Page 122 of The Prince and the Ice King

“Ready!” Oliver ordered, and as Jack gave a nod, he continued, “Aim!” and a row of bows pointed skyward along the wall below the court.

Next to Jack, Branwen waved a fiery hand toward the archers and set each arrowhead ablaze.

“Fire!” Oliver finished, and the arrows arced like falling stars toward the front line of Lombard’s forces.

The horses reared up, frightened by the glow and whooshing sound, but the arrows struck the ground in a nearly perfect line, not hitting any people or creatures, simply creating a barrier of flames.

One by one, the court rose into the air, soaring downward to the front gate, Zephyr to pass on orders and the others to fight. Branwen kept the barrier lit, and Liam fired lightning bolts at the horses’ feet to drive the soldiers back.

Atop the gate wall, previously hidden people rose up on their knees, bearing dull, rounded shields that angled above their heads, as Josie flew by with an elegant touch, alighting the center of each one. The shields caught the sun so unexpectedly with their sudden golden sheens, that Emerald soldiers and horses alike were blinded, staggering back another meter.

As they stumbled and hesitated but didn’t yet retreat, Jack’s own riders appeared atop the few horses they had, led by the young elf Raphael. Behind the cavalry poured their meager but brave infantry, made up of fighters and wielders of magic. Some even ran right through Branwen’s fire, having taken protection draughts against it.

A few Emerald soldiers tried to flee the unexpected barrage, those that held steady looking horrified at the elves and humans alike casting spells to transmute swords into planks of wood or put horses into a dead sleep in the snow.

These men knew nothing of real magic, cast as easily as a bard telling a tale.

“Stay strong!” Lombard cried. “Their wickedness cannot stand against our cause!”

Liam shot a strike of lightning at his horse’s feet—but it bounced harmlessly away and fizzled into nothing, like hitting an invisible shield.

To the soldiers nearby who witnessed it—a miracle.

“To me!” Lombard ordered, riding through Jack’s ranks like parting reeds, with his soldiers swarming in behind him.

As quickly as spells were cast or elemental magic rained down upon Lombard, it all dispelled and fell away like he was blessed. Branwen’s fire even snuffed out when Lombard rode through it, and soon the expanse to the gate was mere meters.

“Now!” Liam ordered from where he floated above the courtyard—above the trebuchet Wynn had constructed.

Liam had told him what compounds to add as ammunition, and Wynn had complied, a full arsenal at their disposal. Nigel was there as well, preparing future rounds, as the first flung forward at Liam’s cry, launching what appeared to be a boulder but broke apart like dust, raining colorful speckles upon the approaching army.

They were too near the gate now, despite those trying to hold them back, and Jack watched Liam call down rain with a roll of dark clouds and thunder filling the sky. The second the water hit the dust that had coated the Emerald soldiers, the reacting combination turned the dust to sticky sludge.

Soldiers off their horses fell to the ground as if wading through muck, and the horses themselves had it worse, knees buckling and causing them to throw their riders.

As before, only Lombard seemed immune.

“He’s using magic?” Barclay darted to the edge of the wall beside Jack. “Or is it alchemy?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jack growled, stepping onto the ledge to finally leave his perch.

“Wait!” Barclay cried. “What of my vision?”

“If your vision changes, we will all learn the truth long before you can warn anyone.” Jack turned his monstrous maw toward Barclay. “The soldiers know not what they do, buthimI am not afraid to touch.”

With a crunch into the stones of the rampart wall, Jack leapt off to begin his descent, creating an icy ramp in his wake. He slid down the length of the castle at speeds that eventually launched him like the trebuchet had launched its weapon.

Jack landed with a similar crunch upon the front gate wall far from the line of golden shields, but close enough to where Lombard charged that Jack dropped right down in front of the gates and bellowed.

“Give room!” Then he stared Lombard and the other charging horses down as they all stopped short. “Any who dare touch me will earn an icy grave. So please,accuser, let it only be you.”

He could see Lombard’s eyes through the man’s helmet, blue and vibrant like his own.

“Jack!” Josie called from above him.

She had refused to use her touch as a weapon and was fearful of what Jack might do—or what might be done to him—but he could not be cowed. Around Jack, and farther out in the field beyond their gates, he saw so many good people fighting the army at their doorstep.

Like Shayla, a wickedly fast fighter with her twin daggers, cutting painful scratches into dozens of soldiers, one after the other, before they could counter, making them hiss and retreat—but not causing fatal harm.

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