Disciple of War Disciple of War (Art of the Adept #4) - Michael G. Manning Page 0,216

put a camouflage spell over himself, though he wasn’t sure it was really needed. None of the demons were paying him the slightest bit of attention.

Alone and unmarked by any and all, William Cartwright began the long walk to the walls of Myrsta.

Chapter 60

As he walked, Will’s sorrow slowly turned to anger at the ridiculous fate that had led him to his current situation. Hadn’t he done enough? He’d saved his country once already, and he’d saved Cerria at least twice. In every case, he’d faced the same lonely road, though at least the first time Selene had been there to walk most of it with him.

He wasn’t planning to die, but Mark Nerrow hadn’t been wrong. None but the most foolish of gamblers would be dumb enough to put more than a few pennies on Will walking away from what he intended to do that day.

Hell, the odds aren’t even that good, thought Will. The goddamn cat knew well enough to stay out of this one.

A hundred yards passed beneath his feet, and Will was into the open ground behind the demons. His anger had also passed during that time, leaving only numb acceptance and empty resignation in its place. He walked, and gradually the vast and mighty walls of the ancient city of Myrsta grew tall in front of him.

Ahead and to his right, Will saw a new horde of demons beginning to emerge from the gates. It meant little for his task, but he didn’t like the thought of the battle behind him going sour while he was away. The void turyn spilling over the walls had grown to a usable level, so Will stretched out his will once more and caught the currents of power in his grasp. His jaw clenched as his resolution solidified, and the power around the city snapped again, transforming into a sonic wave that slammed into the wall in general, and the area in front of the southern gates in particular. Thousands of demons died in an instant, causing him to smile grimly as he resumed his slow, trudging journey.

Maybe I die today, but I won’t be the only one.

He was less than a hundred yards from the wall when he noticed that the sounds of battle behind him had shifted, becoming quieter. Looking back, Will saw that the center portion of the demon army, the part he had walked through, was gone—or rather they were now positioned horizontally in death, instead of on their feet. Twelve grey-green giants lumbered toward him at an impressive pace, and Selene’s head bobbed in and out of view over the shoulder of the largest of them.

Will rubbed his forehead in frustration. She’s not supposed to do this.

He kept walking until the trolls were almost upon him, and then he let his personal turyn return to normal and waved his arms at his allies so they could see him before they trampled him by accident. Gan grinned hideously at him, but Will only had eyes for the woman riding in the basket over the troll’s shoulder. “This isn’t the plan.”

“The plan needed improving,” she returned.

“How so?” he asked.

“The protections on these walls won’t let you bypass them using the ethereal plane, so you’re going to have to bring down some of the wall. That isn’t a good way to begin an infiltration of an enemy stronghold,” she explained.

Will put his hands on his hips. “But a rampaging group of trolls will improve things?”

Selene smiled. “Do your worst to the wall. After the dust settles, we part ways and the trolls and I will have some fun. Destroying a section of the wall will draw attention, but we’ll be there to serve as a diversion.”

“Goddamn it,” he swore. Her logic was impeccable, as usual.

“You know I’m right.” Selene offered her hand to help him climb up into Gan’s basket. “The trolls move faster.”

He took it and climbed up. The space wasn’t meant for two people, but Will never minded crowding into a tight space with his wife. “You can’t handle the void turyn in there,” he warned.

“Try me,” she challenged. “I’ll be damned if I don’t. I can use the demon-armor spell if it gets too be too much.”

Selene’s hair was tightly braided and wound into a coil that barely showed beneath the edge of her helm. He wished she had a breastplate, but the lack made it easier to get close and wrap his arms around her mailed torso. “Fuck it,” he said, agreeing with