Heart of Defiance (The Royal Spares)

Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

Iko

I hold up the modified crossbow so all eight of the colleagues I’ve been able to equip can see it. “You fit the three arrows here, here, and here. When you pull the trigger, they’ll all fire. So make sure it’s only enemies in front of you, hmm?”

The other soldiers nod, their eyes alight with a mix of fervor and fear. The Darium army is marching on us from two sides now, both of them visible to our people who’ve been keeping watch from the hill at the north side of town. The contingent who ambushed us at the lake is coming from the south while the army we’ve tangled with twice before approaches from the east.

They aren’t bothering trying to hide themselves with illusionary magic now. Possibly the mages they called on for help are too worn out after pushing their gifts to the limit yesterday. Or possibly they have us so outnumbered they don’t see the need for stealth.

They want us pissing our pants at the thought of what will happen when all those skeleton-uniformed figures descend on us.

My colleagues with the triple crossbows spread out along the line we’re holding at the edge of town. The burnt houses offer a tiny bit of shelter with the remains of walls and heaps of rubble.

I move to the larger cluster of allies I’ve equipped, this one a mix of soldiers and civilians who are good with various kinds of bows. We’ve had a lot of armor damaged or outright ruined in the past few battles, but I was able to see ways to work with some of the shields that’ve been cracked. They might not provide perfect protection, but by carving out a wider gap toward the middle, our archers can fire while remaining mostly protected.

“Aim quick, line up the arrow, and fire,” I remind them. “Keep as much of yourself behind the shield as possible. You’re part of our first line of defense, and you need to be visible, or they might not take the bait.”

For Signy’s plan to work, we need the Darium army to storm right up to meet us at the town. If they try to turn this into another siege like at the mountainside, holding back from the network of caves the gifted among us have worn away at under the earth, we’ll have to take greater risks to provoke them.

As the archers position themselves with apprehensive but determined murmurs, Captain Amalia strides through the wreckage of the town to join me. She surveys the makeshift army we’ve held on to, all of them braced for the fight they know is coming.

The captains and Major Arlo have been laying out the bits and pieces of our strategy since early this morning. But now that the part Signy suggested has been carried out, we all know that by far the most vital piece comes down to me and my gift.

“They’re no more than a half hour out,” Captain Amalia tells me. “You’re completely ready?”

My gaze flicks to the crate holding the five contraptions I was able to assemble from the materials we had. I’ve tested them out as far as I could without destroying them, but it’s the final step that matters the most.

All of my knowledge and the nudging of my gift tells me they should work. Jostein stopped to check on my progress as I was fiddling with them and told me he believed I could pull it off.

Somehow even that partly divine assurance hasn’t totally settled my nerves. What if he’s confusing his hopes as my friend with his gift’s ability to evaluate me?

Despite my worries, I grin at my captain. “I’ve gotten everything as prepared as I can before the actual explosions. If they don’t work, we’ll just have to hurl some rubble at the army and hope for the best.”

Amalia is a good captain. She considers me and must pick up on the uneasiness I’m hiding, but she doesn’t prod it. She simply claps me on the shoulder. “You’ve got one of the cleverest minds I’ve ever encountered, Iko. It’s been a pleasure ordering you around, even with your mouthiness.”

A laugh sputters out of me, and a little of the tension in my chest relaxes. “I’m glad to hear I haven’t been giving you too many gray hairs. But I think Jostein deserves the largest portion of the credit here, at least among our squadron.”

A smile plays with Captain Amalia’s lips. “Your loyalty also gives you credit. Don’t worry—Jostein’s contributions haven’t gone unnoticed. If we get out of this mess on top, they won’t be unrewarded either.”

As she walks on, my spirits lift at the thought that my friend might finally get the promotion he’s been vying for. Jostein might not have much patience for the politics of climbing the ladder, but he’d make a damn good captain—or even general—too.

A few shouts carry between the ruined buildings. I don’t need to make out the words—I can see the cause right in front of me.

