The hail of spears subsided and the cloud began to dissolve and break apart.
“My lord, to the keep!” Trynne said, scuttling closer to the king. A chunk of rock whipped by her, barely missing her nose.
Trynne sensed Morwenna and Rucrius were locked in a duel of wills. Morwenna had an angry, defiant frown on her face, and her fingers were splayed as if she were digging them into something tangible. More lightning rained down on the enemy army, blast after blast of blinding fire. Trynne felt Morwenna’s reserves decreasing by the moment. She could not sustain the attack, not against the combined might of so many Wizrs.
“She’s right,” Fallon said, rising to his knees. “This is our chance to hasten to the inner wall. We cannot survive this storm long if we stay outside.”
Blood trickled from a laceration on the king’s cheek. He nodded in agreement and gave the order to fall back. The brilliance of the lightning rippling through the disintegrating storm revealed the scene around them in flashes. Everywhere Trynne looked, there were fallen knights on the battlement. Her heart grieved at the losses, but she saw even more dead scattered in the field below. Gahalatine was taking heavy casualties as well.
A surge of power slammed into Morwenna—Trynne could sense the Wizrs had pooled their powers together—and the magic gushed from her like a punctured bladder. Her command of the lightning began to fail and the blasts became erratic.
“Flee to the keep!” the king shouted. As they reached the bottom steps, he turned to where Severn had rallied his soldiers. “Hold that gap until we’ve made it through the doors, then fall back and join us.”
“I’ll hold them,” Severn promised. His voice full of fury, he yelled, “Men of Glosstyr! To me!”
Trynne hurried alongside the king as they crossed the rubble of spears and stone and dead men on the way to the hall. Morwenna’s shoulders were slumped, her elbows pressed into her sides as she tried to fight off the combined will of the Wizrs. She dropped to one knee, her power nearly spent. Trynne ached for her, amazed that she was fighting for their side, wondering how she had broken free from her cell.
An angry voice carried on the wind. Trynne couldn’t make out the words, only the sepulchral tones, and then Morwenna collapsed onto the cobblestones, unconscious.
“Here they come!” Severn shouted. “Stand fast! Stand fast!”
Trynne turned and saw the Chandigarli soldiers carrying the pine trunks toward the gap. Some of the logs were already in position. The men of Glosstyr rushed forward and shoved on the poles, successfully tipping some of them into the breach. The weight of the logs made them fall. But there were too many men behind each one, and soon Severn’s men were outmatched and the gaps began to close. Leaf-armored warriors came swooping down into the bailey and began falling on Severn’s men.
“For Kingfountain!” Severn roared in fury, leaping into the fray. Trynne felt tears prick her eyes as she watched him strike at the enemy. Warriors rushed over the makeshift bridge and began pouring into the bailey.
“We’ve lost it,” Drew whispered, aghast, as he recognized that Severn’s men were cut off.
Fallon scooped up Morwenna into his arms, grimacing from the burden.
Trynne watched as Gahalatine’s men cut down the men of the White Boar. Drew shouted, “Retreat, Severn! We’re almost through! Pull back!”
Most of the survivors of the outer wall hastened in through the door, shielding their eyes from the bright light of torches. Warriors of Gahalatine were already starting to charge toward the position where Trynne stood with the king.
Fallon arrived next, cradling Morwenna, whose head lolled. Her eyelids fluttered and she stared at the courtyard. “Father,” she groaned.
Trynne saw Rucrius cross the bridge, holding his black staff and scowling in naked fury. He had the look of a man betrayed. His strange, catlike eyes glittered white from the torchlight. Then he extended his ringed hand toward Severn, who froze midstroke. He stood rigidly, a grotesque statue of a knight at arms.
He couldn’t move.
Trynne stared in horror as Rucrius advanced on the helpless man. Severn stood frozen in place, his face twisted with fear and hatred. He spoke, lashing out with his words.
“Go on, slay me, you black-hearted villain! You coward! I fear you not. I fear no man. I’d rather die with my sword in my hand than cower like a pup as you do!” His Fountain magic dribbled from him, hardly grazing the Wizr, who gazed at him disdainfully.
“So be it,” Rucrius snarled and whipped his staff around, cracking Severn’s cheekbone with it. Trynne groaned in agony, wanting to save him but knowing that her duty was to protect and safeguard the king.