Chapter 18
Bastion tried to pull away, but Ulla’s claws in the back of his hand kept it pressed firmly to her side. She raised her other hand, knuckles facing him, and wiggled her fingers.
He didn’t know the sign, but some part of him understood.
Wait.
It took everything to keep his hand on her wound while blue light thrashed beneath his palm.
A slick, uncomfortable sensation made him stiffen as her flesh knit back together.
The sight of it struck more terror into him than any brush with death ever had, because on the other side lay judgment and rejection.
But he’d be damned if he didn’t save her, even if revealing what he was meant losing her.
It felt like forever, the hungry flames pressing closer while the fighting dwindled around them. When Ulla patted his hand, he snatched it away. He groped for his sword, desperate for something solid and familiar.
He rose, fatigue making his limbs heavy. Ulla followed with an effort, her brow pinched. Nesrin studied him while beyond her, the guards reclaimed the eastern wall and stairs.
He’d kept this secret from her, too.
“Lady Nesrin!” a guard exclaimed. “A mounted party is approaching!”
“Who are they?” Nesrin asked, her eyes still locked on Bastion. The question felt directed at him.
“It looks like a patrol!”
Nesrin’s gaze jerked away, her chest swelling as relief briefly flashed across her face.
“How many?” she asked as she strode to the wall. Bastion followed, avoiding Ulla’s gaze. He’d rather face the next battle than whatever her eyes held.
“Maybe fifty men,” the guard replied.
In the starlit darkness, a platoon rode towards the drawbridge. A prickling sensation stabbed Bastion’s gut.
“It’s too convenient,” he whispered. Nesrin glanced at him sharply.
Down on the bluffs, the patrol slowed to a stop just out of archer range. Someone lifted a flag.
“They bear Moonwatch’s banner!” a guard cried. “Lower the drawbridge!”
“NO!” Nesrin barked. The force of the word made the guard step back, and everyone stilled. Then, she said to Bastion, “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He shook his head. The motion made his stomach roil.
“I need a spyglass,” he said. “Quickly!”
Men made way as someone ran from the tower over the gatehouse, a spyglass in their outstretched hand. Bastion took it, lifting it immediately. He could feel Ulla’s eyes tracing the side of his face, like scorching sunlight.
He found the patrol easily enough. Their horses stamped and snorted, and their bannerman waved Moonwatch’s flag impatiently. Bastion strained to find anything that would support his hunch.
“What do you see?” Nesrin asked, her voice tight. Beyond her, the guards began to mutter.
Then, Bastion’s eyes landed on the hilt of a sword he knew, and an icy chill coursed over his sweat-soaked skin. His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth as he panned to the other men.
“One man carries the sword of a Royal Guard,” Bastion breathed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nesrin’s lip twitch. “The others carry a mix of blades, but nothing that matches what was in your armory.”
Bastion cast another baleful look at what he thought might be his own sword. Then he lifted the spyglass to the bearer's face, where he caught the flash of a white scar on his lip in the dim light.
“That’s Buck down there,” he said firmly.
He lowered the spyglass and scanned the guards. Over Ulla’s shoulder, Lawrence came towards them. His face was grim, but he moved with purpose, and his twin swords shone red.
Bastion couldn’t help but drag his eyes over Ulla. She stood tall, but weary, just like when they’d escaped The Basilisk.
“The camp,” he whispered. He turned to Nesrin and said louder, “The camp! They had patrol horses. There were banners in the wreckage! This is their contingency plan!”
Nesrin regarded him, her mouth a flat line as her hands draped over the hilt of her great sword. Slowly, she nodded.
Ulla touched his arm, and Bastion flinched. He looked at her, and she drew a finger across her brow, then waved her hand at the length of her arm.
The motion threw him back into Buck’s cabin, and Bastion exclaimed, “Yes! The thing they’re after! They don’t know what it is any more than we do!”
Nesrin raised an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting?”
Nerves vibrated up through his chest as a plan formed in his mind.
He clenched his sword, cutting the fear and uncertainty off at the knees.
“The weapon they used– it’s some kind of sound magic.
That’s why Ulla wasn’t affected.” The guards within earshot shifted uneasily at the revelation, and Nesrin’s face went ashen.
“Give me something, anything about an arm’s length, wrapped up.
