“You are powerful,” Morwenna whispered, tears glistening in her eyes.
The door pieces came crashing down and the enemy warriors began wading through the debris to get inside.
Protect the king.
Gratitude welled inside her. The Fountain had whispered for her to defend the king, not spirit him away.
Trynne rose and reached her hand down to Morwenna. “Now is not the time to be enemies. Defend your brother.”
Morwenna looked at her in startled surprise. “Do you trust me?”
Trynne chuffed. “No, not very much. But we’re short on allies at the moment. If any Wizrs come through those doors, go for the neck.” She drew her own dagger and handed it to Morwenna, who accepted it and then took her hand and allowed herself to be pulled back up.
Trynne’s throat was raw from thirst and her arms were weary from fighting. Both doors had been breached, but every time the Chandigarli soldiers tried to enter the hall, the knights of North Cumbria and the Oath Maidens of Averanche drove them out again. The sun had finally risen, but the situation had not changed.
Captain Staeli barked orders and improvised during the attack, constantly shifting the tactics and directing his maidens. His brow had been slashed by a blade, but he hadn’t let the blood dripping down his face slow him. His leadership and fearlessness had inspired everyone.
There was a pause after the latest attack had been repulsed, and everyone was breathing and gasping for air. Trynne had watched Morwenna fight with all the savage fury she could muster. Though unarmored, she alone had killed over a dozen knights. Fallon had also performed feats of bravery and skill, showing the outcome of his training. Yet even King Drew, with the blazing magic of Firebos, had been unable to stop the relentless flood of attackers continuing the assault of the fortress. A biting cold wind came through the demolished doorways, speaking of the blizzard still raging outside. Drew’s thoughts continued to power the storm that would unleash a mountain of snow on them.
“They’re coming,” Staeli warned, wiping a smear of blood from his cheek. “They’ll run out of soldiers ere long. Keep up the fight.”
Drew’s voice was ragged. “I don’t know how much more we’ll be able to take,” he gasped to Trynne.
She sensed the presence of other Fountain-blessed in the corridor. She recognized Gahalatine’s presence. When she had first seen him at the Battle of Guilme, she had sensed his enormous store of magic—it was unmistakable. But his efforts to embolden his warriors to continue the fight during a ferocious blizzard had drained him. His magic was diminished, but his force of will was still incredibly strong. There was another with him . . . no, at least two other Fountain-blessed with him. How many Wizrs had he brought?
“I see them,” Staeli snarled. He was in the front of the ranks alongside the maidens. “The emperor’s come himself. How grand.”
A disquieted murmur rippled through the hall. Trynne still tried to catch her breath, but she felt that the moment was coming. The fate of the kingdoms was about to be decided. She had no idea what it would be.
The Painted Knight must stand ready.
The thought throbbed in Trynne’s mind—insistent—and she released the magic of her ring just as Gahalatine and his group came into sight. All eyes were focused on the doorway.
Gahalatine’s fox-fur robe was thick with snow. He wore his armor and held a greatsword with one hand. Even though the ancient Wizr set had been destroyed, his presence in the castle filled her with the strange sensation that one of the pieces was moving across the board. There was something mysterious at work here, some magic she could not comprehend.
Gahalatine led the way, but this was not another wave of the attack. Not yet. Next to him was the same armored warrior that she had seen at Guilme. It was Gahalatine’s champion, and he glared balefully at the enemies arrayed before him. There were two Wizrs behind Gahalatine, and when Trynne reached out with her magic, she saw that both were spent. They each had staves and rings and other magical trinkets to draw power from, but they looked haggard and weak.
Gahalatine paused at the threshold of the chamber. He looked at them in a condescending way, as if they were a group of children who had been caught at some mischief, and he—the ever-patient parent—had come to scold them. It made Trynne bristle with outrage.
“My lord of Kingfountain,” Gahalatine said with a deferential nod to Drew. “You’ve fought bravely. You’ve summoned a winter storm that is as formidable as it is tedious. My men are cold and most have taken refuge in the town, where the greater bulk of my army is at their ease, eating and drinking and awaiting their turn to besiege the castle. You have withstood me with courage and honor, my lord. It does you credit. I came prepared for a winter siege, knowing the history of the crown you wear. You have surprised me many times, which does not happen very often.” Then his voice turned more dangerous. “I come with this final plea to end the violence. You have an army marching here under the command of Grand Duke Elwis. Your snows have prevented them from reaching you, and I’m afraid he came unprepared for the inclement weather. I have an army awaiting his arrival and another one marching behind him. He’s trapped either way. He cannot reach you and he cannot retreat. You are down to your bravest and most loyal supporters, and I tell you, my lord, that if I summon all my strength from the town, as I intend to do after breakfast, we will smite down this castle. You have no hope of victory. Yield to me, my lord. You’ve proven yourself both valiant and determined, and I will reward you for such competence as my noble guest in the Forbidden Court. We will fetch your wife and babe from the sanctuary of Our Lady, and together you may live out your lives in peace and prosperity.”