Henry Neff - The Maelstrom

As Ajax turned to carry out his orders, Max saw Scathach ride up on a spotted Appaloosa. She was in Umbra’s guise but now wore a shirt of silver chain and carried a small round shield strapped to her back. Her hair was tossing wildly in the wind as she slowed the horse to a walk and gazed at Max.

“I’m going to the wall,” he said. “Come with me.”

She nodded, spurring her mount ahead. The two rode alongside one another, covering the distance as swiftly as YaYa could manage in her lumbering trot. The outer walls rose before them, less massive than those that surrounded Old College but still a formidable defense. Eighty feet high and half as thick, with guard towers twice as tall that commanded a wide view of the lands beyond.

They reached the battlements by riding up the broad ramps that doubled back and again until they arrived at the top. Hundreds of people were busily engaged—Mystics gathering atop casting towers, refugees heating iron shot and cauldrons of pitch, archers setting up their quivers behind stone merlons. Dismounting, Max and Scathach walked up a short staircase to a platform that would permit a glimpse of Prusias’s forces.

At this distance, the approaching army resembled a forest fire, an eerie, distant flickering light that was closing upon Rowan. Max guessed that the outriders were three, maybe four miles away. Peering through his spyglass, he could clearly make out war galleons sailing down the shoreline as the army approached over land. “Can you guess their numbers?” asked Max, surveying the distant lights. Even now, he could hear the faint sounds of distant drums and horns. They reminded him sharply of his escape from Piter’s Folly on Madam Petra’s balloon. He had heard these drums before and witnessed the awful devastation that accompanied them.

Frowning, Scathach scanned the horizon. “Impossible to say,” she muttered. “But many, many thousands. There are no breaks in those torches. They’ll reach these walls in three hours … maybe two.”

Max was about to reply when he heard cheers go up from a host of archers, who were pointing beyond the wall to the countryside where moonlit runes and sigils were forming on the hills like luminescent brands.

“What are those?” asked Scathach, peering out at them.

“Glyphs, signs of protection,” Max explained. “They’re being cast by the spiritwracks.” He pointed to one of the tall octagonal towers where the specialized Mystics could be seen linking hands in an open chamber at the top.

Just then, a hurricane-force gale came screaming in out of the east. It tore through the forests beyond the wall like a wailing spirit, bending the trees in a sweeping arc before doubling back and dissipating out over the ocean.

“Aeromancers,” said Max, pointing to another tower, where Mystics were summoning the wild winds from the sea and directing them like orchestra conductors. “Prusias is going to find that there’s more than arrows and pikes waiting for him here.”

Scathach was impressed. “Perhaps we won’t be needed.”

But even as she said this, hundreds of horns blared in the distance, followed by the louder, deeper boom, boom, boom of kettledrums. The pace of the drumming increased and her smile faded.

“We should ride back,” she reflected. “Your soldiers will want to see their commander.”

Max nodded and the two left the wall, descending the ramps to the rutted road that led back to Trench Nineteen. As Max settled into YaYa’s gait, he gazed across a vast landscape of shadowy blues and grays, a backdrop of dark farmland and sparse forests in which thousands of torches were flickering as battalions and companies took up position along the trenches. The citadel walls and fortifications protecting Old College loomed behind them, white and gleaming beneath the moon. They reminded Max of castles he’d seen in the Sidh.

Most of the Trench Rats had assembled by the time they’d returned. They stood at attention, some unsteadily from interrupted celebrations, but the majority appeared clear-eyed and anxious. Max found his friends among them. While Lucia and Cynthia were wearing Mystics robes, Sarah was dressed for combat. Like the other company commanders, she rode a charger and was armored in gleaming half-plate with the Rowan crest chased in silver upon the cuirass. She carried the naginata she favored, along with the battalion’s horn that would signal an advance, cease-fire, or retreat back to the Northgate. Standing behind Cynthia was Bob, cradling his great helm and leaning upon his cudgel. Calling out to the lieutenants, Max had them bring the troops closer so that they could hear him as he shouted over the wind.

“The Enemy is marching upon us,” he announced. “Umbra and I have seen them from the outer curtain. In a few hours they’ll reach those walls. We’re going to take up our positions now and settle in. We might be here for days.”

He scanned the faces, many still dirty and dusty from their review. They were trying to pay attention, but many could not keep from gaping about as signal flares screamed overhead like shooting stars. Drills and training were well and good, but they were still a far cry from taking a real field against a real opponent. Max’s gaze fell upon one face in the crowd, a young pikeman named Joshua. The boy was shivering, standing on tiptoe to follow a troop of centaurs as they galloped toward the outer wall.

“I know you’re frightened,” said Max, his eyes moving from Joshua to the multitudes surrounding him. “Every good soldier is frightened before a battle. Those who deny it are liars or fools. Even Bob is afraid.”

Necks craned to glimpse the ogre, who smiled and nodded.

“Don’t fight your fear—embrace it,” Max urged them. “Let it sharpen you and give you strength. Most of you have never fought in a battle like this. But when the call was sounded, you answered. You have the courage and will to overcome your fear and do what’s required. There isn’t a person here who hasn’t cheated Death to make it to Rowan.”

Max paused as grim nods passed among the many refugees.

“You’re survivors. In the past, many of you had to do it alone. But you are not alone anymore. I am with you. Everyone you see, everyone in this battalion, from Ajax to Umbra, is with you. War is big. Make it small. It’s not your job to defeat Prusias. Let others worry about that. Your only job is to defend those on either side of you. You do that and they cannot break us. Nothing passes Trench Nineteen!”

A wild cheer went up from the battalion. Some embraced while others shouted angry oaths at Prusias or demons or whatever else they fancied. Those who were closest to YaYa touched the ki-rin’s broken horn for luck. At Sarah’s signal, the troops spread out along the trench, marching behind their lieutenants and company commanders until they reached the fluttering pennants that marked their assignments. Behind them, ballistae were being wheeled into place, healing tents had been pitched, cooking fires were lit, and soldiers were filling their canteens from the water barrels.

Max heard a harrumph from below and gazed down to see Tweedy looking up at him.

“All the arrangements have been made,” he reported. “There’s more water on its way, Chloe recruited another moomenhoven to tend the wounded, and Jack’s fellows are seeing to the cooking fires. Where should I take up position?”

“Tweedy, we talked about this,” said Max. “You don’t have to stay out here. Once everything’s situated, you can go back inside the citadel. It will be safer there.”

“And I told you , Max McDaniels, that I’m a member of this battalion and won’t be sent off for milk and cookies like a puling wee one. So where shall I go?”