“Too many and too far,” he told her.
“I know,” she ground out.
Savannah’s voice cut through the noise of the bailey behind them. “To the wall! Come to the wall!”
All around them the villagers streamed to the wall, climbing up the stairs. Men, women, parents lifting small children on their shoulders, they lined up as if for a parade, watching the two people on the crosses. Those who didn’t fit ran into the keep and filed out onto the curtain wall and balconies. More still waited in the bailey.
“Don’t look away,” Savannah called out.
“You must witness and remember,” Dugas yelled from the other side.
The Departed held still and silent. The hair on the back of Hugh’s neck rose. There was something unnatural in the way they stared, passing judgment on the undead below.
The vampire sitting by the older man jumped up. Sickle claws flashed and ripped him from breastbone to waist. Entrails spilled out, hanging from his body in grotesque garlands. The man screamed, a short guttural sound. Elara didn’t move a muscle.
No sound came from the wall. They looked on just as she did, bearing silent witness.
“Do not look away,” Savannah said into the silence.
“Watch and remember,” Dugas echoed.
The old man screamed and screamed.
A second vampire tore the stomach of the Iron Dog, spilling her innards. Irina howled. It was the long ululating howl the Iron Dogs made when they rode in battle. A chorus of howls answered from inside the castle, the Dogs acknowledging their own.
Hugh turned, finding Yvonne on top of the west gate tower. Their stares connected.
The archery commander whipped back. Two crossbow bolts ripped the air, glowing with magic. The first took Oscar in the throat. The second sank into the Iron Dog’s chest. The sorcerous bolts buzzed and exploded. Two people next to Yvonne lowered their crossbows. One of them, slight and short, glanced at him, and Hugh recognized Alex Tong.
The wall stayed silent.
“His name is Landon Nez,” Elara said, her voice snaking through the crowd.
A chant rose from the villagers.
“Landon Nez.”
“Landon Nez.”
Emotion poured out of a thousand throats, indignation and anger melded into a furious mix. Even the children chanted. Hugh saw Stoyan on another tower, looking around wild-eyed.
“We are one,” Elara whispered next to him. “We are the Departed.”
He felt something rise from the collective chant, something vicious and furious and unimaginably ancient.
“Landon Nez.”
A shimmer gathered above the crowd as if the air along the wall had suddenly grown hot. The edge of it brushed him. Ghostly howls echoed in his head and broke into a primitive, savage snarl. He jerked back on instinct.
“LANDON NEZ.”
The invisible thing tore free of the wall and hurled itself at the tree line. Trees jerked, as if grasped by an invisible hand. Birds shot out of the woods, screeching. Something thudded, metal whined, and a siren blared. He recognized the sound – it belonged to the People’s Armored Troop Transports.
Next to him Elara stood, her teeth clenched.
Okay. First things first. He would win this battle and then he would figure out what the hell she was and what he had gotten himself and his people into.
“Did you get him?” he asked.
“No,” she said, her expression hard. “But we rattled his cage.”
On the field below, vampires became utterly still. Standard protocol as the navigators waited for orders. They only had a few minutes before Nez shook the surprise off.
A charge was coming.
“Everyone not in uniform off the wall!” Hugh roared.
The blast of sound took her by surprise and Elara jerked. The villagers scattered, running down the stairs.
“You know where to be!” Elara called out. “To your places!”
In the bailey Savannah and Dugas herded people into the buildings.
Next to Hugh, Sam put his mouth to the horn and blew a high-pitched note. The Iron Dogs took up positions on the wall, fighting against the current of her people.
“Artillery, fire at will,” Hugh ordered.
Sam blew a new note, a harsh war call. The ballistae creaked, the strings of the massive bows twanged, and sorcerous bolts shrieked, tearing the air. A couple of undead jerked, suddenly impaled. Most had dodged, but the emerald green bolt heads exploded with magic, throwing dirt, rocks, and gaunt bodies.
The vampire wave gathered in the clearing before the trees crested and surged toward Baile. Fear pierced the back of Elara’s neck.
There were more than fifty. There had to be.
One of the Iron Dogs on top of the gate tower spun around. Hanzi covered her face, drawn in blue ink. She twisted, flexible and fluid like water, and came to rest on one foot, all her weight on her bent back leg, her right leg bent in front of her at an angle, toes barely touching the ground. Her right arm stretched to the sky, hand horizontal as if she was trying to press it against the clouds. Her left arm, bent at the elbow, guarded her chest.
The massive catapult on top of the keep whined. A rock the size of a small car streaked over their heads. The undead scattered, making a hole in their ranks. The stone thudded into it.
The woman moved, fast like a whip, snapping into a new pose, and spat a single word.
The stone pulsed with orange and exploded. Rock shrapnel pelted the undead. Some fell, but more were coming, fast, scurrying forward like ugly twisted lizards.
The ballistae spat more bolts. The air smelled of sorcerous smoke, crackling with expended magical energy. It felt as if she were caught in some magical storm made of explosions, screams, and war horns. It called on her to do something, to run, to scream, to kill. She glanced at Hugh. He stood next to her, immovable like a rock, his face almost relaxed.
“Archers, fire at will.”
The horn howled.
The first line of vampires jumped into the moat and sank. One by one they dove down, disappearing into the water, while the archers peppered them with bolts and arrows.
She leaned against the parapet to get a better look. Everything rode on this moment.
Nothing. Only placid water.
Hugh leaned forward, his expression impassive.
A hint of dark red floated to the surface from the moat’s depths. The water boiled, and the color vanished.
Seconds ticked by, slow and viscous.
One.
Two.
Five.
Ten.
She fought with herself to stand still.
Fifteen.
The water at the inner edge of the moat swirled. A vampire emerged. It dragged itself forward, its movements sluggish, reached with one long muscular arm, hooked its claws into the wall, and pulled itself up. She watched it climb slowly, each stretch an effort. It was almost directly under her now.
Elara backed away.
The undead heaved itself over the wall onto the tower. It landed heavily on the stones. The flesh on its frame sagged, as if it had gone liquid under its hide.
It worked. It actually worked.
The vampire swayed.
Hugh stepped forward, pulling his sword out and striking in a single explosive move. The black blade sliced through the vampire’s torso, cleaving it in two. Black, foul smelling fluid gushed on to the wall. The top half of the undead tumbled back into the moat.
Hugh grabbed the bottom half by the leg and hurled it over the wall. A splash followed.
She sidestepped the dark puddle and looked over the wall. All along the moat vampires staggered to the wall, slow and shaking. Some moved faster, others slower.
Blood red sparks shot out of the trees, a meteorite shower in reverse.
Hugh grabbed her hand and jerked her down, covering her with his body. A red missile shrieked through the air, landed in the bailey, and exploded. The walls of Baile shuddered. Red fire splashed on the wall to the left of them and an Iron Dog vanished in the glow with a sharp cry. All around them the magic missiles fell with a high-pitched whine, crashing against the stones of Baile.