The King of the Vile (27 page)

Dieredon was a wonder as he spun about her, with no fear of the claws that swiped toward his leather armor and no difficulty in piercing their flesh with his long blades. Anytime he had a moment to breathe, he snapped the blades in and lobbed arrows along the length of the wall. It never seemed to be enough. For every beast they killed, three more rushed to its place.

“Come on,” Dieredon shouted, suddenly grabbing her wrist and pulling her toward the stairs. “The walls are lost!”

He was right, no matter how much she didn’t want to believe it. Of the soldiers who had held the walls, maybe a tenth remained. Jessilynn followed Dieredon down the stairs, snarling wolf-men at her heels. They raced toward Sir Daniel’s men, who had formed a line alongside the twin sets of stairs on either side of the gate, battling the wolf-men who descended them. Several of Daniel’s soldiers saw their approach and rushed to defend them, shields up, swords swinging. Jessilynn vanished into their numbers, falling to her knees and gulping in air. From beyond the wall, the wolf-men let loose a victorious howl.

Jessilynn looked to the red sky, but she saw no wings.

“The gate’s been weakened, not that it matters much,” she heard Daniel shout to Dieredon. “They’ll be through in moments.”

Jessilynn staggered to her feet and grabbed Daniel by the arm. “Then open it.”

“You want me to do
what
?” Daniel asked, looking at her as if she’d lost her mind.

“If the way is open, they’ll rush through instead of risking the climb,” she said. “Let them come to me instead of all across the wall. Give me clean shots, and I’ll make them pay.”

There was no time to argue. Either Daniel trusted her, or he didn’t.

“Fine,” he said. “We’ve lost anyway, might as well take as many as we can with us.” He shouted the order to a soldier beside him, who pushed through the ranks and ran toward the weakened gate to pass along the message.

Jessilynn pushed her way to the front of the remaining throng of soldiers. On either side of her men and beasts died; she trusted Daniel’s soldiers to hold. Dieredon stepped up beside her, just a moment’s pause before leaping into the fray on her right.

“Make your teachers proud.”

The gate creaked, then burst open. A seemingly endless swarm of wolf-men rushed the opening. Jessilynn drew back the drawstring and felt a sudden calm overtake her. Her arrows were her god’s will manifested, his weapon against the darkness, his rage against the evils plaguing his beloved creation. They were not bound by physical limitations. Jerico had once formed a shield hundreds of feet wide to protect Harruq and Aurelia at the battle of Mordeina, when the angels first appeared. A hundred times she’d heard that story, and a hundred times she’d pretended it was her wielding the shield instead of Jerico.

There was no pretend any longer. Jessilynn watched the wolf-men surge toward her, claws out, mouths open, howling in bloodlust. Thousands of lives were at stake. Shivers running through her body, Jessilynn pulled back the string, felt soft feathers brush her cheek. An arrow shimmered into existence, swirling with light. Its power grew, its brightness overwhelming yet not at all painful to her eyes. A lump in her throat, tears blurring her vision, Jessilynn whispered a word she’d never dared speak before.

“Elholad.”

When Jessilynn released her arrow, it was a like a bolt of lightning striking from the heavens. The projectile appeared as a single beam that punched through flesh and bone like they were dust. The shockwave that followed was a god’s thunder, shaking the stone walls and opening a crack in the earth. Those caught in its path flew aside from its power, bones shattered, flesh ripped open. The arrow pierced through the army, decimating hundreds. Trees collapsed once it reached the forest, their trunks blasted out from beneath them.

Jessilynn dropped to her knees and gasped for air, feeling like she’d run a hundred miles. Her heart hammered in her chest, her hands shook. She couldn’t even lift her bow. Bones and gore littered formed a bloody trail that exited the archway and traveled through the field beyond. Despite the open gate, no wolf-man dared approach. Up the walls they went, preferring the arduous climb over the risk of being caught in another such blast.

Dieredon’s hand fell on her shoulder.

“We need to retreat to the castle,” he said. “They’re everywhere.”

