Michael Stackpole - The New World

“Winning me my tower will make us much better, Prince Nelesquin.” Qiro studied the distant battle with sharp, pale eyes. “Your effort in the west falters.”

“Patience, Master Anturasi.” Nelesquin grasped the crop in both hands at the small of his back. “This war is a work of art. Savor it. It will bring you what you desire.”

The Prince nodded to himself as a jarandaki began its descent. “And once we have what we desire, there will be no stopping us.”

30th day, Month of the Eagle, Year of the Rat

Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th Year since the Cataclysm

Moriande, Nalenyr

I threw myself from beneath the ram’s ax. Its blow pulverized cobblestones and crushed the shrine where I’d prayed. Stone shards ricocheted off my armor. Sparks exploded as a second blow just missed me, skittering low and taking off another warrior’s legs.

“Master, this way!”

I scrambled up and sprinted after Dunos. Another ram missed me, but blasted through the corner of a building. Roofing tiles cascaded, shattering, but I didn’t look back. The ground shook with every hoof fall. Fear was lending wings to my feet, but that still wasn’t going to win me this race.

Dunos darted left and I came hot on his heels. We cut left down a narrow street. One of the ram’s horns caught the edge of a roof, scattering more tiles. We ran beneath clotheslines hung with sheets. Rope snapped as the ram came on. I leaped over an abandoned bundle of clothes and ran past a crossing alley.

Only then, with the thunder of the ram’s pursuit faltering, did I dare glance back.

Red and blue rags hung from its horns and the ram pawed them from his eyes. He paused at the crossroads, ignoring the east and west alleys. They were too narrow to permit his passage and Dunos and I were still out in front of him.

Though this was a creature of metal, the trap we’d planned for the xonarchii worked perfectly against it. Ballistae hidden in each alley shot from close range. One spear skewered both thighs. The other entered at a hip and came out at the opposite shoulder. The ram jerked, then sagged against a building. The wall crumbled and the war machine disappeared within the rubble.

Dunos tugged at my sleeve. We ran east and the ballista crews reloaded. We fought our way through crowds of panicking people streaming north. People shouted questions, but I had no answers they wanted to hear. I pointed to the bridges and told them to move quickly.

They did, praying to Cyron or anyone else who might listen.

I wonder who Cyron is praying to right now? Cyron might have planned on the walls coming down, but certainly not that quickly. No one could have. Nelesquin had managed in seconds what should have taken months.

My xidantzu company had assembled quickly.

Ranai pointed southeast. “We should fall back to Wentokikun and hold it.”

I shook my head. “We have to protect the innocent. Deshiel, get your archers to the rooftops. Kill what you can, but I want you to track the enemy. Bait them. Lead them into our traps. Ranai, get your people moving refugees to the bridges. Get them out of here.”

She frowned. “But, Master…”

“I know, it doesn’t sound like a warrior’s job, but it must be done. Do you honestly think there won’t be enough bloodletting later? Clear the refugees, and you can fight to your heart’s content.”

She nodded and they both moved to relay orders to their people.

I looked down. “Dunos, go with Ranai.”

He shook his head adamantly. “You’d be dead if I hadn’t been at the gate. I stay with you.”

I had no time to argue, especially when he was right. “If we get separated, you head north, understand?”

Dunos’ bright smile managed to summon a twin to my face. “Head north; got it.”

I promised to see my people on the other side-and most of them assumed I was talking about the river. Smoke had already begun to rise near a small gate usually reserved for the Prince, so Dunos and I headed that way. Almost immediately, we ran into people streaming from that direction, many of them cut and bleeding. They’d been fending off sword blows with their bare arms, which spoke to their courage and the incompetence of the invaders.

Dunos and I entered a small circular courtyard centered on a fountain. Two men wearing the crest of the Free Ixunite Company had pinned a woman against the fountain. Her husband lay in a knot of his own entrails. Two wide-eyed toddlers cried silently, hidden in the shadow of an overturned wagon.

Jaedun sizzled through me. I crossed to the fountain, hamstringing the first man, then harvesting his head. His accomplice turned, eyes wide. His gaze shifted from me to the stumps of his handless arms. That was the last thing he saw before he fainted in a pool of hot arterial blood.

A dozen Ixunites occupied the courtyard’s southern half. They gave up looting and came at us, swords bared. I spun into them, both blades flashing. Muscles tore and ligaments popped as razored steel slid through. Gasps and groans, curses running into gurgles. and screams warred with the clatter of metal, as swords dropped from nerveless fingers or in the grasp of severed hands.

Two of the men went for Dunos. There was no mistaking him for a man. He was a child, and a crippled one at that. They decided he would be easier to kill than I, proving they were, in fact, more stupid than they looked.

Dunos, though small and early in his formal training, had seen much combat. He dodged left, blocking one man with his companion. Dunos caught the first man’s overhand slash on his sword, then darted in. He stabbed his dagger into the first man’s groin. Blood gushed bright red. The man stumbled back. Dunos ducked low, sweeping a leg out. He caught the man’s heels, sending him over backward.

The other coward, watching his friend’s life spurt out, hesitated.

Dunos lunged, striking like a cobra. His sword slipped beneath the man’s breastplate and into his guts. The boy wrenched his sword hard, then yanked it out. The man coughed his last words into a bloody cloud, then flopped lifeless to the cobblestones.

Dunos’ second foe hit the ground about the same time as the last pieces of mine. The woman had crawled to where her children cowered. The tinkling of the fountain’s water covered most other immediate sounds, save for the ordered stamp of soldiers blocking all avenues of escape.

Count Linel Vroan entered the square, accompanied by two of the gyanrigot. They’d been constructed of wood and shaped like mantises. Though not as heavy as their metal counterparts, their footsteps still shook the ground. They flanked the leader of the Ixunite troops.

The tall man bowed. “Virisken Soshir, I remember you. Will you allow me to please my master, or will you force me to regretfully offer him your corpse?”

Prince Cyron snarled. He looked south from the heights of Shirikun. “How can they have breached the walls so quickly?”

Count Jarys Derael sat immobile in his wheeled chair. “Nelesquin has something new. We must hope to find vulnerabilities, or all is lost.”

Cyron raked fingers back through his hair. “My city. We can do nothing.”

“We have prepared well, Highness.”

“They are through the wall. There is a fire in the southeast. It could consume everything.”

“It is unlikely Nelesquin will let it rage. He wins nothing if it does.”

“But how can he…” Cyron shook his head. “The vanyesh, yes. Perhaps they used their magic to bring the gates down.”

“If they are that bold and that foolish, then all is lost no matter what we do.” The count flicked a finger. “Please, we have a decision to make.”