Deception
Page 12
I fall silent as we reach the edge of the Wasteland, directly opposite the western corner of the Wall. I strain to hear something. Birds. Footsteps. The metallic kiss of a sword leaving its sheath.
Nothing.
It’s as if the army traveling through the Wasteland has disappeared.
Or as if they’re lying in wait. Assessing their target. Watching for the perfect moment to attack.
I figure that perfect moment is going to be the instant Logan and I step out of the tree line.
A twig snaps somewhere behind us, a loud crack that has Logan reaching for his sword even as I spin around, searching for movement.
Everything is still.
“They must be getting into position,” Logan breathes against my ear. “We have to go.”
I turn back around and stare at the heap of ruined stone that marks the entrance to the city. Gulping in deep breaths of air, I wipe the sweat from my face and nod.
The gate is fifty yards ahead of us, facing west into the Wasteland. We can move out of the trees, race across the flat land separating us from the corner of the Wall, and then run along it until we reach the entrance. A movement catches my eye, and I see Thom’s wide shoulders beside Drake’s smaller frame as they pace along the top of the Wall beside the opening, guarding the entrance from predators they didn’t really think would come.
“Let’s go,” I say, and run out of the trees, Logan on my heels.
We’ve covered half the distance between the tree line and the Wall when the entire western edge of the Wasteland explodes into motion. Wave after wave of soldiers dressed in red and gold pour out of the trees, swords drawn, and charge the city.
“Blow the gate!” Logan yells.
For a moment, I think Drake will do it. He and Thom disappear off the top of the Wall, and we wait for an explosion that never comes. Instead, Willow vaults over the pile of rubble, arrows already flying from her bow. Thom, Drake, Quinn, Ian, Frankie, and five others rush after her, swords gleaming in the dying rays of the sun, and create a small perimeter around the entrance.
“No!” I scream as I run for the gate. They’re going to die. All of them. At least twenty soldiers are already closing in, with hundreds more behind them. Trying to fight them off is suicide.
“Blow the gate.” Logan runs beside me, his sword out. “Blow the gate!”
The first wave of soldiers crashes into the tiny band of survivors and the scream of metal against metal shivers through the air. Two of our men go down immediately. Quinn, weaponless, spins with terrifying speed, swiping the legs out from underneath soldiers and kicking their weapons away. Willow’s arrows slam into the attackers, though her aim seems to be off, as most of those who get hit keep rushing forward. Thom grips a sword in one beefy hand and a thick, jagged board in the other. He swings both like he’s felling a tree. Ian and Frankie stand back- to-back, their swords flashing in the sunlight.
They’re fighting with skill and courage. The small opening into the city works to our advantage as the fighting between our people and theirs creates a barrier the other soldiers can’t penetrate or flank. But already our people are showing signs of exhaustion. And it doesn’t matter how many soldiers go down, more just keep coming.
We’re twenty yards from the gate when we reach the army’s fringe. I swing the weighted end of my Switch into a soldier’s knee and leap over him as he falls. Logan slams into another man, and their swords clash. We lunge, swing, hack, and parry with the Wall at our backs, and slowly gain ground toward the gate.
We’re still ten yards away and tiring fast when a group of soldiers breaks through the perimeter as another one of our men falls to the ground. Ignoring those fighting around them, the soldiers crawl over the gate’s wreckage and swarm inside Baalboden.
“Drake!” Logan’s voice, furious and desperate, rises above the sound of battle. “Do it before it’s too late!”
“Not without you two,” Drake yells, his dark eyes lit with a fervor that turns his mild, ordinary face into something dangerous as he swings his sword into every red-and-gold uniform he can see.
I take a sharp blow to my shoulder and spin into the side of the Wall. The stone scrapes my skin as my breath leaves my body. Pain rips a path from my shoulder to my jaw. I turn my face to look at my attacker as he whips his sword toward my neck.
Instantly, I drop to the ground, feeling the sword slice the air above me as I fall. My Switch is useless now. Too long and too heavy to do any damage unless I can gain some leverage. With my back to the Wall and my attacker directly in front of me coming in for another blow, leverage isn’t one of my options.
I dive forward, slam into his knees, and reach for my knife when he staggers back a step. He raises his sword. I press one hand into the ground for balance and gather myself. His sword flashes through the air, and I roll to the left, my knife hand slashing as I go.
The sword whistles past my head. I leap to my feet, and he lunges toward me on legs suddenly too weak to hold him. I follow his gaze as he stares down at the deep cut on his thigh, at the blood gushing out of his artery with every beat of his heart. Before he falls to his knees, I’m already gone. Scooping up my Switch, I battle to cross the last few yards between me and the gate.
Willow stands on top of the rubble, firing arrows at the soldiers who’ve climbed into the city. Quinn holds the ground below his sister, disarming those who try to reach her. He fights with lethal precision. Like a machine whose sole function is to reduce grown men to nothing.