The Darium army has come into view over the top of the nearest low slope. The two forces are merging into one as they march toward Feldan. Even after we’ve battered many of them with blinding pollen and toxic wasp stings, they maintain their rigid discipline: strict rows in perfect step with each other, weapons raised in ominous rows.

Like a horde of the undead come to drag us to our graves. Even though I know the bones are nothing but white paint on black fabric, an icy shiver runs down my spine.

High Commander Livius rides in their midst, the several scarlet plumes on his helm standing out starkly amid the mass of black and white. He’s chosen a ghostly white stallion, as if he’s arriving on death itself.

My mouth goes dry. I pick up my crate and check over the contents once more.

Everything’s there. It will work. I can spark the flame of our true victory.

I can make more than random gadgets of minor convenience. I can offer more than laughs and high spirits.

I’ve invented the winning blow to an entire war.

I’ve always known that between the two of us, Jostein is the real hero. But this once, I feel pretty heroic myself.

As long as I time this right.

As long as the blasted things do what I intend.

I owe it to Jostein, to my captain, to all my comrades—to Signy, most of all. We have to see this brilliant plan through.

The moment the Darium soldiers come within range, our longbow archers let loose an initial wave of arrows. They thud into raised shields, but we didn’t expect to take anyone down with those.

We just want them to know we’re in an aggressive mood. Make them think it’s better to deal with us once and for all.

Some of those soldiers will have been drawn from forts around the country. They won’t want to leave those areas less protected for very long.

Come on, fuckers. Come right to us.

The Darium army halts. We remain crouched amid the wreckage, visible but not easy targets.

High Commander Livius’s arrogant voice thunders across the field between us. “You have no hope of winning this fight, rats. This is your last chance to surrender. Those who continue their treachery should expect a very painful death.”

No one budges. We all know death is the most we can expect by handing ourselves over to the assholes now.

We’ll take our chances, thank you very much.

The high commander lets out a scoffing sound and motions to his troops. Their rows of archers tramp forward first, tall shields protecting the infantry behind them. They’re not bothering to waste their arrows when we’ve got a decent amount of shelter.

Our archers send out several more shots, a mere heckling. They don’t provoke an immediate retaliation, but I think the approaching soldiers pick up the pace just a little.

They’re all pressing forward, the whole mass of them passing onto the target area. Not quite enough of them yet, though.

Major Arlo gives a wordless holler, and most of our forces draw back as if we’re retreating into the ruins for additional cover. As if we intend to carry out this final fight amid the burnt buildings and not on the field .

I scramble behind a derelict wagon we left on the fringes to disguise my preparations and reach into my crate.

Each of the five contraptions is little bigger than a mouse. They’ll dart like the vermin the high commander compared us to, skimming across the ground between our enemies’ feet.

If we’d hurled similar devices at the army from above, those skilled archers could easily have shot them out of the sky. I need the impact as close to the ground as possible.

I lay them out in the shadow of the wagon, pointing at five different angles toward the march. Then I grip my flint.

The Darium soldiers bellow in a wave of threatening war cries. A few enemy arrows careen amid the retreating figures around me, knocking one of my comrades and another into the dirt.

Just another ten paces. Another five. Another one…

I strike the flint and let the sparks catch on the bits of moss protruding from the back of the contraptions. With a hiss, the shifting parts set the pairs of tiny wheels into motion.

My explosive speedy mice hurtle from beneath the wagon into the midst of the marching army.

I scramble backward behind a fragment of a stone wall. There’s a startled bark and a crunch as one of my inventions must be spotted and stomped on.

But only one.

The moss burns hot and fast. I brace myself for disappointment—and the flames hit the mixture in the tiny, oil-drenched pouch at the middle.

The pouches burst in a series of small but fierce booms and spurts of the soil churned up by the impact. The surrounding soldiers yelp, several of them toppling.

And that’s it.

I freeze, dread chilling my gut .

Then the very earth creaks.

The thinned, cracked rock beneath the surface shudders with an expanding groan, the precarious balance overthrown. A smile crosses my face.

Even as shouts of alarm ring out amid the army, the solid ground they were walking on collapses in a brutal crash.