Ciras leaped back to invoke jaedun but couldn’t. The pain in his hand, the ache in his back, the pounding in his head, and the shock at seeing an elephant squeezing into the sally port made concentration impossible. He knocked another lunge aside, then kicked out, catching the warrior in the knee. It went sideways, breaking loudly, then an overhand cut clove the kwajiin ’s skull in two.

From further down the street, one ballista shot, then another. The first slammed a ten-pound iron ball into the elephant’s chest, cracking the armor. The other launched nine iron-tipped spears, several of which took kwajiin right off their feet. Two of the spears struck the elephant, and-doubtless guided by Kojai’s hand-one punched through where the ball had hit.

The spear went deep and quivered. The elephant jerked. Its head snapped up, a tusk impaling a writhing kwajiin. The elephant froze in the sally port with the dying warrior wriggling helplessly.

Moriande’s warriors sent up a shout. More spring engines shot, and archers picked specific targets. The trapped kwajiin sought and killed warriors, but without reinforcements, they died quickly.

Other elephants pounded on the walls. Won’t be long before this whole section comes down.

Ciras broke the arrow and drew it from his hand. He filched a strip of fabric with a prayer on it from a Cyron shrine and bound the wound. He barely acknowledged the thanks of others as they scurried off to other posts. They invited him to join, but he declined.

Despite the pain and the victory, he’d not forgotten the winged beast flying over the city, skimming the clouds. He looked up and saw it circling to the west. Ciras knew in an instant where it was headed-Anturasikun-and he could make a good guess what its mission was.

For some reason Nelesquin wanted Keles Anturasi, and Ciras was not going to let them take his friend.

“We must get closer.” Nelesquin took another glance at the handful of augury stones, then tapped the kasphana driver on the shoulder with a riding crop. “I can see what is happening, but I need to hear, too.”

Kaerinus shook his head. “Get too close, and you can smell it.”

Nelesquin smiled, returning the stones to their pouch. “I had forgotten you never developed a taste for war.”

“I have just healed so many wounds that it no longer holds a thrill for me, Highness.”

“And you do that very well, Kaerinus.”

Stones flew over Moriande’s walls, crushing some of the dari, but already the main gate had been shattered. Smaller gates east and west had gone down as well, and the elephants were close to bringing down a major piece of the wall. To the east, the effort to use the wooden dari as siege ladders seemed to be working. They linked themselves together and clung to the wall like ivy, allowing warriors to swarm up.

Nelesquin spoke into the bag of stones. “It’s going better than you predicted.”

“Did you say something, Highness?”

“A private joke.” Nelesquin smiled broadly. “You see, my friends, warfare is what makes Men unique. Are the Viruk mighty warriors? Of course, there is no denying it. But they had stopped fighting wars well before True Men reached these shores. We were able to drive them back from their empire and establish our own. Yes, some have suggested the Viruk were tired of war and felt their age was passing, but this is the whining of those who do not understand how important warfare is. It kills the weak and rewards the strong. It makes us better.”

“Winning me my tower will make us much better, Prince Nelesquin.” Qiro studied the distant battle with sharp, pale eyes. “Your effort in the west falters.”

“Patience, Master Anturasi.” Nelesquin grasped the crop in both hands at the small of his back. “This war is a work of art. Savor it. It will bring you what you desire.”

The Prince nodded to himself as a jarandaki began its descent. “And once we have what we desire, there will be no stopping us.”

TheNewWorld

30th day, Month of the Eagle, Year of the Rat

Last Year of Imperial Prince Cyron’s Court

163rd Year of the Komyr Dynasty

737th Year since the Cataclysm

Moriande, Nalenyr

I threw myself from beneath the ram’s ax. Its blow pulverized cobblestones and crushed the shrine where I’d prayed. Stone shards ricocheted off my armor. Sparks exploded as a second blow just missed me, skittering low and taking off another warrior’s legs.

“Master, this way!”

I scrambled up and sprinted after Dunos. Another ram missed me, but blasted through the corner of a building. Roofing tiles cascaded, shattering, but I didn’t look back. The ground shook with every hoof fall. Fear was lending wings to my feet, but that still wasn’t going to win me this race.

Dunos darted left and I came hot on his heels. We cut left down a narrow street. One of the ram’s horns caught the edge of a roof, scattering more tiles. We ran beneath clotheslines hung with sheets. Rope snapped as the ram came on. I leaped over an abandoned bundle of clothes and ran past a crossing alley.

Only then, with the thunder of the ram’s pursuit faltering, did I dare glance back.

Red and blue rags hung from its horns and the ram pawed them from his eyes. He paused at the crossroads, ignoring the east and west alleys. They were too narrow to permit his passage and Dunos and I were still out in front of him.

Though this was a creature of metal, the trap we’d planned for the xonarchii worked perfectly against it. Ballistae hidden in each alley shot from close range. One spear skewered both thighs. The other entered at a hip and came out at the opposite shoulder. The ram jerked, then sagged against a building. The wall crumbled and the war machine disappeared within the rubble.

Dunos tugged at my sleeve. We ran east and the ballista crews reloaded. We fought our way through crowds of panicking people streaming north. People shouted questions, but I had no answers they wanted to hear. I pointed to the bridges and told them to move quickly.

They did, praying to Cyron or anyone else who might listen.

I wonder who Cyron is praying to right now? Cyron might have planned on the walls coming down, but certainly not that quickly. No one could have. Nelesquin had managed in seconds what should have taken months.

My xidantzu company had assembled quickly.

Ranai pointed southeast. “We should fall back to Wentokikun and hold it.”

I shook my head. “We have to protect the innocent. Deshiel, get your archers to the rooftops. Kill what you can, but I want you to track the enemy. Bait them. Lead them into our traps. Ranai, get your people moving refugees to the bridges. Get them out of here.”

She frowned. “But, Master…”

“I know, it doesn’t sound like a warrior’s job, but it must be done. Do you honestly think there won’t be enough bloodletting later? Clear the refugees, and you can fight to your heart’s content.”

She nodded and they both moved to relay orders to their people.

I looked down. “Dunos, go with Ranai.”

He shook his head adamantly. “You’d be dead if I hadn’t been at the gate. I stay with you.”

I had no time to argue, especially when he was right. “If we get separated, you head north, understand?”

Dunos’ bright smile managed to summon a twin to my face. “Head north; got it.”

I promised to see my people on the other side-and most of them assumed I was talking about the river. Smoke had already begun to rise near a small gate usually reserved for the Prince, so Dunos and I headed that way. Almost immediately, we ran into people streaming from that direction, many of them cut and bleeding. They’d been fending off sword blows with their bare arms, which spoke to their courage and the incompetence of the invaders.