Nothing.
It’s as if the army traveling through the Wasteland has disappeared.
Or as if they’re lying in wait. Assessing their target. Watching for the perfect moment to attack.
I figure that perfect moment is going to be the instant Logan and I step out of the tree line.
A twig snaps somewhere behind us, a loud crack that has Logan reaching for his sword even as I spin around, searching for movement.
Everything is still.
“They must be getting into position,” Logan breathes against my ear. “We have to go.”
I turn back around and stare at the heap of ruined stone that marks the entrance to the city. Gulping in deep breaths of air, I wipe the sweat from my face and nod.
The gate is fifty yards ahead of us, facing west into the Wasteland. We can move out of the trees, race across the flat land separating us from the corner of the Wall, and then run along it until we reach the entrance. A movement catches my eye, and I see Thom’s wide shoulders beside Drake’s smaller frame as they pace along the top of the Wall beside the opening, guarding the entrance from predators they didn’t really think would come.
“Let’s go,” I say, and run out of the trees, Logan on my heels.
We’ve covered half the distance between the tree line and the Wall when the entire western edge of the Wasteland explodes into motion. Wave after wave of soldiers dressed in red and gold pour out of the trees, swords drawn, and charge the city.
“Blow the gate!” Logan yells.
For a moment, I think Drake will do it. He and Thom disappear off the top of the Wall, and we wait for an explosion that never comes. Instead, Willow vaults over the pile of rubble, arrows already flying from her bow. Thom, Drake, Quinn, Ian, Frankie, and five others rush after her, swords gleaming in the dying rays of the sun, and create a small perimeter around the entrance.
“No!” I scream as I run for the gate. They’re going to die. All of them. At least twenty soldiers are already closing in, with hundreds more behind them. Trying to fight them off is suicide.
“Blow the gate.” Logan runs beside me, his sword out. “Blow the gate!”
The first wave of soldiers crashes into the tiny band of survivors and the scream of metal against metal shivers through the air. Two of our men go down immediately. Quinn, weaponless, spins with terrifying speed, swiping the legs out from underneath soldiers and kicking their weapons away. Willow’s arrows slam into the attackers, though her aim seems to be off, as most of those who get hit keep rushing forward. Thom grips a sword in one beefy hand and a thick, jagged board in the other. He swings both like he’s felling a tree. Ian and Frankie stand back- to-back, their swords flashing in the sunlight.
They’re fighting with skill and courage. The small opening into the city works to our advantage as the fighting between our people and theirs creates a barrier the other soldiers can’t penetrate or flank. But already our people are showing signs of exhaustion. And it doesn’t matter how many soldiers go down, more just keep coming.
We’re twenty yards from the gate when we reach the army’s fringe. I swing the weighted end of my Switch into a soldier’s knee and leap over him as he falls. Logan slams into another man, and their swords clash. We lunge, swing, hack, and parry with the Wall at our backs, and slowly gain ground toward the gate.
We’re still ten yards away and tiring fast when a group of soldiers breaks through the perimeter as another one of our men falls to the ground. Ignoring those fighting around them, the soldiers crawl over the gate’s wreckage and swarm inside Baalboden.
“Drake!” Logan’s voice, furious and desperate, rises above the sound of battle. “Do it before it’s too late!”
“Not without you two,” Drake yells, his dark eyes lit with a fervor that turns his mild, ordinary face into something dangerous as he swings his sword into every red-and-gold uniform he can see.
I take a sharp blow to my shoulder and spin into the side of the Wall. The stone scrapes my skin as my breath leaves my body. Pain rips a path from my shoulder to my jaw. I turn my face to look at my attacker as he whips his sword toward my neck.
Instantly, I drop to the ground, feeling the sword slice the air above me as I fall. My Switch is useless now. Too long and too heavy to do any damage unless I can gain some leverage. With my back to the Wall and my attacker directly in front of me coming in for another blow, leverage isn’t one of my options.
I dive forward, slam into his knees, and reach for my knife when he staggers back a step. He raises his sword. I press one hand into the ground for balance and gather myself. His sword flashes through the air, and I roll to the left, my knife hand slashing as I go.
The sword whistles past my head. I leap to my feet, and he lunges toward me on legs suddenly too weak to hold him. I follow his gaze as he stares down at the deep cut on his thigh, at the blood gushing out of his artery with every beat of his heart. Before he falls to his knees, I’m already gone. Scooping up my Switch, I battle to cross the last few yards between me and the gate.
Willow stands on top of the rubble, firing arrows at the soldiers who’ve climbed into the city. Quinn holds the ground below his sister, disarming those who try to reach her. He fights with lethal precision. Like a machine whose sole function is to reduce grown men to nothing.
