Richard Ford - Lord of Ashes

‘We have to go now!’ Janto cried, just as he sank an axe into a Khurtic skull.

Regulus knew he had to leave, had to make it to the top of the wall before his escape was cut off, but he could not drag his eyes from Hagama. They had grown up together. Hagama had been with him every step, never yielding, never faltering even when the Gor’tana had been brought low and they were forced into exile.

And he would not want you to die here. He would want you to live. To avenge him.

Regulus roared, long and loud, sweeping his sword left and then right in a last defiant display, before leaping onto the vines and branches that still held fast to the curtain wall.

He could see Janto above, making his way up the wall with ease. Kazul and Akkula were further ahead, one of them, Regulus couldn’t tell which, dragging a screaming Khurta off the ladder of branches as he passed. The foliage was becoming more brittle with every yard they climbed, and more than once a handhold crumbled in Regulus’ grip. Over the sounds of battle, he could hear the foliage cracking as it dried, rotting with every passing moment.

An arrow hit a branch next to his head, which shattered into brittle shards. More arrows followed as the Khurtas saw the Zatani were vulnerable as they climbed.

A sudden volley rained down from above as someone, Regulus couldn’t tell who, organised archers up on the wall to cover their climb.

The branch he held suddenly broke, and Regulus slipped several feet before finding his grip. He was near the top now, Janto had just made it over the wall, but he still had at least twenty feet to go and it looked as though the wall of greenery might collapse at any moment.

Regulus moved with more urgency, ignoring the sounds of battle raging around him. All that mattered was reaching the top, surviving, so that he might avenge his brother Hagama.

As the lip of the battlements came within reach, the wall of foliage moved, cracking and grinding like a beast in its death throes. It lurched backwards, and Regulus felt the cold bite of panic in his stomach as the wall slipped beyond his reach. To his left a mass of vegetation fell away, dropping to the earth far below. Regulus made to leap, but the branches at his feet gave way before he could. He reached out an arm, one last attempt to save himself before he plunged a hundred feet to the earth below. His hand gripped something hard, solid, and for a moment his fall was abated.

Looking up he saw a face he recognised. Nobul Jacks stood at the battlements, one hand gripping the wall, the other reaching out with his hammer.

‘Come on,’ yelled the Coldlander through gritted teeth.

Regulus leapt, still holding the hammer, hoping against hope that Nobul Jacks was as strong as he looked. The wall of branches collapsed behind him as he jumped and Regulus held his breath as he swung, hitting the wall, expecting to fall, but Nobul held him fast. Regulus scrabbled at the wall, clawed fingers finding purchase as Nobul hauled him over the edge. They both landed in a heap, Regulus heaving breath into his lungs.

Nobul stood, and Regulus glanced up at him. ‘I owe you my life again, Black Helm,’ he said with a nod.

‘There’ll be plenty of chances to pay me back,’ Nobul replied. ‘Of that I have little doubt.’

As Nobul walked back along the wall, now littered with dead, Regulus glanced across, seeing his own warriors breathing hard from their climb. From the corner of his eye he also saw the woman in the red robes who had compelled him so convincingly to fling himself at the enemy. She smiled, offering him a nonchalant wave of her hand, as though that would be reward enough for his efforts and the loss of Hagama.

Regulus thought little on it.

The glory of what he had done would be more than enough reward.

The sights, the sounds, the smells were not what she had come to expect from battle. But then Kaira had never experienced battle on this scale before. She had never faced enemies in such overwhelming numbers, never seen them fight with such savagery. And neither had she felt so helpless as she sat astride a horse beside her queen. All she could do was watch as the city’s defenders laid down their lives. How she would have loved to charge forward, to stand shoulder to shoulder with them. To smash the Khurtas back over the wall, to scream in the face of their hatred. Sitting back from the conflict in relative safety she felt powerless.

Janessa watched intently from her horse, and Kaira took no small amount of pride in the way the young queen faced her first battle. Kaira had seen seasoned warriors show more fear. Had seen grown men flee when facing more favourable odds, but Janessa merely looked on, seeming to take in every yell of pain or anger, watching silently as enemies were flung from the wall and her bannermen went down with arrows in their chests.

The more time that passed the more agitated Kaira became. This was pointless, and dangerous. They were of no use here, Janessa least of all. There was no way she could be allowed to make a stand on the battlements beside her army. She would never inspire any troops from here; she was merely putting herself in harm’s way.

Before Kaira could order them to retreat back to the safety of the palace, her worst fears became manifest. A boulder the size of a cowshed smashed into the parapet in front of them, flinging men-at-arms from the battlements along with shards of masonry.

As the massive rock crashed into a nearby building, Janessa’s horse reared. A Sentinel took half a merlon to the chest and was hammered to the ground. Men shouted in panic and Kaira desperately tried to steady her horse as she looked to the queen. But Janessa’s steed had calmed and now stood resolute, the girl staring up at the battlements defiantly.

Kaira followed her gaze, seeing that in the wake of the giant missile a host of Khurtas had come crawling over the wall. Some smiled, licking their blades in anticipation of the kill. Others whooped with joy, falling on the stunned defenders like wolves on their prey.

Looking back, Kaira saw that Janessa’s hand had strayed to the Helsbayn at her side. Her eyes stared intently. She wanted to join in with the battle. Wanted to defend her city and stand by her armies.

But she is not ready. She is but a child and will be killed if you allow her to fight.

‘Protect the queen!’ Kaira shouted, kicking her horse in front of the Sentinels. ‘Get her back to the palace. Let nothing stop you.’

Janessa protested as the Sentinels began to change their formation and one of them grabbed the bridle of her horse, but her words were lost in the commotion. Kaira watched as they guided her along the cobbled avenue and back towards the Crown District but she did not follow them. Could not follow them.

She knew she should have gone along, should have been at her queen’s side, but something kept her rooted. If Queen Janessa could not help the stricken defenders hold off the Khurtic horde at the wall, then it was Kaira’s duty to do it in her stead.

She kicked her steed, feeling its eagerness as she rode towards the battlements and the Khurtas who flooded over the wall. She reined the horse in some feet from the foot of the stairway, hearing it snort in frustration when she leapt from the saddle. As she took the stairs three at a time Kaira pulled her sword from its sheath, feeling the ache in a wrist that hadn’t quite healed from the wound Azai Dravos had inflicted.

It is nothing. A mere trifle. It will not stop you from carrying out Vorena’s will. You are an instrument of righteousness honed and tempered in the flames of battle, ready to strike down the enemies of your gods and your queen. Nothing can stop you.