Chosen (The Warrior Chronicles #1)(35)

Dying in battle was an honorable death.

Chapter 17

BOOM!

The gate knocked inward. Dust sprayed the air. Wood creaked.

“It’s holding!” someone shouted.

And it would hold, Sanders reflected, walking along the trembling wall. A flash of sun on metal pierced his eye. The men held their breath as the giant metal fish came barreling forward.

BOOM!

Archers scattered their arrows into the amassed crowd of Mugdock, trying to throw up their ladders to climb over the wall. Not a chance—Sanders’ men were fast and good, taking down anyone who got close. Arms swung back, grabbed more arrows, and loosed. And again. Again.

BOOM!

“Courage, men! It will hold!” the Captain shouted somewhere among the men.

Ignoring the screaming of the night, Sanders walked away from the main gate, seeing to the men. The archers were going at full speed, shooting, loading, shooting, loading, someone bringing them more arrows. He gritted his teeth at the next crash of ram against the gate.

They had worried—this gate was untried. It was a new design and not up long. But it was holding. The Captain was right—this was an excellent use of resources. The main bulk of enemy worked away, trying to get through what had once been nothing more than a mild deterrent.

Thank God that had changed.

Sanders walked on. To the smallest entrance. The most vulnerable.

Had the enemy figured it out, yet? They were stupid, but even a dumb beast could get lucky.

Barely keeping his hands away from his sword, trying to portray steadfast confidence, Sanders walked on. The men were antsy and skittish, shifting constantly, trying to stay grim but waiting with barely suppressed trembles. They were green. Even the ones who had seen battle out in the Dead Forest were nervous. They weren’t good at playing defense and no amount of training could prepare them for the constant thumping of the giant Metal Fish against their gate. But their enemy wouldn’t get through here…

He walked on. The first two, the Eastern Gate and Rear, were holding, but barely. The archers and knife throwers were doing their job, but the men standing by were getting ready to get their hands dirty. The Mugdock were getting just as scared, though. After close to two hours, seeing nothing but your own company’s death, and only a few fallen enemy archers, the Mugdock were having second thoughts. The Captain hadn’t thought they’d last this long. He had a suspicion something was driving them, but he didn’t know what. Sanders did—poverty and desperation. It would bring a man to the brink.

On to the fourth and last gate. He was about to battle—they’d be about ready for reinforcements.

A horse clattered below, causing Sanders to glance down. Daniels raced by, urgency on his face. Sanders pulled his eyes back up. A thrill went through his body. He picked up the pace.

As he approached the corner he heard the roar of men in battle. Metal clanging, shouts. Excitement spiked his chest, tingling down his arms and out through his fingers. One of the boys bringing arrows startled from the gleam in his eye and the crazed grin on his face.

Battle. He was good at battle. Battle and sex, two places where he felt the most alive.

Sanders started to trot, unable to maintain his calm. The men at this gate were all his best. They were veterans, one and all—as much as they could be in a time of prosperity—and they had the best sword work. They would hold this gate. They had to. He had a wife and baby to protect.

Hopefully the Captain was working on getting more men to change out. Give these guys a rest.

As Sanders rounded the corner, sword in hand, he saw the last few lines of men standing, shifting uneasily from side to side, looking on, but not fighting. Waiting.

Sanders stepped around Jaos, unleashing arrows as fast as he could, and stopped dead. The gate was not torn down; it was pulled open. In the middle of the open space stood two figures, fighting for all they were worth, taking the brunt while the men behind them formed a semi-circle and took the rest. Both covered in blood, one with short, matted brown hair, the other with a long braid down her back, red and white-blond.

Shanti and Lucius.

Sanders couldn’t help but stare. He had seen Lucius fight. The man was damned good. Aside from the Captain, Sterling, and himself, Lucius ranked above all others. Sanders had thought it was a waste that he had been assigned to the foreign woman. Now he was more than thankful. Any other man would’ve been cut down by now, but Lucius was moving through a pile of bodies, creating more every second. He had a large red line down his arm and was limping slightly, but he was not slowing.

For all his excellence, he was outdone. Next to him was the foreign woman. Words could not describe how thoroughly Sanders had underestimated her. How they all had. She moved as if in some elaborate dance. Every nuance of her body was in perfect harmony as she glided through her fighting postures, slicing and cutting, weaving in and out. Even her sword was part of the dance, moving like an extension of her arm. She was breathtaking. And extremely deadly.

Her pile was larger than her male counterpart’s. It was neater, too. One cut, maybe two, and they were brought down. Appendages sliced off, heads, limbs, incapacitated, then she moved on. Every so often she would throw a knife, hitting someone in their head, heart, or, most often, their neck.

He had never seen anything like it.

But she was flagging. She was barely staying ahead of her attackers. More were getting past her, quickly dying at the hands of the men fighting right behind her. She wouldn’t last much longer, but there was no one who could keep the Mugdock off the gate like she was. There was still a horde trying to get through.