Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles #1)(34)

Light sprinkled through the trees as the sun climbed up past the horizon. A roar of male voices surged toward them. Metal clanged in the distance. Thunder rolled, feet and hooves stomping the dirt.

“It begins. They are dirty, useless filth! We will be victorious! Fill your lungs with this sweet air, men. Soon we will soak it with blood. Victory!”

The men raised their swords in the air, growling, shouting. Ready.

Shanti bowed slowly to what had just become her men. She turned to Lucius, “You can fall back with the others.”

“I am sworn to protect you. Since I have already failed in that, I will fight with you.”

Shanti laughed, a carefree sound filled with adrenaline and excitement. She was about to do what she did best. “Fair enough.”

Chapter 16

Shanti turned, seeing the distant sparkle of steel in the early morning sun. Without needing to look down, she repositioned her throwing knives, making a quick grab easier. She swung her sword in a figure eight, loosening her wrists. She bounced a few times on stiff knees, trying to get her body keyed up. Mentally, she was ready. Her net was out, sensing the minds running at her, bundles of rage and malicious intent. Most had a singular focus: kill!

The ground shook. Yelling from the men behind her curled around her ears. Leather creaked. Metal scraped.

Her mental net pulsed, fueled by a rush of adrenaline. She brushed the minds around her, connecting, like holding hands in a pray circle. “Archers, hit the outskirts of the horde!” she commanded. “Make them come at me single file if possible. Slim them down. Aim for the sides! They will not bother with the wall when the gate is open. They will slow themselves down, waiting like a bunch of washerwomen. Stick an arrow in their eye!”

The men at the wall roared.

“Lucius, are you ready?” she asked in a firm voice.

“More than ready, my Lady. Eager.”

“Good.”

The roar of battle rage filled the sky. Horses came first, harnessing a giant wooden rod between them, the ends of the beam covered with a layer of thick metal. Chains attached the pole to a harness draped over the horses’ backs. The metal on the front caught the early light, giving it an unearthly gleam.

It looked like the Mugdock attempt at a battering ram, with men following up behind to pull the large contraption, having to let it go to make it swing. It would take a concentrated effort and a lot of strength, but it would’ve worked. Luckily for Shanti, the strange design and homemade quality meant it would be easy to use against them.

The men behind her started to breathe heavily, adrenaline pumping into their veins. Some growled. Some urged the enemy on. Others shifted in anxiety.

“Courage!” she shouted. “Hold your ground!”

She touched the dull mind of the horses, imaging the fresh smell of wolves wrapping around their flaring nostrils. As their eyes rolled, she gave them a twist. Horses weren’t overly intelligent, and these in particular were malnourished and ill-treated, judging by the silver scars flashing in the dawn—a small discomfort would be enough to derail them entirely.

As expected they screamed and bucked, making the ram between them roll and buck. Metal squealed as riders fell, landing under thrashing animals. An unshod hoof came down with force, popping a skull beneath it. Blood splattered to the sides, splashing the legs of men running by.

A metallic pop sounded—the first broken chain. The freed horses reared again, hitting a man running too close. Another pop, then another. The heavy ram burst from its support and slammed to the ground, bouncing and rolling. The crowd pushed behind, trying to get around. The massive rolling log took out a line of bodies before settling into the blood-soaked dirt.

Shanti crouched, feeling the minds around her coil. Feeling the rage charging. Absorbing the violence. Giving her blade a comforting squeeze.

And they were on her, a tide of robust, pungent, screaming men.

A rusty blade wielded by a tree trunk arm swung through the air, slashing toward Shanti’s face. She dodged and pivoted, bringing her blade through the middle of his chest. She whirled away, hitting the next with a downward swipe. She feinted to the side, narrowly missing a blade, and came back with her sword’s answer, severing his head in a clean strike. On to the next. And the next. Her body was warming up, the familiar dance filling her with joy. Bodies were piling up around her, death hanging in the balance of her strikes and dodges. But they were many and she was one.

She danced closer to Lucius, who was felling as many as she. His style was vastly different, cleaving and hacking, blocking and stabbing, but just as effective. More bodies piled. A sword missed her head; an arm came in to punch.

She sliced the arm at the elbow and kicked out, hitting a mammoth of a man in the stomach. She snatched a knife from her belt, the man too close for a sword strike, and stabbed him in the eye. Blood sprayed across her face as she whirled away, not wanting to get caught in the flailing limbs. Hefting her knife into the air, she grabbed it by the blade, and threw. Blood blossomed in the neck of a man running by.

All these warriors were head and shoulders taller than she was. They were the Captain’s height at least, easily his brawn or bigger. Nowhere near as quick or agile, thank the Elders their sympathy.

An hour in and she was more than warmed up. She was starting to work now. Still smooth, still killing like a knife carving through cream, but hitting her peak. It was too early. She should not be so tired so early. There was still a horde at her gate, with a pile of bodies for them to clamber over, and there would be many more. Many, many more.