Jessilynn rose to her feet with his help, and she did not argue. The walls were completely overrun. She’d killed so many with a single shot, and still it was not enough. Sir Daniel rallied his troops toward the castle and the sprawling camps of refugees that filled the space between. Men, women, and children fled their campfires and ran toward the castle. The beast-men descended on them, wolf-men ripping into their necks with their teeth, hyena-men slobbering and yipping as they shredded flesh with claws sharp as knives. Everywhere, terrified people screamed. Everywhere, innocent lives ended.

Twenty soldiers armed in platemail guarded the entrance to the castle proper, Lord Arthur among them. Refugees fled up the hill and through the huge doors, cramming into the safety of the castle. This was their first respite, as the invaders were taking time to devour their prey in the fields before reaching the castle.

“I saw an arrow do what ten ballistae could never hope to achieve,” Arthur said, bowing before her. “It’s almost enough to convince me Ashhur is with us.”

“Ashhur
is
with us,” she said.

“No,
you
are,” Arthur said, drawing his sword. “If
he
were with us, his angels would descend from the skies to stop this massacre. Instead we must hold this hill on our own.”

Jessilynn bit her tongue and turned from the lord to watch the people fleeing up the hill, their numbers rapidly dwindling as Manfeaster’s army closed in from all sides. Her head pounded, and the fingers of her right hand were raw from the constant drawing of the bowstring, but she was not done. Even if her hands bled, she would still let loose her arrows. Dieredon joined her side, his clothes soaked with blood. He put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed.

“Stay strong,” he said as Sonowin landed beside him on the hill. “I’ll do what I can from above, thin them out. Make sure you retreat into the castle before all is lost.”

“We need to buy time,” Jessilynn said, trying to be brave. “The angels will come, I promise they will.”

The elf gave her a sad look before he left. Jessilynn’s inner fire was stoked, and she lifted her bow and pushed to the front of the line.

“My arrows will funnel them to either side,” she said. “Cut them down. Not a single one of those creatures reaches the castle door, do you hear me? Not a one!”

Their cheers were half-hearted, but her words weren’t for them. Jessilynn felt anger growing in her breast, hot and wild. Hundreds of evil creatures dead by her god-blessed arrows, and yet Dieredon and Arthur would claim them abandoned? No. She refused to believe that. They just had to hold on a little longer. They had to bleed, to fight, to push beyond the breaking point. They hadn’t been abandoned. Not yet.

Sir Daniel took up position beside her. “Here they come!”

Jessilynn saw two women and a man running hand-in-hand, a hyena-man chasing after. Jessilynn breathed in, breathed out, and fired her arrow. The hyena-man ducked low, snarling as the bolt sailed over its left ear. Jessilynn tried to force herself to focus, to push through the exhaustion that clawed at her eyes and pulled down on her limbs. She sighted again, but could not deny the relief she felt when one of Dieredon’s arrows came down from the heavens to kill the beast. The three who’d been chased entered the castle. They were the last that would survive; beast-men of all races brought down the rest, and afterward rushed the last defenders of humanity.

Bow raised, Jessilynn told herself it wasn’t yet over. Between Lord Arthur’s personal guard and the remainder of Sir Daniel’s men, they had a total of fifty gathered in a tight formation before the castle door. Fifty against the remaining thousands. Not hopeless, she told herself. Not if they stood strong. This was when Ashhur would come to their aid. This was when their strength would be rewarded. Tales of their bravery would be told over cook fires for years to come. Readying another ethereal arrow, she shot it down the hill, killing two hyena-men who ran one after the other.

Before her string had even ceased vibrating she pulled it back, releasing another arrow through the heart of a bird-man that shrieked at the top of its lungs as it climbed the hill. Jessilynn felt a spike of pain as she drew back for a third. Blood dripped from fingers rubbed raw. Knowing there was little she could do about it, she gritted her teeth and endured the pain. Her arrows could not slow, not for a heartbeat, or all was lost.

