The Ranger of Marzanna (The Goddess War #1) - Jon Skovron Page 0,159

his throat. “It could still be useful to freeze the river, since it would slow them down significantly, making them easier long-range targets.”

“Agreed,” said Vittorio. “Captain, once General Marchisio has decided the enemy is within arrow range, freeze the river.”

“The entire river, sir?” asked Sebastian. “I’m not sure I could—”

“A mile in either direction, then,” Vittorio snapped impatiently.

“Y-yes, sir.” He wasn’t certain he could do that, either, but only because he had never tried. The commander expected him to push himself to his limits during this battle, and that was exactly what he intended to do.

They watched the rafts draw closer. Below, the soldiers were motionless, no longer even shifting their weight. The garrison was so quiet, Sebastian could hear the quiet clank of arms and armor.

“Archers at the ready!” Marchisio roared.

The sudden shout startled Sebastian, but the phalanx of archers at the back of the assembled army did not hesitate. As one, they smoothly loosened their bows, then took arrows from quivers and nocked them.

In a quieter voice, Marchisio said, “You may now freeze the river, Captain.”

“Yes, sir.”

The enemy was still too far away for Sebastian to see them clearly, but he could see the river just fine. He gripped his gem and focused on the flowing water, summoning all the cold hard dread that lurked within his heart. Fear of failing the commander again, fear of confronting his sister again, and fear of what would happen to his beloved Galechka if he faltered. Such feelings had weighed heavily in his gut these past few days, at times so intense he could hardly move. Now he used those feelings to define an intense cold unlike any that had ever assaulted the river before.

The section of river in front of them froze in place so abruptly, the curves and dapples of its surface appeared as if sculpted. The gleaming white ice then traveled rapidly in either direction, expanding so forcefully that small cracks appeared along the rocky bank as the river expanded.

“By God, it worked!” said Bonucci.

Zaniolo chuckled quietly. “Look at them flounder on the ice.”

Even from this distance, Sebastian could see figures stumbling off the rafts and onto the ice, many of them slipping and falling repeatedly in an almost comical display.

“Archers draw!” shouted Marchisio.

As one, the archers pulled their bowstrings taut.

“Release!”

The sky was dark with arrows that arced upward, then rained down upon the enemy.

“Hmm,” Marchisio said after a moment.

The arrows had struck many in the front lines, but none of them fell, or even seemed to notice they’d been pierced through. Instead, their full focus now seemed to be on walking slowly and carefully toward the garrison across the perilous surface of the frozen river.

“Perhaps fire arrows?” suggested Bonucci.

“Let’s hope,” said Marchisio. Then in a louder voice, “Archers! Arrows alight!”

The archers stuck the tips of their arrows into the torches that had been set for that purpose.

“Archers draw!”

The line of flickering arrows were pulled back.

“Release!”

The fire arrows were even more fearsome in flight, raining down on the enemy like the coming of Hell itself. Yet it seemed to make little difference once they struck the undead. The flames were doused immediately upon impact.

“It seems they’ve been coated with some sort of fire-resistant salve,” said Zaniolo.

“Captain, can you make the arrows explode on contact?” asked Marchisio. “Like you did with those torches?”

“Or could you make them burst like you did with those miners?” asked Bonucci.

“Er, yes, but only one at a time.” Sebastian hadn’t realized his exploits were so familiar to the generals, and wasn’t sure how he felt about it.

“We need a more sweeping attack to thin their numbers,” said Vittorio.

“What if Captain Portinari thawed the river now?” asked Bonucci.

“What?” Marchisio scoffed. “He just froze it.”

“No, no, it makes sense, actually,” said Zaniolo. “They’ve abandoned their rafts, you see. Even the living ones, who are weighed down with those horrid barbaric chain mail shirts of theirs. Potentially we could drown every living warrior in their army. Would the undead even know what to do without their guidance?”

“Even if their undead warriors are autonomous,” said Vittorio, “we could cut the total number of the enemy by as much as a third.”

“Sh-should I do it now, then, sir?” asked Sebastian.

“Yes, of course!” snapped Vittorio, his face flushing. “If you hadn’t noticed, Captain, a battle has commenced!”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Sebastian knew the commander had every right to be so harsh with him. Even so, the frustration he felt at the treatment kindled a deep, sullen anger within him. As inappropriate as he