Chapter Twenty-one Aemon’s Stand #2
Men and women were thrown into the air, and all of the Kindred who attacked the monsters were trampled or found their weapons unable to pierce the rock skin of the Daemons.
It was over in a manner of minutes, the Kindred fleeing before the onslaught of the five massive forms. Arrows continued to rain down, but now it was cover fire as men and women fled the outer walls and ran across bridgeways specifically crafted to allow them to reach the second wall without touching the ground.
One of the Bloodmages saw this, and his Earth Daemon plunged its hands into the cobblestone street and pulled.
An enormous slab of earth came free, was reared over the Daemon’s head, and hurled at one of these bridges, connecting and breaking it cleanly in two.
The Prince watched in horror as the Imperial army took the first tier of the city.
The Kindred soldiers retreated to the second level, passing through the gate as quickly as possible.
Those who were too far away or who refused to retreat were given up for dead as the gates closed.
The stone bridgeways connecting the walls were cut off as soon as the Kindred passed, portcullises with giant metal spikes rolled into place to prevent the Empire’s soldiers from following.
The second gate held, largely due to the presence of mounted ballistae that were heavy enough to give the Bloodmages and their Daemons pause, and scores of dead-eye archers manning the guard towers that struck down any wayward Imperial soldier brave enough to come close.
The Prince saw the Imperial army falter, and then tactically retreat in order to regroup.
A brief, harsh cheer went up from the Kindred soldiers manning the second-tier gate and walls, and the Prince allowed himself to take a long, slow, calming breath.
They had been repulsed—the Kindred had bought time at least.
An iron fist grabbed the Prince’s shoulder and spun him around.
“Get back inside now,” said the woman, her tone brooking no argument.
The Prince shot one more glance out over the edge of the balcony and confirmed that the two armies were backing down for the moment.
The Imperial army was bringing the rest of its force to bear, while the Kindred were repositioning their forces along the walls.
The Prince turned, tearing his eyes off the sight of the burning buildings of the lowest tier of the city, and came back inside the temporary infirmary.
“This is Aemon’s Stand isn’t it?” he asked.
The woman eyed him in the same draconian manner as before, not deigning to respond. She pointed to the place in the corner of the room where he had woken. He moved to the bed of rags, his wound sending little shocks of pain down his side every time his left foot hit the ground.
“How did I get here?” he asked.
“Quiet,” the woman snapped. She placed a hand on his forehead. While the rest of her was covered with dirt and sweat, her hands were perfectly clean and cool to the touch.
“Arms up as high as they go.”
The Prince did as he was told and raised his arms over his head. His side gave a small twinge of pain, but that was all. The woman shook her head as she began to undo the white cloth tied tight around his torso. He winced as the pressure came off and the wound was exposed to the air.
“You should be dead,” the woman repeated.
“So I’ve been told,” he responded testily.
The woman grunted and thrust a cup of something into his face. “Drink.”
He drank again. This too tasted strongly of mint.
“What was that?”
“No questions!” she snapped. She applied some sort of foul-smelling poultice to his wound, which stung and burned. He gritted his teeth, taking it on faith that this woman wasn’t trying to kill him even though it felt that way. Once she was finished, she re-wrapped the bandage.
“You’ve been out for three days,” the woman said, still giving the impression that it was entirely his fault that he had taken so long to recover. “You came in with Captain Autmaran’s unit.”
“Where are Leah and Tomaz?” he asked. She eyed him for a second, and the Prince thought she would refuse to answer again.
“Black-haired girl and great big hulk of a man?” she grunted.
“Yes,” he said, sitting forward. “Where are they?”
“They were the ones who carried you here,” she said. “They come to check on you every few hours, but now that the siege has begun in earnest, I don’t think—stop right there!”
The Prince rose from his corner and moved toward the door on the far side of the room.
He paused, unconsciously responding to her tone that seemed to expect his obedience.
