Week 17

  If she waited, he would miss his only chance to leave Sarapis alive. If she acted now, against his wishes…

  ***

  Briar was right.

  Not all patients were capable of making rational decisions.

  Callie steadied her hand over the wound. This time, she didn’t ask permission.

  She called up the green mana, letting it hum through her skin and into the flesh beneath. She sent the threads of [Soul Stitch] deep into his mind, repairing the frayed edges of Theron’s mind, causing him to fall into a deep sleep.

  Once Callie was sure Theron was sedated, she applied the blue-black local anaesthetic and cast a full measure of [Soothe Pain] focusing on the area of the stump.

  She poked along the old suture site to ensure Theron was under before opening the wound up. She clean and debrided expeditiously; removing any dead tissue and flushing out the wound thoroughly. Then she used [Bone Setting] and [Mend Flesh] to accelerate granulation in the wound. The wound itself would have to be left open for the time being.

  Theron’s face contorted, then relaxed. She worked the spell until her own arms trembled. When she was done, she wrapped the stump in a fresh bandage, smoothed his hair, and whispered, “You’ll hate me for this, but you’ll have the chance to do it in person.”

  She slipped a bottle of Bluebell Pitch extract into his coat pocket with instructions on usage.

  She stood, swayed for a moment, then stepped back into the corridor.

  Briar was waiting, a quiver of arrows over her shoulder. “Is he…?”

  “He’ll live. Maybe.” Callie said. “If he gets a spot on the barge.”

  ”We can put him on Ember’s back.” Briar turned and whistled for her companion.

  ***

  The evacuation had become a river, funneling toward the oasis. Callie and Briar joined the flow, Ember at their side with Theron on his back. Behind them, Tel’s voice rang out, corralling stragglers and barking encouragement in the language of old regrets.

  As they reached the water’s edge, the bells doubled their pace. Somewhere beyond the city, the sky was darkening. Not with night, but with the dust cloud of an approaching army.

  Ahead, the line to the barge was barely a line at all; just a churning mass of mothers, infants, the very old and the very sick. The barge itself was little more than a giant raft, but its hull was patched and double-layered for the journey along the oasis.

  A crew of brawny laborers lifted the wounded up and over the gunwales, with a speed that bordered on violence. At the dock, Tel stood like a boulder, his arms crossed, voice raised above the din.

  “Keep the center clear! You, with the crutches; move it or lose it! All children under ten, up first!”

  He spotted Callie and Briar, and for a brief second, his face softened. Then he saw Ember with Theron on his back, and the set of his jaw grew wary.

  Callie eased Theron off the wolf’s back with Briar’s help. He was limp, eyes closed, but when they tilted him upright, his lips parted in a ragged whisper.

  “Don’t… drop me,” he mumbled.

  “Not a chance, you lunk,” Briar grunted.

  They maneuvered him onto a wooden board, and two dockhands immediately hoisted him toward the barge.

  Callie fished into Theron’s coat pocket, retrieving the small bottle of Bluebell Pitch extract, and shoved it into the hands of Tel. “Two drops in water, twice a day.”

  Callie turned to leave but Briar wasn’t satisfied. She spun, grabbing a fistful of Tel’s collar. Her fingers dug deep into the fabric, twisting it tight.

  “Listen,” she growled, her voice a low, steady threat. “If Theron dies because you didn’t give him the extract, I’ll hunt you down myself. Don’t think I won’t find you, even if you leave of Chang’An.”

  Tel looked from Briar’s eyes to the iron grip on his collar and back again. He nodded, stiff. “You have my word,” he said, but Briar didn’t let go until she was satisfied.

  ***

  Behind them, the barge listed as another row of children clambered aboard, mothers clutching them close. The deck hands barked orders, packing the wounded flat as sardines on the damp planks.

  “Ready to go?” Briar said, brushing her hands on her thighs.

  “Not yet.” Callie stepped to the edge of the dock, eyes tracking Theron as he disappeared into the mess of the boat.

  When she stepped back, Briar was standing at her shoulder, silent. For a moment, they just watched. There were still a hundred left on the shore, and only half as many places left to fill.

  Briar exhaled. “They’ll never fit everyone.”

  A few steps away, Ember whined, ears flattened.

  Briar nudged Callie with her shoulder, voice lowered. “You know, we could probably squeeze ourselves on the next boat.”

  Callie didn’t look at her. “And who’ll hold the wall for those who have been left behind?”

  Briar grinned.

  Not being a busybody wasn’t going to work today. Maybe not ever.

  Callie turned to Briar, who was watching her with that open, stubborn expression she wore when she’d already made up her mind. Callie gave her the smallest nod, and in that moment, the deal was sealed.

