Of Whispers and Daggers ✓ [TLRQ #2]

Chapter 37.1 - Aster

In the grey dawn, I stand behind our soldiers, watching for a break in the line. My muscles tremble as yet another wave of Kadranians crash onto the wall. One of our men stumbles, and an axe arcs toward his chest. Hurriedly, I cast, and the weapon deflects. The soldier scrambles up and shoves his blade into the savage's gut.

A wizard screams beside me. I whirl as he crumples, his hands fumbling to cover the blood gushing from his eye. The Kadranian climbing the ladder in front of us bears a matching wound. My stomach drops to my feet. He didn't end the cast on time. The wizard's scream sharpens my concentration as I telekinese my own dagger at the brute, making sure to let go before the blade meets his skin. I pull my wizard to his feet and push him toward the tower. He stumbles that way.

A soldier knocks into me, and I fall against the back wall. My head smacks the stone, and stars swim in my eyes. Past the stars, a horde of black throngs across the wide park and swarms up the stone. Arrows and rocks rain down on it, but they are raindrops in the river.

These people are endless.

A man's axe slashes toward my shoulder, and I throw myself aside. The blade sparks off the stone. Regaining my feet, I thrust my rapier forward. The tip barely pierces his armor. He growls and swipes at me again, knocking my sword to the ground. I scramble back, pulling powder from my pouch.

The brute freezes midstep, blood burbling from his lips, and falls.

Reyan stands behind him. "To the sides, Aster! We need more lighters."

My eyes sweep down the wall, and I notice for the first time how thin our forces have become. Medics drag what men they can reach inside, but corpses litter the middle stretch.

"Now!"

I scoop up my rapier. Shouts and swords ringing in the air, I duck through the fighting to reach a group of archers near the tower door. Soldiers protect them and the door from the invaders, but only one magician is here, lighting arrows. I crouch beside him and start casting.

Flames leave my fingertips as fast as the spell can pass my lips, and I light arrow after arrow. Blood trickles down my lip, but I keep casting. Everything shuts out but the magic and the motion. Light, pass, light again.

A hooked ladder connects with the wall in front of my eyes. The archers call out, trying to pick the men off as they come up. A second ladder hooks onto the wall, and I cast to push it off. It's like trying to push a mountain; the spell backlashes. As I wipe away the streaming blood, my archer nocks an arrow and pulls it back—

An axe slams through his neck. His body collapses onto me, throat gaping. A Kadranian heaves himself onto the wall. Pushing off the body of my ally, I et væ the savage's chest. He flies back, and I let go as he tumbles into his comrades down the ladder.

The tower wizards throw that ladder off, but savages still pour from the second one, and I shove to my feet. The archers trade their bows for daggers, and our small guard force mixes in among us. Bunched together, we stare death in the face, using our bodies to shield the tower. My mind scavenges for a shred of hope—we need reinforcements, a lucky blow, a slow in the tide. Some brutes fall at the edge of our group, but on the left side, one breaks through. He scythes his path toward the door, men falling in his wake. I block a different one's blow and glance over, stomach plummeting.