It was as if his brother Rikard, Prince of Lions, were talking to him; but she was not his brother, and her powers were no more than a normal woman’s.
He shook himself and moved on, through the door.
On the other side there was a staircase, which he descended.
The young man who was helping the older woman was in the room at the bottom of the stairs, and he moved between the Prince and the door.
“Good,” the Prince said, “this saves me the trouble of calling for you. Retrieve my armor—it’s black officer’s issue—and find me a new tunic if you have one.”
The Prince turned to a pot of cold stew and realized he was ravenously hungry.
He grabbed a hunk of bread, tore it in half, and began to spoon the stew out of the pot and into his mouth at a quick pace.
He caught sight of the young man moving off to find his armor.
The Prince smiled grimly; it was something he’d observed Tiffenal do many a time to the other Children: act as though you deserve obedience, and people will unconsciously give it to you.
“And where do you think you are going?” the woman demanded.
The Prince ignored her. He needed to eat quickly and couldn’t spare any time for talk. He didn’t have much time before they renewed their attack, and he knew he could help in the defense if only he were able to find Leah and Tomaz.
“Do not ignore me you young fool, I’m warning you!”
The Prince rolled his eyes, stuffing the last of the bread and stew into his mouth and washing it down with a long draught of water from a clay pitcher next to the pot, before turning to face her as the young man returned with his sword and armor.
“I don’t have time for you,” the Prince said abruptly.
The woman’s entire demeanor was starting to infuriate him, as if she expected his obedience.
As he thought this, he realized the irony and laughed to himself.
He motioned for the armor, and the man helped him into it as quickly as he could.
The woman just stared at him, mouth open and working like a fish that had just realized it was no longer in water. She recovered quickly, though.
“If you leave now that wound will reopen,” she said, her voice telling him that she hoped it would.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said once the armor was in place. He walked out the doorway into the waiting night, his side giving a nasty twinge as if sparked by the woman’s parting comment.
The street was a mess of people running here and there, belongings scattered across the broad boulevard that ran around the mountain up to the keep.
Men and women were hauling children after them, doing their best to keep their families together, yelling and screaming to each other over a general cacophonous din that pounded in the Prince’s ears.
Soldiers in the silver-and-green were doing their best to keep the crowd of people moving, some of them with carts and carriages that told the Prince they were from Vale and the surrounding countryside, and others just as clearly from the Stand carrying their belongings on their own backs.
“Make your way to the keep! There is room for everyone there! Hurry but do not panic!”
The Prince heard the bullish voice over the din of the crowd and turned to see a captain with a green cape and green-marked armor directing the Kindred up the mountain. He quickly made his way over.
“Captain!”
The man turned and looked him over once, noticed the black armor and cape, and his eyes widened, in surprise or anger the Prince couldn’t tell, for both emotions seemed plausible on his squashed face. But then suddenly the captain snapped a salute, fist to his chest.
“What can I do for you, major?”
Major? the Prince thought. That’s an interesting development.
“Where are the Rogues being deployed?” the Prince said, seeing no reason to correct the man’s innocent mistake.
“Sir?”
The man obviously thought this a strange question for a major to be asking a captain. His brows pulled together in suspicion.
“I’ve been wounded, captain,” the Prince said, “and that’s no concern of yours. Now tell me where the Rogues have been deployed.”
The man tensed, the Prince’s manner apparently enough to convince him of his own inferiority in this situation.
“Down at the second gate, sir, they’re going to be used as shock troops.”
“Against the Daemons?” the Prince asked in surprise.
“Yes, sir,” the man said with a quick nod.
“As you were,” the Prince responded with a quick salute, turning before the captain had time to answer.
“Who the hell was that?” the Prince heard a second man ask the captain.
“I have no bloody idea,” was the bewildered response.
The Prince moved off quickly before they could ask him to identify himself. His mind was racing, and he was doing his best to walk normally even though the healing wound in his side was making it hard to take full strides.