I’ll ride out and draw them away. Buck will follow me if he believes I have what they want. ”
“It's a good plan,” Lawrence said. “The men inside destroyed most of our food supplies. We won’t last in a siege, and we don’t want them to risk using the weapon again. Bastion distracting them will give us time to formulate a counterattack.”
Nesrin looked around at her men. Her features pulled down in a resigned frown. Then, she said quietly, “You might not come back.”
An invisible weight settled over Bastion, like the entire ocean bore down on him. He reminded himself to breathe.
“That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
Nesrin’s eyes flicked over his shoulder to Ulla. Her nostrils flared, and then she said, “Raise the portcullis!”
Bastion gave Ulla one final look of regret and dashed down the stairs. His heart was a pendulum, one moment begging him to stay and the next screaming at him to go because some wounded part of his soul thought that had to be better than rejection from yet another Yvri.
He raced across the courtyard, breathing through the terrible ache in his chest that tightened with every step he took. A wild, shrill whinny greeted him as he slid into the stables. Quickly, he sheathed his blades and snatched Finn’s bridle from the hook outside his stall.
The Thatian reached for him, nostrils flaring as Bastion threw open the door.
Finn dipped his head eagerly, and Bastion slipped the bit into his mouth.
Then, he tossed the reins over his head and vaulted onto his bare back.
The moment he was astride, Finn shot out of the stall, down the breezeway, and into the courtyard.
Bastion pulled him to a stop, and the gelding danced sideways, tossing his head.
Lawrence ran towards him, an oblong bundle with a makeshift strap in his hands.
Bastion took it and glanced up at the battlements.
He tried to only look at Nesrin, but he couldn’t help but find Ulla beside her.
If he was riding to his death, he wanted to sear the image of her into his mind.
Seeing her, battle-worn but whole, was enough to make Bastion second-guess his plan.
With her torn skirts and blood-soaked side, she cut a terrifying silhouette against the rising flames.
He didn’t need to see her eyes to know how she felt.
A mixture of anger, pride, and agony barraged his heart, almost overshadowing his own feelings.
He wondered again how he’d been so blind.
With a herculean effort, he dragged his eyes to Nesrin and nodded. She waved her hand in a slicing motion.
The guards shouted and began to lower the drawbridge. Lawrence slapped Bastion’s leg and said, “May Caliban go with you.”
Bastion leaned forwards, and Finn bolted.
They reached the drawbridge before it was fully down, but the Thatian didn’t slow. Bastion squeezed his knees together, adrenaline thrumming in his veins as they galloped up the falling incline. At the last second, Finn gathered his stride. His muscles coiled, and they launched into the open air.
Bastion’s stomach swooped as they soared across the gap.
He caught a glimpse of the water glittering darkly below before Finn landed hard, but squarely.
The air whooshed from Bastion’s lungs, and only years of riding kept him astride.
The Thatian clamped the bit in his mouth, ready to run, but Bastion held him back.
He eyed the approaching patrol. The drawbridge creaked to a stop behind him and reversed.
Then, he raised the bundle high in the air, giving Buck a good look.
The man’s gaze hit him like a winter wind, and Bastion knew he’d been right.
He grinned and gave Finn his head.
A thundered command sounded behind him, and Bastion threw a look over his shoulder as they raced away. The patrol wheeled in pursuit. With a satisfied smile, Bastion slung the bundle over his head and shoulder. He took the reins in both hands and leaned low over Finn’s neck.
If he was going to meet his end this night, he would do it saving the ones he loved.
__________
Finn didn’t slow or tire.
The wind seemed to fuel him, giving him strength and speed that defied logic as they tore through the night. Bastion’s eyes watered as the cold, winter air screamed by. The pull in his chest stretched back to Moonwatch.
He couldn’t think of Ulla now, though. The rumble of pursuit echoed behind him. He had to make a plan.
Speed was his greatest asset, but they might return to Moonwatch if they couldn’t catch him.
He reined Finn in, letting the patrol gain ground. Swords flashed in the darkness, some lucky enough to almost hit him. Bastion flattened against Finn’s back, his legs screaming from the effort to stay astride. The tension in his body leeched energy from his tired muscles.
Something sharp and swift whizzed past him. Bastion glared over his shoulder and saw the crossbows they struggled to stabilize. More bolts shot by.
Finn stumbled, and Bastion flew over his neck. A cry of approval erupted, and the patrol closed in. Bastion caught the gelding’s mane in his hand and pushed himself back, doing everything he could not to wrench the bit in his mouth while he righted himself.