The Hollow Crown (Kingfountain #4)(78)

The Battle of Guilme started before the first cock crowed.

Trynne paced in suspense and agony, standing on the hillside overlooking an endless sea of fog. She waited for it to start, each hour that passed adding to her torture. The camp was roused and ready to fight. Soldiers stood along the road running the perimeter of the highest hill, where the king’s camp was in darkness. There were no lights to provide a hint to the enemy that the forces of Kingfountain were on the move. Every night bird that shrieked made Trynne’s heart race. She waited for the moment.

And then it came.

Thunder crashed down from the star-filled sky. The sound was a portent, startling the soldiers and drawing everyone’s gaze skyward, where no storm clouds existed to cause such a ruckus. Trynne flinched as if a huge hammer had struck her soul. She felt the white-hot stab of magic emanating from the bank of fog down below. And then it snuffed out.

There was noise and shouting, the clash of arms. The battle had begun, but it was invisible within the shroud of fog. Trynne’s heart thundered in her ears. She had felt the magic. She’d recognized it as the same magic of the silver bowl from the grove. Her father had recently reminded her of that place, and of the storm he’d summoned to show her how it worked. His magic had shielded them both from the hailstorm, but it had still frightened and thrilled her.

Suddenly she felt the ripples of Fountain magic and a keening wind began to blow and howl. The trees started to sway and groan. Hunks of bark from the mighty eucalyptus trees began to slough off and crash down. Cries of pain and panic joined the clash of steel and arms.

And then the enemy came out of the mist like grasshoppers.

It was the only way to describe it. Trynne watched in startled horror as armed warriors wearing armor that was green like palm fronds leaped out of the fog, arching into the sky as if they had been catapulted from below.

The warriors had helmets tipped with thorny spears, and each carried wood-handled glaives with blades that were sharpened on both sides. The warriors’ momentum slowed before they reached the hillside, and instead of crashing like boulders, they unfolded like strange plants just before they struck.

Watching them mesmerized Trynne until one of them was suddenly uncoiling in front of her. She ducked to the side, two swords in her hands, and blocked a blow that had already skewered one of the knights standing near her. Her magic rose to her defense and she blocked his next five attacks before striking him down with a single blow. Another volley of enemy soldiers came up the hill, some landing even higher up the slope. Trynne knew they were going to attack the king, so she began to run up the slope to intercept them. One of the strange leaf-armored soldiers landed directly in front of her, swinging his glaive around in a circle. She dodged to the side, trapped his weapon between both of hers, and kicked him hard in the stomach. He flew backward and then suddenly he was floating in the air above her, like a puppet suddenly snatched up by its strings.

He plummeted down just as quickly, trying to slice her in half.

Trynne had never experienced such an enemy before. The knights of Ceredigion were collapsing all around as the warriors of death scythed through their ranks. Trynne caught that attack with both swords again, then reversed her move and sliced him in the side and neck with her blades. A look of surprise was frozen on his face as he died.

Trynne continued to charge up the hill, her breath coming in gasps as she watched more of the warriors fling over and around her. Running uphill put her at a disadvantage, so she muttered a word of power and lurched up a ley line to the top. The action drained her, but it brought her to the crest, where she found the king surrounded by Espion and his guards. There was a whirlwind of commotion. The fighting hadn’t reached them yet, but it was imminent.

Archers were rushing up one of the hillsides to shoot at the flying warriors, but they dared not loose arrows uphill for risk of hitting their king. The battle raged across the hillside. Trynne stared in dread at the field below, exposed with the fog blasted apart. She saw tiny little specks in the distance, men leaping up to the walls of Guilme. Now it was apparent to all that the enemy didn’t need siege engines. Gahalatine’s army was attacking King Drew’s army and the besieged city simultaneously.

Suddenly more of the leaf-armored soldiers dropped from the sky and the Espion were in hand-to-hand combat with them. King Drew freed his sword Firebos and joined the fray, trying to hold the hilltop against the invaders who had bypassed his entire army to reach him.

And then she saw the flag of the White Boar charging up the hill. It was Severn Argentine’s sigil. He was leading about fifty men, all mounted, and they rode up through the ranks of fallen warriors.

They were heading straight for the king.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT


Lord Gahalatine




Trynne whipped around, slicing through another opponent while blocking his overhand attack with her second blade. The drain on her Fountain magic was palpable, but the leaching effect was tempered because she was acting in defense of the king. The soldiers of the White Boar were nearly at the hilltop when she heard Severn’s voice ring out.

“To the king! Form a circle! No one gets past. Show these knaves our will is made of iron! Come, lads! To the last man standing, save the king!”

Trynne felt the first flush of relief. Perhaps Severn wasn’t the enemy, but she still had to stay near the king to protect him. She ducked a glaive as it spun toward her head, then butted the warrior in the helm with the pommel of a sword and stabbed him through. The hillside was swarming with enemies, converging on the hill like fire sweeping through grass. The horsemen of Glosstyr barged in, the knights slashing and crowding their way to the hilltop. The leaf-armored warriors hoisted up into the air like poppet dolls on strings before slamming down on the knights and stabbing riders or steeds. The noise and commotion of the battle raged around Trynne as she closed up ranks.