The Bridge Kingdom (The Bridge Kingdom #1)(60)

“How long until we reach Aela?” she shouted over the wind.

“Not long,” Aren replied. “The closest Midwatch teams will already be there.”

Time seemed to both fly and crawl. A thousand details flooded her mind even as her heartbeat moved into the swift but steady thud it always did before battle. You aren’t here to fight, she reminded herself. You’re here to observe under the cover of helping the healers, nothing more. The words did nothing to calm her anticipation.

When they rounded an enormous limestone karst tower, all the Ithicanians pulled their masks from their belts and donned them. Weapons loosened. Eyes intent.

Then she saw it.

The ship was larger than any she’d seen before, a great three-masted monstrosity as tall as the bridge itself. She picked out the Amaridian flag, countless soldiers scurrying about its deck. Beyond, a half dozen longboats were moving toward a narrow beach on which a battle was being waged, the sand soaked with blood.

Swiftly she saw the reason the Amaridians had chosen Aela Island beyond the relatively easy landing the beach provided them. There was a pier on the western edge of the island, the bridge curving inland before heading back out to sea. And if the Ithicanians were fighting this hard to defend it, she’d bet that pier had an opening in its base. “How many men are on that ship?”

“Four hundred,” Jor replied. “Perhaps a few more.”

“And us?”

No one answered.

Aren caught her hand, pulling her close. “See the line of rock and trees?” He pointed. “We’ll get you and the other healers past that line. You stay there and the injured will be brought to you, understood?”

“Yes.”

His hand tightened. “Keep your hood up so the Amaridians don’t recognize you. And if things go badly, go with the other healers. They know how to make a retreat.”

And she’d bet that retreat was into the bridge. But gaining that information wasn’t worth the cost of Aren’s life.

Her heartbeat was no longer steady, but a wild and chaotic beast. “Don’t let it go badly,” she whispered. “I need you to win this.”

But Aren was already shouting orders. “Bring down those longboats. The rest of you, to the beach!”

The boats flanked the enormous ship, the air thick with arrows shot from both sides. Aren knelt in the boat next to her, emptying a quiver into the backs of the Amaridians climbing into longboats, their corpses falling into the water below. Lara’s fingers itched to snatch up a weapon, to fight, but she forced herself to cower low in the boat, flinching every time an arrow thudded into the thick wood.

Then they were past the ship.

Four of the Ithicanian vessels veered away from the pack, skipping over the surf to slam into the longboats full of soldiers heading to shore. Wood splintered and cracked, men toppling into the water. The Ithicanians boarded the longboats with lethal grace, blades flashing, the sun glinting off sprays of blood.

The rest of the boats drove toward the carnage on the beach. There were bodies everywhere, the sand more red than white. Maybe two dozen Ithicanians were holding the enemy to the waterline, using the narrow access and higher ground to their advantage, but they were falling back. Dying beneath the Amaridian onslaught.

They had to hurry, or the island would be lost.

The Midwatch boats dropped their sails, riding the waves as they were launched onto the shore. At the last second, Aren snatched up Lara’s hand. “Jump!” he shouted.

Lara leapt, her boots sinking into the sand, the momentum nearly sending her sprawling. Then they were running toward the Amaridians, who were now sandwiched between two forces.

Screams shattered the air, bodies and limbs hitting the sand, the stench of blood and opened guts oppressive. Lara held tight to her box of supplies, keeping behind Aren as he pushed up the hill, stepping over his victims as she went. The weapons of the fallen littered the sand, and every instinct demanded she pick one up. That she fight.

You mustn’t, she commanded herself. Not unless you have no choice.

But the warrior in her railed against the limitation, so when a soldier got past the Ithicanian line, she slammed her supply box into his face, watching with satisfaction as he toppled backward, the point of Aren’s blade appearing through his chest.

The King of Ithicana used one booted foot to shove the dead man off his weapon, the leather of his mask coated with gore. Catching her hand, he drew her at a run, dodging around the few remaining Amaridians who were on their knees begging for their lives.

“Show them no mercy!” he shouted, then pulled Lara behind a series of boulders. An older Ithicanian woman, her face drawn, clothes drenched with blood, was closing the lids of a young man, his body marked with several mortal wounds. Three other soldiers lay on the ground, wounds bandaged, their faces tight with pain.

The healer’s eyes widened at the sight of her king. “Explain to Lara what you need her to do,” Aren told her. Then he was back around the rock, shouting, “Taryn, get that shipbreaker working and sink that bitch!”

The Midwatch healers appeared, their escorts already having abandoned them. “What do you want me to do?” Lara asked.

“Wait for them to bring us the injured. What do you have for supplies? I’m short.”

Lara handed her the box, then scampered up the back of one of the boulders to watch the battle unfolding below. Her blood ran cold at the sight.