Ausma Khan - The Blue Eye

A jarring noise. The gate shuddered so heavily that the ground under Cassandane’s feet trembled. A Zhayedan catapult had destroyed the first battering ram; now the Talisman had brought another. The men who urged it forward were giants, heavy with muscle and just as brutally armored. The Talisman had been warned against the skill of Cassandane’s archers. There were no obvious openings for her archers to target.

We will find them, she thought . First the sappers, then the brutes behind the ram.

She raised a hand, and the archers fired two swift strikes, their movements so rapid they blurred. The first was aimed at the soldiers who gave the sappers cover. They needed to be unseated, to open up the real targets. The second aimed at the sappers; this was the killing strike.

A return volley was aimed at the archers above the gate. But the Teerandaz were shielded by a defensive line of their own: Zhayedan soldiers whose lives were committed to them. With the first break in fire, the soldiers knelt and the Teerandaz fired again, this time with silver-tipped arrows aimed at the men who approached the gate at a run, their battering ram held aloft.

The arrows were aimed at their unprotected heads. If the soldiers survived the blows, they would try to shield their heads with their hands. The poison at the tips of the arrows would spread no matter how they tried to protect themselves, and the ram would tumble to the ground.

And so it proved.

The next rain of Teerandaz arrows carried fire. The giant wooden ram sparked and blazed to life as it burned. The assault on the gate had failed. Cassandane held up a hand. The archers waited, poised, as their captain chose another target.

Several hours later, Cassandane made a quick detour to the Black Khan’s war room to meet with the army’s commanders. Arsalan gave her a welcoming nod and signaled to the others to report. When it was her turn, she was quick and concise. Her actions should have earned her praise. But the tension in the room erupted into low-voiced murmuring, even as Arsalan commended her strategy.

“Well done, Captain Cassandane. How many archers did you lose?”

“None, Commander.”

The murmurs of displeasure intensified. She caught the assessing glance that Maysam, Captain of the Cataphracts, shot at her. He’d wanted her to support his maneuvers to defend the Emissary Gate. She’d refused, considering the attempt on the Zhayedan Gate the greater threat. No doubt that decision had cost her Maysam’s favor.

“It won’t last,” she went on, ignoring the mutinous whispers. “The Talisman have numbers on their side. We’ll need more than archers to hold.”

Maysam shifted into her line of sight. He was six and a half feet tall, his body heavy with muscle, though for a man of such bulk, he moved with deceptive swiftness, his mind agile, his calculations complex. He was a commander of fierce ability, given to weighing the odds. Beyond these talents, he was skilled with weaponry—the sword, the axe, the fire-lance, the mace—which made him the right man to lead shock troops into battle. But more than a decade older than Cassandane, he viewed her rank as an insult to his soldiers, some nearly as skilled as her own.

Nearly. That was the critical difference.

“You have two dozen Zhayedan defending your women. No others can be spared.”

Women, not archers. An unsubtle insult that elicited a soft chuckle from the Zhayedan’s commanders. She ignored it, keeping her gaze fixed on Arsalan. She could handle the politics of command without his help, but she wondered at the toll the battle might be taking on him. He’d moved between the walls and the courtyard throughout the night, neither still nor rushed, his face still streaked with smoke from his encounter with the One-Eyed Preacher. In the time that she’d been at the gate, he’d overseen the evacuation of the palace and fortified the inner defenses.

And then at a critical moment, Arsalan had been absent, summoned to the Black Khan’s chambers. When he’d returned, he’d been distracted. But when the One-Eyed Preacher had spread his terror at the wall, Arsalan’s attention had refocused: The Black Khan’s half-brother, Darius, had delivered the Bloodprint to the Preacher. And, in the struggle to reclaim it, the Princess of Ashfall had been killed.

The murder of the Princess had hardened Arsalan’s determination to vanquish the enemy.

Still, Cassandane wondered now if all they were doing was holding off inevitable defeat. To the east and south, the siege had set in. And from the west, another army approached.

The Companions had given them hope against these odds, but they had since abandoned the city. Of the allies that remained, Cassandane wasn’t sure she trusted them: a stranger known as the Assassin, and two of the Mages of Khorasan. But what she truly feared was the use of a power she couldn’t comprehend, like the thunder that had cracked the city walls.

Were they fighting today only to die tomorrow?

Arsalan met her gaze, perhaps guessing at her thoughts. His dark hair was matted with sweat, yet his physical presence was imposing. He was not as strongly built as Maysam, but Cassandane was in no doubt of which man she wanted at her back.

Now he stood at the center of the war room, radiating a strength of will that calmed her in a room full of men she had learned to think of as adversaries.

“You’ve done well, Captain.” His attention shifted to Maysam, whose giant hands were braced on the table as he studied the battle plan drawn up by the Black Khan’s cartographer. “How long can we hold the Emissary Gate?”

“With defensive maneuvers, at least another day. The Silver Mage’s ruse is what gave us that day. But if we don’t take action, we’ll lose the eastern gate. What of your plan to ride out?”

Cassandane waited to see if Arsalan would correct Maysam about the reason for the Silver Mage’s actions. He’d called the loya jirga in good faith—the Black Khan had betrayed him. The Khan had ordered Cassandane to fire on the loya jirga, despite the First Oralist’s pleas to allow time to achieve a truce. But Cassandane had known, just as Arsalan had known, that there would be no better chance to take out the Talisman leadership. And as the Silver Mage had made his safe return, Cassandane had nothing to regret. She would make the same choice again, dishonorable as it had been.

She saw the pained acknowledgment of that truth in Arsalan’s velvet-black eyes. Her gaze lingered for a moment before she forced herself to look away.

The noise of battle was heavy in the air. Boulders landing in the inner courtyard, shouts of men under attack, masonry crumbling to dust. Smoke curled over the battlements. And she knew the men were wondering at the absence of their Khan, a matter none dared comment on to Arsalan. Not even Maysam was so bold.

“What action would you take?” Arsalan now asked the leader of the Cataphracts. “An offensive sortie?” It was something Arsalan had planned on himself, once he’d completed his check of the defenses. But from the subtle shift of his stance, Cassandane thought the Commander had reconsidered.

Any such sortie would require the Zhayedan to open the Emissary Gate or to disclose the existence of the Zhayedan’s secret sally ports—a series of gates they used to ambush their enemies when their numbers were evenly matched. To pursue either course now would be to yield to the Talisman the very advantage they’d been seeking. But it could be that now was the moment to expose those advantages, before time ran out to exploit them.

“Yes.” Maysam pointed to a valley east of the Talisman’s position. “We position archers on the high ground to either side of this valley, then draw them into an ambush.”