  They stood together as the last barge loaded, the deck nearly swamped by its cargo of humanity. Tel jumped aboard at the last moment, hauling up a rope and kicking off the pier.

  Callie and Briar lingered until the barge was a pinprick on the lake, then turned to face the town.

  Behind them, the wall waited. Above it, the sky boiled with dust and the promise of blood.

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  ***

  The walls of Sarapis vibrated with the anticipation of impact.

  From their post near the northern gate, Callie could see the whole approach: the dry moat, a shallow basin lined with fused glass; the wall itself, smeared with last-minute runes; the defenders, arrayed with grim efficiency along every meter of parapet.

  Beyond, across the scorched flatlands, the demon horde poured down the slope in perfect synchrony. It was impossible to count the numbers at this distance, but Callie’s head tallied the moving masses, and her estimate of six hundred was almost certainly low.

  Briar pressed herself to a crenel, scanning the low hills surrounding Sarapis. Ember stood between them, exhaling smoke through his lips.

  “They brought the whole menagerie,” Briar muttered.

  Callie forced herself to examine the enemy with a clinical eye.

  The leading edge was a mass of Shadeclaws, gaunt and long-limbed, their torsos painted with crude black glyphs. In their wake marched the Gorekins: huge, stitched-together brutes with bloody axes and rusty slabs of metal for shields.

  Riding ahead of the Gorekin phalanx were the Dread Knights: figures of nightmare, mounted on skeletal horses with empty eye sockets, their own bodies wrapped in wire and painted bone. Their leader, a Face Sewn Reaper, wore a crown of twisted iron and a cloak made from human faces stitched together.

  And then there were the siege beasts.

  The Capra Oblivione were first. They looked like monstrous goats, each the size of a small shack; their horns fused into spiraling battering rams layered with iron bands. The Capra moved in packs, bristling with Emberlings that clung to their backs.

  Behind them, the Infernal Cestoda slithered: centipede-like horrors the length of five men; their segments armored in black; their faces gnashing with anticipation. The sight of them made even seasoned defenders take a step back from the parapet.

  Last came the Lebetem Miasmatis. These were massive, bloated demons, their bellies distended with poison, their bodies held aloft by dozens of thin, spindly legs. They moved slowly, almost lazily, as if confident that nothing could touch them.

  Briar elbowed Callie. “If we make it through this, I’m never eating goat again.”

  Callie tried to laugh, but it came out as a thin rasp.

  The defenders readied themselves. Dwarves lined the lower level, each with a heavy crossbow or satchel of alchemical charges. Elves took the upper tier, their longbows already drawn, eyes narrow with focus. Human archers filled every remaining gap, and at the main gate, a trio of mages in blue robes prepared a ritual circle. The remnants of Sarapis prepared rocks and cauldrons of boiling water on the battlements.

  The first volley came with a command barked in dwarven. A hundred crossbows snapped as one, sending a black haze of bolts into the Shadeclaws. The demons leapt and dodged, but at this range, some were bound to fall. Several collapsed, pin-cushioned, but others pressed on, clambering over their bodies without hesitation.

  The Shadeclaws reached the moat and didn’t break stride. They ran straight down the side, claws throwing up sparks against the glassy surface. Briar picked off two with quick, precise shots; each arrowhead was capped with herbal resin designed to ignite on impact.

  Callie watched as the resin flared, engulfing one demon in green flame. The creature kept running for several meters before collapsing.

  The Capra hit the moat next. Their enormous hooves cracked the glass as they thundered down, the weight sending tremors up through the stone. The imps clinging to their hides leapt onto the wall, throwing themselves at the defenders like living grenades.

  Briar loosed three arrows in rapid succession, each finding its mark. Ember leapt onto the nearest parapet and snapped an imp out of the air with his jaws, crushing it in one bite. The gore splashed across the stone, but the warg didn’t pause. He belched lava over the walls on to the back of a Capra causing it to twist and curl up like overdone meat.

  Gorekins hurled themselves into the trench, using their own bodies as shields for the Shadeclaws. When the first Gorekin hit the glass, the sound was like a slab of beef slapping a butcher’s block. The creature’s momentum shattered the surface, but the glass was several meters thick, and the Gorekin was left scrabbling for grip.

  A second volley from the dwarves tore into the Gorekins’ exposed backs. They barely seemed to feel it, but several did slow, bogged down by their own bulk and the slick glass.

  The Dread Knights waited at the edge of the moat, as if surveying the progress of the horde. When the Shadeclaws and Gorekins had made sufficient headway, the Knights urged their skeletal mounts forward. The horses moved in a way that defied biology; hooves scraping and catching where no real horse could possibly balance. The Knights raised swords crackling with purple fire.

