The Warded Man (Demon Cycle, #1)(75)

CHAPTER 11

BREACH

321 AR





“THREE MOONS SAYS HE HEADS EAST,” Gaims said, jingling the silver coins as One Arm rose.

“Taken,” Woron said. “He’s gone east three nights running. He’s ready for a change.”

As always, the rock demon snuffled about before testing the wards at the gate. It moved methodically, never missing a spot. When the gate proved secure, the coreling moved to the east.

“Night,” Woron cursed. “I was sure this time he’d do something different.” He fished in his pocket for coins as the shrieks of the demon and the crackle of activated wards died out.

Both guardsmen looked over the rail, the bet forgotten, and saw One Arm staring at the wall curiously. Other corelings gathered around, but kept a respectful distance from the giant.

Suddenly, the demon lunged forward with just two talons extended. There was no flare from the wards, and the crack of stone came clearly to the guards’ ears. Their blood went cold.

With a roar of triumph, the rock demon struck again, this time with its whole hand. Even in starlight, the guards saw the chunk of stone that came away in its claws.

“The horn,” Gaims said, gripping the rail with shaking hands. His leg grew warm, and it took him a moment to realize he had wet himself. “Sound the horn.”

There was no movement next to him. He looked over at Woron, and saw his partner staring at the rock demon with his mouth open, a single tear running down the side of his face.

“Sound the ripping horn!” Gaims screamed, and Woron snapped out of his daze, running to the mounted horn. It took him several tries to sound a note. By then, One Arm was spinning and striking the wall with its spiked tail, tearing out more and more rock each time.

Cob shook Arlen awake.

“Who … wazzat?” Arlen asked, rubbing his eyes. “Is it morning already?”

“No,” Cob said. “The horns are sounding. There’s a breach.”

Arlen sat bolt upright, his face gone cold. “Breach? There are corelings in the city?”

“There are,” Cob agreed, “or soon will be. Up with you!”

The two scrambled to light lamps and gather their tools, pulling on thick cloaks and fingerless gloves to help stave off the cold without impeding their work.

The horns sounded again. “Two blasts,” Cob said, “one short, one long. The breach is between the first and second watchposts to the east of the main gate.”

A clatter of hooves sounded on the cobblestones outside, followed by a pounding on the door. They opened it to find Ragen in full armor, a long, thick spear in hand. His warded shield was slung on the saddle horn of a heavy destrier. Not a sleek and affectionate courser like Nighteye, this beast was broad and ill-tempered, a warhorse bred for times long gone.

“Elissa is beside herself,” the Messenger explained. “She sent me to keep you two alive.”

Arlen frowned, but a touch of the fear that gripped him on waking slipped away with Ragen’s arrival. They hitched their sturdy garron to the warding cart, and were off, following the shouts, crashes, and flashes of light toward the breach.

The streets were empty, doors and shutters locked tight, but Arlen could see cracks of light around them, and knew the people of Miln were awake, biting nails and praying their wards would hold. He heard weeping, and thought of how dependent the Milnese were upon their wall.

They arrived at a scene of utter chaos. Guardsmen and Warders lay dead and dying on the cobbled streets, spears broken and burning. Three bloodied men-at-arms wrestled with a wind demon, attempting to pin it long enough for a pair of Warder’s apprentices to trap it in a portable circle. Others ran to and fro with buckets of water, trying to smother the many small fires as flame demons scampered about in glee, setting alight everything in reach.

Arlen looked at the breach, amazed that a coreling could dig through twenty feet of solid rock. Demons jammed the hole, clawing at each other to be next to pass into the city.

A wind demon squeezed through, getting a running start as it spread its wings. A guard hurled his spear at it, but the missile fell short, and the demon flew into the city unchallenged. A moment later, a flame demon leapt upon the now-unarmed guard and tore his throat out.

“Quickly, boy!” Cob shouted. “The guards are buying us time, but they won’t last long against a breach this size. We need to seal it fast!” He sprang from the cart with surprising agility and snatched two portable circles from the back, handing one to Arlen.

With Ragen riding protectively beside them, they sprinted toward the keyward flag of the Warders’ Guild, marking the protective circle where the Warders had set up their base. Unarmed Herb Gatherers were tending rows of wounded there, fearlessly darting out of the circle to assist men stumbling toward the sanctuary. They were a scant few to tend so many.

Mother Jone, the duke’s advisor, and Master Vincin, the head of the Warders’ Guild, greeted them. “Master Cob, good to have you …” Jone began.

“Where are we needed?” Cob asked Vincin, ignoring Jone completely.

“The main breach,” Vincin said. “Take the posts for fifteen and thirty degrees,” he said, pointing toward a stack of ward-posts. “And by the Creator, be careful! There’s a devil of a rock demon there—the one that made the breach in the first place. They have it trapped from heading further into the city, but you’ll have to cross the wards to get into position. It’s killed three Warders already, and Creator only knows how many guards.”