The vile creatures dropped by the dozens as her glowing arrows punctured their bodies, broke their bones, spilled their blood. Dieredon circled overhead, raining down arrows so fast they seemed fired two at a time. The dead littered the hill, but what had once been a scattered trickle of beast-men was now a massive wave. The entirety of Manfeaster’s army converged on the castle. Hyena-men raked at the shields of the soldiers, wolf-men snarled and crunched armor between their jaws like walnut shells. Jessilynn barely had need to aim, the night was so thick with enemies. Each shot killed at least two, sometimes many more as the arrow traveled down the hill, connecting with body after body and wrecking incredible damage.

“Into the castle!” Sir Daniel screamed at Lord Arthur as the soldiers steadily retreated.

“Like the Abyss I will,” Arthur retorted. “I will die in battle, not cowering behind doors that won’t hold!”

Jessilynn tried to delay such a fate, but the beasts veered to either side in an attempt to avoid her shots. The mass of soldiers blocked her aim; the shielded wolf-men leapt upon the defenders while she stood there helpless. The best she could do was kill the beasts once they were upon them, but in her heart, she knew it a shallow gesture.

Scores of bird-men raced up the hill, letting loose with shrill shrieks that were horrific to the ears. Lord Arthur surged ahead to greet them, blade swinging. He took down three of the beasts, his sword hacking through their thin, feather-covered limbs. Jessilynn killed two more, but it was like scooping a bucket of water out of a river. Lord Arthur fell, claws ripping his exposed flesh, strange beaks plucking out his eyes as he screamed.

The line began to break, and no amount of arrows Jessilynn fired seemed to help. They were down to ten men, all of them beaten and spent.

“Get inside!” Dieredon screamed at her as Sonowin flew low overhead.

“You heard him,” Sir Daniel said, shoving her with his free hand. Jessilynn stumbled, a word of protest on her lips that would go unspoken. “Fight from within the castle, girl. It’s our last hope, now go!”

Jessilynn ran through the open doors, sparing a glance over her shoulder to see Sir Daniel impale a pouncing wolf-man with his sword. The creature swung as it died, thick claws tearing open the brave man’s throat. Jessilynn turned away, choking down a sob. Another soldier slammed the door shut and flung the bar in place.

Jessilynn stumbled through the cramped castle foyer, pushing through wounded men, crying families, and children lurking in every corner. When she reached the stairs she ran up them two at a time despite the burning in her legs. She had to get up. She had to get to the top. Motion kept her tears at bay. Action kept her thoughts on anything but the dead and dying.

When she reached the ladder that led to the high turret, she climbed up, flung open the trap door, and scrambled onto the rooftop. She then ran to the front of the castle, just above the main door, and gaped. The army of the vile covered the horizon, swarming like so many ants.

Jessilynn looked to the purple sky, but she saw no wings.

“You,” she whispered when she brought her gaze back down and saw Manfeaster approaching the hill, escorted by ten of his strongest warriors. The distance was great, but her arrow would span it. Ignoring the goat-men slamming their horns against the castle doors, she pulled back a glowing arrow and aimed at the King of the Vile. If their leader died, then maybe, just maybe the army could still break into disarray. The bow shook in her hand, and she struggled to keep it still. When she fired, the glowing bolt sailed wide, killing a few random beasts. Jessilynn hurried two more shots, each missing. Her vision grew blurry. Manfeaster stayed where he was, wisely coming no closer, and he lifted Darius’s blade above his head, howling in mockery.

Jessilynn was ready to fire a hundred more arrows until she dropped the bastard, but then she heard the splintering of wood. Turning her attention back to the castle door, she saw that the combined might of the goat-men had broken it down. They rushed inside amid shouts and terrified screams.

“No, no, no,” she said, firing arrows straight down.
It can’t end like this.
This was their last stand, their final battle. They couldn’t fail. All those people crowded inside, fearful, begging for safety, and she’d let them in? The soldiers inside weren’t enough to last even a few minutes. Bird-men, goat-men, wolf-men, they all died as she blasted the entrance, but for every one she stopped two more rushed through. The screams of the dying grew all the louder.

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stop. She had to keep going, had to keep fighting. Jessilynn heard the beating of wings above her, and she glanced back to see Sonowin land atop the castle, the horse settling atop the trap door to keep it closed. Dieredon hopped down and slowly approached.