  Callie glanced at Briar. “Any ideas for the horses?”

  “Not unless you brought sugar cubes laced with gunpowder,” Briar said, eyes never leaving her bow.

  As they spoke, the first Capra reached the wall. It reared up, then slammed its head into the stone. The impact was thunderous. The wall shook, but held.

  Dwarves above the gate poured boiling water down onto the Capra, the steam rising in an instant. The Capra barely flinched, but the imps and Emberlings clinging to it shrieked and fell, writhing as the heat stripped them of flesh.

  A squad of elves used grappling hooks to snag the horns of the next Capra, yanking its head sideways just as it charged. The beast crashed into the wall at an angle, nearly braining itself. It staggered, then tried again, this time at the base of the wall. The elves rained arrows onto its exposed neck, but the skin was thick as seasoned leather armor.

  The real problems started when the Infernal Cestoda reached the trench. Its front segments dropped in, and it began to burrow, using its teeth to chew through the remaining glass. The vibration was a low, gut-churning buzz. Even the demons on the surface paused, as if uncertain what would happen next.

  The Lebetem Miasmatis hung back, legs flexing as they waited. From their position, they could launch their poison sacs well over the wall. Callie knew it was only a matter of time.

  Briar braced herself as another Capra rammed the wall directly beneath their position. This time, a hairline crack appeared in the mortar, and several fist-sized stones broke loose. The beast reversed, building up speed for another hit.

  Callie set her jaw. “If it gets through, we’ll be the first to know.”

  She checked the defenders to either side. The elves were running low on arrows, many switching to secondary blades. The dwarves had begun lighting their remaining charges: bundles of glass vials, each one full of something caustic.

  “Here comes the fun part,” Briar said, and fired.

  Her arrow arced in a perfect parabola, striking the Capra just above the snout, where the skin thinned near the nostril. The beast howled, staggering back, but not dead. Instead, it lowered its head and aimed for the same spot again.

  The second impact was even louder than the first. The stones under Callie’s feet groaned and shifted. Ember growled, ears flattened; his lava was still on a timed cool down.

  Beneath them, the Shadeclaws were already climbing, using the cracks as handholds. Several reached the battlements, only to be cut down by the defenders, but for every one that fell, two more took its place.

  Callie saw a gap forming fifty meters down the wall, where a squad of Gorekins had begun stacking their own dead as a crude ramp. The defenders there were outnumbered, barely holding the line.

  She tapped Briar on the arm, pointing with her chin.

  “On it,” Briar said, and ducked down the parapet, Ember following in her wake.

  Callie stayed, helping a wounded elf back from the edge. She tore a strip from her sleeve and used [Mend Flesh], just enough to stop the bleeding.

  Above, the air was thick with the hiss and thump of projectiles. The defenders held for now, but the Capra and Gorekins were relentless, battering at the wall with suicidal intensity.

  A new sound cut through the cacophony. A deep, metallic clang from beneath the wall.

  The Infernal Cestoda had found its mark.

  Callie risked a look down the side of the parapet. The centipede’s head was already halfway through the glass, its drill-face scraping away the fused surface and sending up a cloud of powdered sand.

  She looked to the mages at the main gate. Their ritual was nearly complete, the air around them shimmering with blue light.

  “Now!” one shouted.

  The circle flared, and a sheet of force snapped into existence, covering the wall like a second skin. The effect was immediate: every demon in contact with the wall recoiled, some thrown backward, others simply vaporized by the surge of energy.

  But the Capra weren’t so easily repelled. The lead beast, already committed to its charge, hit the wall at full speed. The impact blew the force sheet like a soap bubble, but the wall held.

  The Capra, stunned, collapsed in a heap, rolling back into the moat.

  Callie exhaled, then scanned for Briar and Ember. They were on the far side of the wall, fighting to keep the ramp clear. Briar shot with deadly precision, each arrow finding a Shadeclaw’s eye or throat. Ember barreled through the Gorekins, tearing limbs from torsos with his razor sharp teeth, and scattering demons in all directions.

  But for every demon they killed, ten more closed in.

  Above them, the Lebetem Miasmatis shifted. The largest raised its head, its poison sac swelling, and with a sickening spasm, it launched a glob of shimmering green fluid over the wall.

  It hit near the main gate, dousing defenders in a rain of toxic jelly. Callie heard the screams as the stuff burned through armor and skin alike.

  She ran, gathering her remaining supplies, and headed toward the wounded.

  The battle had only just begun, and already the air stank of death.

  (Continued in Part 2)