was dancing the fine line of making this gambit count and losing the battle. “Hold!”
The men charging up the slope were close enough that he could see the sweat on their bearded faces, their eyes wild as they screamed.
“Now!”
The catapults snapped forward, launching the thin bladders of liquid toward the bridge. On his next breath, he shouted, “Rocks,” and soldiers sliced the ropes holding the traps, sending an avalanche of boulders cascading down the slope. One of the soldiers standing next to him handed him an arrow, flames flickering around its tip.
Killian’s ears filled with screams as stone smashed bone and tore into flesh, but his attention was for the bridge and the panicked expressions of the men who’d realized the nature of the liquid they’d been drenched with. The catapults snapped forward again, splattering the horde on the opposite bank, and Killian fired. The arrow sank into the bridge, and within seconds it was engulfed.
Men were on fire, diving into the waters and fleeing toward both banks. They crashed into the masses of their comrades who’d been waiting to cross, igniting them and sending flames chasing up the western slope.
“Archers, loose,” Killian shouted, firing shot after shot of his own, keeping to targets on this side of the Tarn in the hope the arrows could be retrieved later.
He sensed the Gamdeshians he’d deployed to the rear returning to bolster his ranks, the archers picking off those who remained alive below until there were no more screams.
Only the stink of scorched meat.
It was done.
Gesturing to the women who’d released the rocks, he said, “Ten of you go retrieve weapons—you have until the count of five hundred; then I want you back on this side of the wall. Prioritize arrows that can be reused.”
One of the soldiers shouted the count while the women dropped over the walls, knives clamped between their teeth. Anyone they found alive would not stay so for long.
Killian tracked down Sonia, who was watching the men pilfer the dead for weapons. The stink of burning meat followed him, and he voiced a silent prayer to Gespurn to turn the wind in the other direction.
“We lost twenty to their archers, and another ten aren’t likely to last until nightfall,” she said. “You?”
“None,” Killian said, casting his gaze over the Derin dead, noting that there were many different races among them. Faces that looked as though they hailed from Mudamora and Gendorn and Anukastre and even Gamdesh, though he wasn’t certain how that could be. Bending down to look more closely at one of them, Killian frowned. The dead man was filthy and scrawny, with lice crawling in his hair and beard. “They all like this?”
Sonia nodded. “The Derin army is as hungry as those we left behind in Mudaire.”
And both of them knew that only made the enemy more dangerous.
“Guesses as to the number of casualties they took?” Sonia asked.
“Five hundred.” He tried breathing through his mouth, but that only made it worse. “Probably be six hundred by nightfall unless they have healers in their midst. Which I doubt.”
Sonia whistled approvingly, but Killian only frowned, something about how the battle had gone troubling him. “I don’t think Rufina is with them. They gave up too easily.”
“I’m not sure easily is the correct word. You burned them alive.”
His stomach flipped and he swallowed hard. “Maybe. But you didn’t see the way they fought at the wall—like what stood behind them was more terrifying than anything we could throw at them. This was different.”
Not waiting for Sonia to answer, Killian started walking. His guts felt sour, and he needed to get away from the smell. He pushed through the lines of horses, inhaling their familiar scent, but it was no good. Dropping to his knees, he retched until his stomach had forgotten that it had ever known food.
Something bumped against his arm and, turning his head, he saw Finn standing behind him holding out a waterskin. His dirty face was streaked with the tracks made by tears, and he was shivering. “You told me to stay close.”
“I know.” Accepting the water, he rinsed his mouth, then spit into the dirt before taking a long swallow.
Finn crouched next to him, hugging his arms around his skinny knees, eyes haunted in a way they hadn’t been before. A dull ache filled Killian’s chest—a useless wish that there was a way to wipe the memory from the boy’s mind.
“They won’t stop, will they?”
Killian shook his head. The enemy would attack again, and swiftly.