Chapter 595: The Forces of Nature

Chapter 595: The Forces of Nature

The Forces of Nature

Everyone looked east, though the darkness hid the destruction from their eyes. Eleanor crossed the parapet to grab Avery by the shoulder. "They will destroy the gate next to have another place of attack," she explained loudly, and Martel recalled how the Khivans had used this tactic when assaulting the outpost. "You must be ready!"

"The gate is mine to hold," Avery replied, "and my soldiers stand ready. You should help Sir Theodore he has the harder task."

"Agreed," Eleanor assented.

She looked at Martel, who knew they could not delay further; battle was upon them. "Let's go."Thi/s chapter is updated by nov(e)(l)biin.co/m

They rushed down the stairs, almost colliding with legionaries moving about frantically for their own reasons; everyone knew what was about to happen. Reaching the street, they had more space, and the two mages could run alongside the wall towards the east.

***

The breach looked similar to when the same had happened at the outpost, except on a larger scale. A long section of the wall had been shattered, debris thrown about to smash against buildings. It looked like a storm had passed through, tearing everything apart. Already, legionaries were trying to restore some kind of defence, creating a barricade from the rubble.

Another volley of cannon shots tore through the air. They passed through the now broken wall to smash up what the soldiers had built, killing several of them in the process.

"Fall back!" yelled Sir Theodore to his men. "Behind the buildings! Nobody in the breach until we know they are coming!"

Martel dove behind a house wall, Eleanor next to him. The ruined section of the fortifications far exceeded what he could cover with his flaming wall; at best, he might use it to disrupt the Khivan attack, but it would not hold them back. And given their numbers outside, it seemed certain they would overwhelm the defenders.

He looked at his protector, knowing she would be in the thick of the fighting once it began. Martel wished, as he had done more than once before, he was a mageknight as well, able to fight by her side. No matter how well he might support her with his own array of spells, she needed someone physically by her, protecting her vulnerabilities, not cowering twenty feet behind.

The barrage of cannon fire ended. The Khivans were coming.

***

"I'll live," he mumbled, feeling about ready to collapse. Between his wound and all the spellpower he had poured into a single spell, he had little fight in him left. Perhaps this had been another mistake; if the assault continued for another wave, he would not be able to contribute much longer. He looked east, where his wall still stood, hiding any vision of the battlefield beyond, but sounds suggested that the fight still raged on.

"Get back into safety," Eleanor commanded him. "All the way out of here. Find someone to tend to your wound. I will join you when I can." She moved up to stand in the breach itself, gazing out into the darkness beyond. "They will send another wave sooner or later. Go, now!"

The sound of a cannon firing reached them, and Martel knew where it was aimed: right where the assault had just failed. He dropped his staff, leapt forward, and grabbed Eleanor by the collar with his right hand, using empowered strength to pull her back behind him. Without noticing any pain from his injury, he raised his left hand towards the orb of metal and death that sped towards him.

A memory resurfaced. The arena of the Lyceum, Maximilian trying to teach him empowerment magic. Eleanor by his side, a dagger thrown straight at her face. Martel's arm reaching up on reflex to catch the weapon, protecting her.

As the cannonball hurled towards him with enough force to shatter his body, Martel reached out with his magic and commanded it to stop. The force of nature met the strength of magic, and the latter won. Three feet in front of him, the cannonball lost the remainder of its speed and fell to the ground. Collapsing, Martel would have struck the broken rocks of the shattered wall if Eleanor had not caught him.

Khivan battle shouts could be heard. Martel knew his wall would have been dispelled now; he lacked the focus to maintain the spell. Eleanor began dragging him back, but even from his limited vantage point, it felt certain that the enemy would be upon them in moments.

Something whistled through the air. Martel could not see what it was, but he heard screams. A shadow moved past him, and as he turned his head towards it, he finally recognised it. Moving like a scythe through rye, Starkad the berserker felled enemies left and right. Behind, the Tyrians supported their leader with arrows.

A reprieve, but short-lived. The cannon fire had ceased, meaning another wave of Khivans would be moving across the open field to attack the breach. However valiant and powerful, one berserker and a score of archers would not be enough. More legionaries had long since ceased to arrive; the entire garrison was in the fight, either here or at the gate.

"Run," Martel mumbled. He looked up at Eleanor, still dragging him away. "Swim. Get across the river," he told her. She did not react; she could not hear him through the noise. He tried to yell, even as he knew it was pointless; Eleanor Fontaine would never flee if it meant leaving others behind.

A warrior ran past Martel, and he saw the shimmer of magic around them. Strange he thought every mageknight was already in the fight. Turning his head with difficulty, he recognised her to be Lara, throwing herself into the fray. Legionaries followed her, rank upon rank.

How the legion prefect in Esmouth? She was in the camp, on the other side of the river. Eleanor finally reached somewhere she deemed safe, in between two small hovels, one of them little more than a ruin.

"Eleanor," Martel croaked, "what's happening? Is that Sir Lara?"

"It is," she confirmed, gently lowering him down on the ground.

"How?"

"She must have crossed the river. And she brought the rest of the legion, by the looks of it." Eleanor grabbed some rags from a pouch in her belt, pressing it against his wound. "Which suggests the galleys no longer control the delta. Which suggests the Imperial fleet has arrived." She exhaled. "We may be saved yet, Sir Martel."