The Gates of Winter - Mark Anthony [245]
Out of the smoke and gloom, three towers appeared. The towers were fashioned of iron, not wood, and lit from within by fire, so that Grace could see a confusion of gears and pulleys moving inside them. Each one was a hundred feet high—as tall as the wall—and they belched steam as they lurched forward, rolling on great wheels that crushed to a pulp any not swift enough to get out of the way.
Balls of sparks shot through the air. The men raised their bows, ready to fire, waiting for Grace's command. She did not give it. She had to wait until they were close, until all of the Pale King's army had entered the sharp-walled defile below the keep. Kel's arrows might reach them, but the bows of the other men would not. However, it was more than that. The only way they could win this battle was to lose it first. The enemy had to reach the keep.
The siege engines lurched closer. Shouts rose from the dark army—jeers and taunts meant to boil the blood. Still Grace's men held.
More of the fiery orbs shot over the wall. A dozen soldiers fell, blazing like shooting stars. Others dropped dead where they stood; it was not the wizards who worked that terrible magic, but the witches in black. One by one they sought out the threads of men who stood on the wall and cut them short.
However, their task was made difficult by the coven of witches behind the wall. Lursa, Senrael, and the others stood in a circle, doing what they could to unravel the weavings of the dark witches. Grisla stood with them, so that their number was thirteen. Grace could feel the magic that radiated out from the circle—the shimmering, wholesome power of life.
The towers rolled close to the wall, grinding feydrim beneath their wheels. Bridges extended from their summits, reaching toward the top of the wall. Still Grace raised her arm, holding her men back. The gap between the bridges and the wall closed. Below, the dark ocean of the Pale King's army surged against the walls.
“Now!” Grace called, lowering her arm.
Feydrim rushed over the bridges to the top of the wall with wraithlings behind them, and the warriors loosed a storm of arrows. The air was thick with the shafts, buzzing like angry insects. Hundreds of the gangly feydrim died, their carcasses falling onto their brethren below. More swarmed up the siege towers to take their place. Already the creatures had reached the wall and were beginning to force the men back from one of the bridges. In minutes all would be lost.
“Hold them back!” she called to King Kel and Commander Paladus. “Keep them on the wall but don't let them get past it!”
The two men nodded, then turned back to the battle. Grace climbed down a ladder and raced toward the keep's main tower. As she passed inside, she slipped her fingers beneath the bandage on her shoulder and dug them into the freshly scabbed wound. There was pain, then blood flowed.
She burst through the doors of the main hall. Men were waiting, forming a circle around the rune of blood, guarding it. They let her pass to the center. Grace knelt on the floor and looked at her hand. It was wet with blood.
Now, Aryn! she called out across the Weirding. Now, Teravian! Ride forth—drive them toward the keep!
She thrust her hand against the rune of blood.
This time she was ready for it. She was the keep again; its power was hers to wield. With a thought she lashed out. The runes embedded in the stones of the keep blazed to life. Creatures of evil screamed, burned, died. The feydrim and wraithlings atop the walls perished, as did those who were pressed against the wall below by the force of their kin pushing behind them. The creatures stopped prowling across the bridges from the siege towers; the dark army started to pull back from the wall.
Trumpets rang out. The slaves of the Pale King turned around, and they saw an army behind them.
Grace could see everything as if she were an eagle flying above. A thousand horsemen thundered toward the defile, quickly cutting off the enemy's retreat into Shadowsdeep. Three thousand foot soldiers marched behind, spears