The Silent Shield (Kingfountain #5)(37)

“No,” Rucrius uttered in horror as he stared into her eyes.

Trynne twirled the staff overhead and struck the ground with it. She directed the magic to the underwater rifts.

And the earth moved.

Rucrius’s eyes widened with utter fear before the first tremor even struck. He reached to his waist and grabbed a brass cylinder, the twin of the one Trynne had seen at Chandleer Oasis.

Then he vanished.

Trynne stood still, breathing hard, as the ground bucked and swayed. She wobbled, nearly falling, but remained standing. Her magic was still not depleted, although it was starting to drain more quickly. She stared at the people sprawled across the floor, the warriors who had watched her face down and defeat three Wizrs. Their expressions were full of fear and joy.

“You are the Duchess of Brythonica,” Thierry breathed, rising to his feet. He bowed.

“Sound the horns,” Trynne said, knowing they didn’t have long before the tidal flood came. “Everyone must flee to higher ground.”



The horns and trumpets of Ploemeur were still bleating when the waves rushed in. It was already high tide, and Trynne watched mutely as the moonlight revealed the monstrous series of waves that had engulfed the piers and razed the shores. Most of the homes of Ploemeur had been built on higher ground. The desolation of Leoneyis had persuaded the ancient rulers of Brythonica to take certain precautions.

There was a certain irony to Trynne’s situation—to fulfill her duty to protect her realm from floods, she had summoned one in an act of defense. But it was the Fountain itself that had given her the idea. While her mother undoubtedly knew the word of power that could have caused an earthquake, Trynne did not, but Rucrius had unwittingly brought her the very tool she’d needed to do it.

She shivered as she watched the ocean rush across the horizon from the balcony window, surrounded by the guards who had witnessed her confrontation with the Wizrs. Shops that had stood on the lowland for generations were completely submerged. The cracking noise of snapping timbers and debris was followed by screams and cries of terror from the people of Ploemeur. Trynne squeezed the staff, hardly able to bear watching the devastation she had unleashed. This was the power of a Wizr. It horrified her.

“The ships,” Marshal Soeur exclaimed. Trynne looked up and saw Gahalatine’s fleet, lit up with lamps and torches, bobbing and bucking as the waters dragged them into the coast of Brythonica. Trynne stared helplessly as the ships were crushed against the rocks. One of the massive treasure ships struck the Glass Beach head on, wedging into the sandy surf, its hull breached and torn apart. It was the worst series of shipwrecks that Brythonica had ever experienced. The shrieks of the doomed warriors filled the night sky.

Trynne’s heart wrenched with compassion. These warriors had come to defeat her people, but they’d done so on the orders of their emperor. They deserved a better fate than this.

Too many had already died.

“Thierry,” Trynne said, nearly sobbing as her emotions overwhelmed her.

“Yes, my lady?” he whispered, staring awestruck at the wreckage below. One of the ships had rolled upside down before crashing into the shore.

“Summon all the people,” she said. “We must search for survivors. We must bring them into our homes.” She put her hand on his shoulder. “All of us.”

“But what about the water?” Thierry replied. “It will take days for it to subside!”

She remembered how Rucrius had overturned the river outside Kingfountain. How he had used his staff to destroy the ancient Wizr set. Her mother had summoned the excess water into the sanctuary of Our Lady.

Trynne shook her head. “No, it will not. Mother taught me how to calm the sea.”





CHAPTER FIFTEEN


Wreckage




The rising sun revealed the full extent of the devastating wreckage. Trynne was exhausted from the all-night labor. Not only had she pushed her body to the limits of its endurance, she had used nearly all her reserves of Fountain magic to drain the floodwaters from the city. There were carrion birds circling overhead, as well as flocks of screeching gulls. So many had perished in the night. But even more had survived.

She walked along the beach of sea glass, now strewn with crates, debris, and broken planks of teak wood from the treasure ships. It would take weeks to clean up the mess. The horizon was full of ships, the ships of Brythonica, which were still rescuing survivors who had fallen into the water.

The receding tide had made the rescue effort easier. Dinghies ferried the survivors to the shore, where they were wrapped up in blankets, fed soup and berries provided by Trynne’s generous people, and taken to shelters to rest. The able-bodied soldiers of Gahalatine’s army had immediately joined in the rescue efforts, working side by side with Trynne’s knights to save as many as possible.

Trynne had hidden Rucrius’s staff in the waters of a palace fountain. It radiated so much magic that she couldn’t hide it anywhere else without it being discovered, and she didn’t want it to be stolen. Horrified though she was by its magic, it had been the means of saving Ploemeur. She rubbed her weary arms as she trudged through the sand and debris. The foodstuffs that had been stored aboard the vessels were likely all ruined, but they were salvaging whatever they could. They would need extra stores to help feed everyone.

Thierry marched up to her, winded from a long walk. His sleeve was torn and his face was haggard. He’d been helping all night as well.