

"I want those things destroyed," Maret snarled. "Now!"

"Sir, two more have opened fire!" the Orc whimpered.

"By all the Gods below," the Commander growled. "How hard is it to blow one stupid castle off the map?"

Light shimmered two feet from him. Startled, he turned to find an Ascended of Grannax, and a human, holding something in her hands. "Who the Hells are you?" he roared.

"Me?" Chara answered. "I'm just a farm girl."

Maret had time to be startled before he was seared to ash.

Chara spun, swinging her mystic handguns wide, spraying the command deck with fire as Shana hugged her back, delivering devastating bolts of divine energy. Demon Seed screamed and burned as runic equipment exploded, showering the command deck with energies as they escaped their confines, creating even more chaos.

The citadel listed, sending Chara skidding across the platform the Commander had been standing on a moment ago. Shana snagged her, hauling her back as she gripped a railing.

"It stinks in here," Chara quipped. "Let's bail."

"You got it."

They vanished in a swirl of light as the command deck began to explode.

Rills shook his head in frustration as he watched the fireballs from the mystic cannons impact the citadel. If they could've started hitting it farther out, they may've stood a chance. As it was, by the time they managed to drop it, there wouldn't be enough of Lansing to spit on.

Unless...

"Hold your fire," he yelled to Ramora.

Giving him an annoyed look, she raised an eyebrow.

"I've got an idea," he told her. "But, we need to time it right."

Looking doubtful, the Blessed nodded anyway, waving him on.

"Okay, right, cool," Rills said, stepping back a bit, watching as the citadel spun on its center axis. "Lower your sights by six degrees."

Ramora stared at him, irritated. How was she supposed to know how much that was?

"Just, go down till I say stop," he told her.

Shaking her head, she began easing the weapons down, tapping the rune gently, until Rills called her to a stop. Whatever he was doing, he better be right about it.

"Okay, on my signal," he said, raising his hand.

Ramora rested her thumb on the firing rune, watching him carefully. When his hand dropped, she hit the button, launching a single fireball at the massive structure.

Rills watched it carefully, biting his lip. His math was right. He knew it was. It had to be. His math was always right.

The fireball hit a cannon port, sending an explosion ripping through the lower half of the citadel as gunpowder ignited, setting off the cannonballs a scant few seconds later, making the entire citadel shudder.

"Yes!" he whooped.

Ramora nodded, giving him an impressed look. He caught himself as he spun and started to do a little victory dance, stopped, smoothed his jacket and threw her a thumbs up. Realizing he should've saluted, he jerked his hand up, almost poking himself in the eye, noticed he was using the wrong hand again, and switching quickly.

Ramora sighed heavily.

"Right. Okay. Good." Rills nodded to her, turning back to face the citadel. "Bring it up three taps, left four."

Rolling her eyes, Ramora began to do as he said when the citadel listed to the side. Rills blinked a few times, pointing, uncertain what to do now. Shrugging, the Blessed opened fire again, sliding the cannon sideways to rake the lower half, hoping to hit another cannon port.

The castle atop the flying cone of stone exploded upward in a massive flare of mystic energy, ribbons of blue, white, red, and green tearing into the sky. Secondary explosions ripped through the upper half, shattering stone, as slowly, the entire citadel was torn apart from the inside.

"Whoa," Rills said. "That was not what I expected."

Ramora stood up from the cannon as the flying citadel split apart and exploded, raining debris down on the docks as it groaned, falling from the air. Behind her, the mystic cannons fell silent as the Demon Seed war machine collapsed into the ocean.

"Did we just win?" Rills asked as she started walking away, heading for the stairs. "I think we won. Right? That means we won, doesn't it? Ramora?"

She waved to him as she reached the steps and started down.

Yeah. They'd won.

UNTAR SAGGED
while cheers rose up from the soldiers gathered around as the flying citadel ripped apart from the inside. Weary and wounded, the King started to sink to the ground, only to find himself caught by Esteban, who held him up. Nodding his thanks, he watched the massive structure collapse into the ocean.

A few feet away, Chara slid her mystic weapons away, Shana grasping her shoulder. Leena took off her cracked glasses, unable to suppress her smile as the citadel fell apart. Somehow, they had done it.

The docks shattered, ships were torn asunder as the thing fell, sending great waves crashing up, creating even more devastation. Everywhere they looked, buildings lay in ruin, fires burned, and citizens scrambled to put them out, or just wandered in a daze.

The remaining Doppelgangers fled, melting into the crowd and disguising themselves as they sought escape. Untar frowned at that, knowing that somehow, they would have to be rooted out and dealt with. That was a problem for tomorrow, though. Today, they had survived.

Healers from the temples arrived a few minutes later, attending to the injured as the City Guard fell into their training, organizing the civilians and directing them to places of sanctuary. Wizards and sorcerers from Kormack's Tower spread out, fighting the fires, and as the shock of the citadel's arrival faded, the city of Lansing pulled together.

Neighbors helped one another, shops threw wide their doors, giving freely whatever was needed, soldiers dug through rubble to reach survivors, and mages lent their mystic abilities wherever they could.

Up on the wall, Rills’ squad had gathered. Rakin and Vernit had reached the last cannon just as the citadel began to fall, but then left it to return and gather their comrades. The Lieutenant sat, the full weight of all that had happened finally settling over him, his tear-streaked face still somehow showing his pride in them. Toms had collected Ramora's sword, left lying beside the mystic cannon, a silent testament to her exhaustion. Together, they began the long march down, finding Izra as they went.