wall, thirty feet tall and six feet thick, with a gate made of steel-banded oak held shut by a beam that required two men to lift. The stables and outbuildings were made of equally sturdy construction as the fortress, soldiers moving among them as they prepared their defenses, the three white-robed healers standing at the ready. But his gaze drifted beyond them, past the clear-cut at the base of the fortress’s wall to the dark expanses of forest behind them. To the kingdom they defended.
The horn sounded again, tearing his attention back to the enemy host as they hammered their weapons against their shields, the noise deafening.
Then abruptly the thunder ceased.
The army parted, a lone figure carrying the standard of the Seventh striding down the path they’d formed. The individual moved with the awful grace of one of the corrupted, the soldiers cringing away with fear that was obvious even from this distance.
Lifting his spyglass, Killian focused on the woman, the snug leather she wore making it no question it was a she, his eyes fixing on the black mask rendering her face featureless. Rufina, instinct told him, and Killian handed off his spyglass in favor of his bow, pulling an arrow and nocking it without taking his attention from the enemy queen. They fight out of fear, a voice whispered in his head. Kill her and this ends here.
Narrowing his gaze, Killian tracked Rufina’s progress to the front of her host, torchlight illuminating her long black hair, which gusted sideways with the wind. You’ll only get one chance, he warned himself, aiming at her heart. Only one chance to catch her unaware. One chance to kill her.
Rufina stopped, planting her standard deep in the snow. Far out of range of most men.
But Killian wasn’t most men.
He shot the arrow, the twang of his bow loud in the silence.
It was impossible to see the trajectory in the darkness, and Killian held his breath, waiting to see if his aim was true.
Yet it was impossible not to see Rufina’s hand move with sudden speed, stopping his arrow inches from her breast. Lifting the arrow, she regarded it, head tilting to one side in amusement that radiated across the distance. Like it was nothing more than a child’s toy.
Several of his men made the sign of the Six against their chest even as Killian shot three more arrows in swift succession, but Rufina snatched them all from the air, her shoulders shaking with laughter that caught on the wind, filling Killian’s ears. The ears of his soldiers.
Then she shouted, “One thousand gold coins to the one who brings me Killian Calorian’s head.” Her host shifted restlessly around her, and she laughed again. “Five thousand to the one who brings him to me alive.”
Shit.
Killian’s heart hammered against his ribs. Thud thud. Thud thud. Thud thud. Then he felt something shift. “Here they come.”
Rufina snatched hold of her standard and lifted it into the air. With a roar, the enemy army charged past their queen, tripping and stumbling over one another in the deep snow, those who fell crushed beneath the snowshoes of the thousands who followed. An inky tide crossing the white snow.
“Steady!” Killian bellowed over the noise, watching the approach. Waiting for the right moment. “Shoot!”
The air filled with the twang of longbows, and a heartbeat later the front ranks of the enemy fell, screams echoing up to the top of the wall.
“Shoot!”
Volley after volley, and then the enemy hit the wall, grappling hooks launching upward, indiscriminately catching against flesh and rock, men screaming as the ropes dragged them down even as the enemy began to climb those that held true.
The Mudamorian soldiers drew their blades, cutting through ropes, dozens of enemy dropping to their deaths on the ranks clustered below even as more of Killian’s men poured the vats of boiling water down on their heads.
Screams.
Screams.
But they kept coming, the archers among them firing up, arrows striking true. Killian sidestepped a blur of black fletching, but even as he killed the archer with an arrow of his own he was turning, his gaze on the darkness outside the fortress’s wall. They’re coming from behind.
“The reinforcements from Tarn are here!” The shout came from below, several of his men running toward the gate.
From behind her?
Or from behind him?
“Don’t open the gate!” Killian stumbled toward the steps, heedless of the arrows flying past him. “It’s a ruse! Don’t open the gods-damned gate!”