The Outcast (Summoner #4)(97)

But even before they had left, Valens had reached the plaza, and it became immediately apparent that disguise was not an option.

The four streets that led to their destination were blocked off. There were as many as a hundred rebels at each one, scanning the crowds for anything suspicious as the people milled back and forth, singing and chanting their protests. It seemed that General Barcroft had warned the rebels of what had happened at Vocans. Disguises might have got them closer before the fighting started, but Prince Harold had decided the benefit of the demons outweighed this thin advantage.

“Prince Harold, are you sure we’re going about this the right way?” Ulfr asked, breaking into Arcturus’s thoughts.

“Yes, Ulfr.” Harold sighed, sick of belaboring the issue. “The southern entrance is our only option. There are no crowds there—which means fewer casualties if it comes to a fight.”

“But don’t you think that’s suspicious?” Ulfr asked.

“It’s likely where the soldiers will attack through. Then the men in the other three entrances will incite the crowds to riot and surge toward the square.”

“So we’d better get there before that happens,” Arcturus said.

He grimaced, thinking on the new plan that they had hurriedly devised in Uhtred’s tent. Ever since the rebels had occupied the southern half of the city, the narrow street there that led into the plaza had been kept clear for some unknown reason.

There were a few dozen rebels there, well-trained traitor soldiers keeping the crowds from the area, but it seemed the path of least resistance, and the one that would lead to the fewest casualties. So that was where they would go.

A thousand thoughts continued to spin through Arcturus’s mind as they marched. All the things that could go wrong. The many, many ways that he and Sacharissa could die. But he could do nothing about them now. Only walk on, and ignore the twitching curtains and scared faces in the frost-chilled windows on either side.

“Almost there,” Sergeant Caulder called. “Another street over.”

Now Arcturus was beginning to see people, though they did little more than scurry away at the sight of them. They could hear the crowds chanting, and it had become a maelstrom of noise. Somewhere nearby, the national anthem was being sung, near drowned out by the hundreds of screaming, shouting voices.

Then … a flash of light.

“No!” Harold yelled.

Above Arcturus, a giant dome was materializing in the air. The surface was a shining opaque white. A shield spell, larger than any Arcturus had ever imagined possible, completely covering the plaza. And somewhere else … screaming.

“The nobles are throwing up a shield,” Sergeant Caulder yelled. “We’re too late—the rebels must be attacking.”

Arcturus sprinted to the front of the line, his heart pounding in his chest. Prince Harold followed close on his heels, and Sergeant Caulder held out the scrying crystal for them to see.

Valens flew high above the southern entrance, and from the demon’s viewpoint, they could see themselves, just around the corner from the thin avenue.

And down the center of that channel that led directly to the plaza, dark forms hurried: a block of black-uniformed men, two hundred or more—it was impossible to tell. The image panned to the side, where the nearby eastern entrance was visible. There, the crowds surged forward, a stampede pushed on by scores of dark-cloaked men, like wolves chasing a herd of panicked deer.

“What do we do?” Arcturus said, watching as their plan fell apart before his eyes. “There’s an army of damned soldiers between us and your father. We were supposed to get there before their army attacked.”

Prince Harold simply stared, his head shaking.

“That shield won’t hold for long,” he said. “Thank god someone has some sense in there; it will keep the crowds off for now. But once they break in … my father will start the killing.”

Valens had hovered over the dome. Through the scrying crystal Arcturus could see the personal bodyguards of the various noble houses arrayed in battle formation, just inside the walls of the shield. Behind them, King Alfric and his various nobles sat in the plaza’s center, watching the crowds seething against the barrier from a large platform of wood. Even through the small shard of scrying stone, Arcturus could tell the edges were beginning to crack.

“You need to get past those soldiers … and use your demon to tear through that shield so you can reach your father,” Sergeant Caulder said.

“Yes,” Prince Harold said, his voice filled with defeat. “And hope the people will listen.”

“So that’s what we’ll do, then,” Sergeant Caulder growled.

“We’re outnumbered,” Prince Harold said, shaking his head. “I couldn’t ask your men to do this. It’s suicide.…”

“You don’t have to,” Sergeant Caulder said, straightening his back.

He turned and addressed his soldiers.

“Men, our mission is to cut our way through those traitor bastards and get our future king to the other side of the shield spell. Are you ready to do your duty?”

“Yes, sir!” the men shouted, and Arcturus was struck by how young some of them sounded. Many were barely older than he was.

“Then let’s go,” Sergeant Caulder bellowed, turning and drawing his sword. “For Hominum!”