The Outcast (Summoner #4)(98)

“Shield wall,” Percival shouted.

There was a clunk of wood as the men formed up, a wall of flesh, iron, wood and leather. Only their eyes were visible beneath their helmets, staring between the metal rims of their shields.

Arcturus could not believe their courage. They were facing impossible odds, yet here they stood, ready to give their lives.

“Get behind us,” Daniels ordered, his voice emerging somewhere deep within. “You too, Caulder.”

Harold, Arcturus and Sergeant Caulder did as they were ordered, slipping through the thin gap of space left on the edges of the street and joining Rotter and Ulfr with their demons on the other side.

“Forward … march!” Percival yelled.

They were going to war.





CHAPTER

58

THEY TURNED THE FIRST corner and the next, their formation impeccably turning on its axis and up onto the avenue toward the plaza. Arcturus felt helpless, walking at the back. All he could do was stare into the scrying crystal in Sergeant Caulder’s hand, and watch as the traitor soldiers turned and saw the approaching shield wall.

“Let ’em know we’re coming!” Daniels shouted.

Wood clattered on wood as the men drummed their spears against their shields. With each beat, they chanted in unison, a great outpouring of breath.

Hoom. Hoom. Hoom.

Arcturus could feel the sound deep in his chest, and the men stamped forward in time, as if they could shake the very ground with their steps.

Hoom. Hoom. Hoom.

Suddenly, Sacharissa unleashed a howl, the cry so loud and keening that it hurt Arcturus’s ears. The other demons joined in, adding to the din, an unearthly caterwauling that would chill the rebels’ blood.

The Nandi’s roar seemed to rattle the windows of the dwellings on either side of the avenue, and Arcturus heard the sound of locks being turned and bars being lowered on the lower floors, while terrified faces watched from the windows.

“Hellfire, there’s a lot of them,” Prince Harold shouted over the din. In the crystal, the rebels milled around, unsure whether to charge. Behind Harold’s men’s shields, it was impossible to tell if they were friend or foe.

“They don’t know how many we are,” Arcturus yelled. “Give them a taste of steel and they’ll run.”

Hoom. Hoom. Hoom.

Their thin line was so close to the enemy, no more than a dozen steps away. Beyond, the shield’s surface glimmered and swirled, casting their battlefield in an unearthly glow.

“Fire!” Percival screamed.

Eleven crossbows jerked, and as many rebels were hurled back into the mass. There was panic as the nearest ranks scrambled to get back, while those behind blocked their path.

“At will, at will!” Daniels ordered.

More crossbows spat, sending rebels tumbling. They were so close. Now Arcturus could hear the first bolts being fired back, thudding into the wood of the loyalists’ shields. But in their formation, it seemed they were untouchable.

Arcturus saw the elbows of the third rank jerking as they stabbed between the shields, their long spears joining those of the first as the sides met. Screams of pain echoed down the street, and now Arcturus could hear weapons thudding on wood.

“Step over them and kill the bastards. Forward!” Percival cried.

Hoom. Hoom. Hoom.

Their chanting was breathless now, but still the men stepped forward. In the crystal, Arcturus saw rebels throwing themselves against the shields, beating at Harold’s men with their swords. But the shields of the third rank protected the heads of the first, while the crossbow bolts whistled through the gaps and the double row of spears stabbed and stabbed again.

Bodies began to appear, trampled underfoot. An injured rebel flailed as a member of the third rank stabbed down, ending the traitor’s life before joining the shield wall once more.

“No mercy,” the soldier bellowed. “For Hominum!”

They were winning. The rebels were falling over themselves in their rush to escape the meat grinder that approached them, and the white dome drew ever closer with every step.

But then Prince Harold let out a gasp, and Arcturus looked behind him. Scores of rebels were emerging from side streets, a hundred feet behind them.

“Bastards,” Sergeant Caulder called, brandishing his blade. “Our shield wall will be cut to pieces from behind. It can’t turn around.”

Hoom. Hoom.

Arcturus glanced over his shoulder. The dome was so close—the traitor soldiers in front of it were running around its rim into the corners of the plaza, thinning the mass of men who still fought a running battle against Harold’s loyalists.

But the shield wall could only move so fast, one step at a time.

“Good thing we’re here to protect them,” Rotter snarled. The soldier drew his sword and pointed it down the way they had come, where the new rebels were still massing. It seemed there might have been as many as a hundred dark-clothed men there.

Hoom. Hoom.

“They’re disorganized,” Sergeant Caulder called out, shading his eyes. “Those are no soldiers. They’re citizens.”

Now that Arcturus looked, he could see the different colors of cloth, and the weapons held were mostly kitchen knives and lengths of wood.

“No crossbows,” Ulfr said. “We might just hold them.”