Disciple of War Disciple of War (Art of the Adept #4) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,137

walls, while others deserted their posts and ran for safer places, unable to hear the cries of their commanders or their companions.

A shout went up from the Terabinians, and Will saw that a split had appeared in one of the massive beams that comprised the gates of Maldon. His eyes widened at that. Taking the gate hadn’t really been his plan, nor had he expected that sound could have so much of a physical effect.

Unfortunately, he didn’t think the defending magic users would be giving him any more free turyn to play with. It seemed that most of them had deserted the defense of the gates. Which was a shame, because Will doubted that their makeshift battering ram would have any real effect. Its sole purpose was to provide a noisy diversion. Without his supplemental sonic attacks, it was unlikely to finish the job.

A runner arrived, and Will focused his attention on the man. “How goes it in the hole?”

“Lieutenant Bug sends word that his team is getting close. Fifteen minutes more and they should be through. Their elementals are opening a way through the stone now.”

“What about Janice and Emory?”

“Their situation is similar, though they may take slightly longer. The bedrock they encountered is seamless granite. Apparently, it’s more difficult for the elementals to shift.”

“Tell Bug not to wait for them. When he’s ready, he can open the way. I doubt the enemy has taken any notice of them. If they do get bottled up, it will just provide an additional distraction for the other team.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the messenger, leaving at a run.

“Looks like we still have at least thirty minutes to kill here,” Will muttered to himself. He’d have rather been with one of the two entry teams, but as part of his promise to Laina and ultimately to Selene, he had opted for the safer position with the decoy gate forces.

Of course, it wasn’t truly safe. Not as safe as his wife would have liked. Someone still might drop a rock on his head when he wasn’t looking, but it was as safe as he was willing to accept. The ram continued to beat fruitlessly against the gate, and without active enemies guarding it, Will had nothing to do.

In fact, he was a little bored, if such a thing were possible in the midst of a battle. He kept staring at the gate, his mind drifting as his eyes studied the split his sound attack had created. Something tickled the back of his mind, and he started walking forward.

When he had reached the sorcerers defending the soldiers, he spoke to one of them. “Move your force-wall closer to the gate.” He pointed. “I’m going to be standing right there, next to where the ram is striking. Make sure no one splatters my brains onto the roadway.”

With that said, he made his way up to stand beside the head of the ram. The men were still swinging it back and forth, and with each strike he could feel the force of the blow thrumming through the heavy wood of the gates of Maldon. Reaching up, he put his hand on the surface and closed his eyes, letting the vibrations resonate through his flesh.

He had an innate talent with sound. That had become ever more apparent with each passing day, and though no one had every truly explained it to him, he knew that sound was nothing more than vibrations. Slowly, Will began drawing in turyn, not with the intent of storing it for a large spell working, but rather to feed it into a slow, steady piece of wild magic.

At first, he simply felt the thud of the ram and copied it, increasing it, but he could feel the innate elasticity of the wood sapping the energy. It took more and more turyn to increase the vibration, and he could tell intuitively that the drain would become far too much to sustain long before he reached a level that could damage the structure of the gate. So instead, he listened—not with his ears, but with his body and its special way of feeling turyn that went beyond simple sight.

A certain portion of the ram’s vibration didn’t dissipate as quickly as the rest. At a specific frequency, like a musical note, it lingered, humming through the wood. It would have been useless for music of course, for the note was too low for his ears to detect, but he could feel it in his chest. Will copied it