Page 99 of Path of the Dark
Dressed in Anthor battle leathers, his head bare, Elias felt dangerously exposed up here. As a low-ranking soldier, he didn’t wear armor or a helm, and the sword at his hip wasn’t the double-edged broadsword his father had gifted him on his thirteenth birthday either, but a much lighter, shorter blade designed for stabbing at close quarters. He was to defend the walls once the ladders and siege towers went up.
Standing there, Elias waited for despair to settle over him, but instead he’d never felt more alive. His grandfather had once told him that a man never appreciated life as much as when he was climbing the steps to the gallows. Elias had shrugged off the comment at the time, yet he understood now.
He wanted to live. He would do whatever it took to survive this battle.
Elias stood next to one of the catapults. He and two others were charged with loading it. A pile of heavy rocks sat behind him. An acrid odor reached him as more drops of rain splashed onto his leathers; cauldrons of hot oil sat nearby upon beds of coals, awaiting the siege.
As he waited, Elias spied a rider below. The sight drew him out of his introspection. His red cloak fluttering behind him, the envoy moved out from the gates toward the Rithmar front lines. They were around two furlongs back, but Elias could make out the smoke and charcoal grey robes of Rithmar’s enchanters—and there in the center of them was a figure in black: Ninia.
Elias’s breathing hitched. The young woman he’d been sent to kill twice—and who had spared his life twice now—was crossing his path once more. And this time he’d be directly in her line of fire.
A small party rode out to meet the Anthor emissary: King Nathan and two of his men.
Stopping a few yards apart, they faced each other. Elias could just make out the rumble of their voices but not the words. They were too far away from him to see the expressions on their faces.
The parley was brief, as he’d expected. His father had made his position clear. He wasn’t interested in peace. Elias let out a slow, measured breath, disappointment knifing through his gut. Despite everything, he’d hoped his father would see sense.Short-sighted idiot.
The Anthor emissary reined his horse around and cantered back to the gates.
One of the men next to Elias snorted. “That was short.”
“Ready yourselves,” Elias murmured back. “It’s about to start.”
“They won’t attack this time of day,” another soldier answered. “It’s nearly dusk.”
Elias glanced over at the man. He was a squat, bulky fellow with a shaved head. The man’s gaze was fierce as he glared out at the Rithmar lines.
“Nathan’s not going to waste any time,” Elias pointed out. “He’ll strike hard and fast.”
The soldier met his gaze. “Aye, whatever you say,captain.”
There was no missing the challenge in the man’s voice. By now most of the troops knew about Elias’s fall from grace—about his failure to kill Ninia of Thûn. Many of the men were now wary around him, while others appeared embarrassed and avoided his eye. Some, like baldy here, found his presence offensive.
Elias grinned at the soldier, showing him his teeth. “Just wait and see me proved right.”
Boom.
Thunder exploded overhead, and the air trembled. The rain started to patter down in heavy drops.
The horn of Rithmar sounded a moment later—a clear, silvery sound that lifted up high over the walls. The slow, steady beat of battle drums followed. Elias’s skin prickled with anticipation. He’d been standing up here all afternoon, his gaze trained east. But, finally, the waiting was over.
Elias spared a look at the man who’d challenged him earlier, meeting his eye. “Vadaras, Onoras, Leadalas,” he said softly.
The soldier’s heavy-featured face twisted. “Aye,” he grunted. “For the motherland.”
A roar went up amongst the attacking force, shattering the tension.
An answering shout echoed back from atop the walls, pulsing in time with the battle drums. Elias’s gaze swept over the line of enchanters advancing toward them. Upon the wall, those in charge started bellowing orders. Men edged the cauldrons of boiling oil into position.
A tongue of flame shot up from the Rithmar ranks, scoring along the wall. Anthor soldiers reared back, although one or two weren’t fast enough. Beating at the flames that devoured them, they fell screaming off the wall.
“Archers ready!” a captain called out. “Loose!”
Arrows hissed through the air, flying in a graceful arc from behind those on the front of the wall and spraying the battlefield, clanging as they hit upraised shields. However, the enchanters held a silvery sphere of light before them. The arrows bounced off it without causing any damage.
Siege towers rumbled toward the walls now, and the Rithmar ranks parted to let them pass.
“Catapults ready!” the captain bellowed.
