The next line of men sets off a split second later so now there’s two rows running at breakneck speed towards the line of Spackle, guns out but–

“Why ain’t they firing?” I ask the Mayor.

He breathes out a little. “Overconfidence, I should say.”

“What?”

“We’ve always fought the Spackle at close quarters, you see. It was most effective. But . . .” His eyes play over the front line of Spackle–

Which ain’t moving.

“I think we may want to be back a bit farther, Todd,” he says, turning Morpeth down the road before I can even say anything.

I look back to the men running–

And the Spackle line that ain’t moving–

And the men getting closer–

“But why–?”

“Todd,” the Mayor calls, now a good twenty metres behind me–

There’s a flash of Noise thru the Spackle–

A signal of some kind–

Every Spackle on the front line raises his bow and arrow–

Or his white stick–

And the Spackle on the horned creacher takes a lighted torch in each hand–

“READY!” Mr Hammar calls, thundering forward on his horse, heading right for the horned creacher–

The men raise their rifles–

“I really would get back if I were you,” the Mayor calls to me–

I pull a little on Angharrad’s reins–

But my eyes are still on the battle and the men running cross the clearing in front of me and the men behind ’em ready to do the same and more men behind them–

And me and the Mayor waiting at the back of the pack–

“AIM!” screams Mr Hammar with his voice and his Noise–

I turn Angharrad and ride back to the Mayor–

“Why ain’t they firing?” I say as I get close–

“Who?” the Mayor says, still studying the Spackle. “The men or the enemy?”

I look back–

Mr Hammar’s not fifteen metres from the horned creacher–

Ten–

“Either one,” I say–

Five–

“Now, this,” says the Mayor, “should be interesting.”

And we see the Spackle on the horned creacher bring the two torches together behind the u-shaped thing–

And WHOOMP!

An exploding, spilling, tumbling, churning flood of fire looking for all the world like the rushing river beside it comes whooshing out of the u-shaped thing, way bigger than looks possible, expanding and growing and eating the world like a nightmare–

Coming right for Mr Hammar–

Who pulls his horse hard to the right–

Leaping outta the way–

But too late–

The fire swoops round him–

Sticking to Mr Hammar and his horse like a coating–

And they’re burning burning burning as they try to ride away from it–

Riding straight for the river–

But Mr Hammar don’t make it–

He falls from the burning saddle of his burning horse–

Hitting the ground in a jerking pile of flame–

Then lying still as his horse disappears into the water–

Screaming and screaming–

I turn my eyes back to the army–

And see that the men on the front line don’t got horses that’ll carry ’em outta the way–

And the fire–

Thicker than normal fire–

Thicker and heavier–

Cuts thru ’em like a rockslide–

Eating the first ten men it touches–

Burning ’em up so fast you can barely hear ’em scream–

And they’re the lucky ones–

Cuz the fire spreads out–

Sticking to the uniforms and the hair–

And the skin–

And my God the skin of the frontline soldiers off to each side–

And they fall–

And they burn–

And they scream like Mr Hammar’s horse–

And they keep on screaming–

Their Noise rocketing up and out over the Noise of everything else–

And as the blast of fire finally dissipates and Mr Morgan is yelling “FALL BACK!” to the front lines of soldiers and as those soldiers are already turning and running but firing their rifles as they go and as the first arrows from the Spackle bows start arcing thru the air and as the other Spackle raise their white sticks and flashes come outta the ends and the men hit by the arrows in the back and in the stomach and in the face start to fall and as the men hit by the flashes from the white sticks start losing bits of their arms and their shoulders and their heads and falling to the ground dead dead dead–

And as I grip Angharrad’s mane hard enough to pull out hair–

And she’s so terrified she don’t even complain–

All I can hear is the Mayor next to me–

Saying, “At last, Todd–”

And he turns to me and he says–

“A worthy enemy.”

{VIOLA}

Me and Acorn are barely a minute away from the army of the Answer when we pass the first road and I recognize where we are. It’s the road down to the house of healing where I spent my first weeks in New Prentisstown, the house of healing where Maddy and I snuck out one night.

The house of healing where we took Maddy’s body to prepare it for burial after Sergeant Hammar shot her for no reason at all.

“Keep going, Acorn,” I say, pushing the thought away. “The road up to the tower has to be around–”

The dusky sky suddenly lights up behind me. I turn and Acorn does, too, and though the city is far away and behind trees, we can see a huge flash of light, silent from this distance, no rumble of an explosion, just a bright, bright glow that grows and grows before dying away, lighting up the few people on the road who’ve reached this far out of town, and I wonder what could possibly have happened back in the city to make a light like that.

And I wonder whether Todd is in the middle of it.

[TODD]

The next blast of fire comes before anyone’s ready for it–

WHOOMP!

Shooting across the open ground and catching the retreating soldiers, melting their guns, burning up their bodies, laying ’em to the ground in the worst sorta heap–

“We gotta get outta here!” I shout at the Mayor, who’s watching the battle like he’s hypnotized, his body still but his eyes moving this way and that, taking in everything.

“Those white sticks,” he says quietly. “Obviously a ballistic of some sort but do you see how destructive they are?”

I stare at him wide-eyed. “DO SOMETHING!” I shout. “They’re getting slaughtered!”

He raises one eyebrow. “What exactly do you think war is, Todd?”

“But the Spackle’ve got better weapons now! We won’t be able to stop ’em!”

“Won’t we?” he says, nodding at the battle. I look, too. The Spackle on the horned creacher readies his torches for another blast but one of the Mayor’s men has risen from where he’s fallen, burns all over him, and he raises his gun and fires–

And the Spackle on the horned creacher drops one torch and slaps a hand to his neck where the bullet hit him, then falls sideways off the creacher to the ground–

A cheer goes up from the Mayor’s men as they see what’s happened–

“All weapons have their weaknesses,” the Mayor says.

And quick as that, they’re regrouping and Mr Morgan is riding his horse forward, leading all the men now, and more rifles are getting fired and tho more arrows and white flashes are coming from the Spackle and more soldiers are falling, Spackle are falling, too, their clay armour cracking and exploding, falling under the feet of other Spackle marching behind ’em–

But they keep coming–

“We’re outnumbered,” I say to the Mayor.

“Oh, ten to one easily,” he says.

I point up the hill. “And they’ve got more of those fire things!”

“But not ready yet, Todd,” he says and he’s right, the creachers are backed up behind Spackle soldiers on the zigzag road, not ready to blast unless they want to take out half their own army.

But the Spackle line is really crashing into the line of men now and I see the Mayor do a counting moshun with his hands and then look back down the empty road behind us.