Even as the Tierran army trampled the line of skulls on their way to the wall, Kel Unwar reassured Omra about the ironclads in the Ishalem canal. “We have defenses in place, Soldan-Shah—do not fear. They’ll be trapped like rats, and they will drown in their own folly.”
Omra locked his hands behind his back, looking down at the invading army. “The Aidenists are making their most ambitious assault, but that only means their failure will be greater.”
With silent suddenness, the Teacher arrived to stand beside Unwar and the soldan-shah, in plain view, knowing the black robes and silver mask were sure to strike fear into the hearts of the enemy. “If any of my ra’virs are still hiding among those soldiers, Soldan-Shah, they will act. But you should not count on them to help you win the battle. Many of my students have been rooted out by now.”
“We have other ways to defeat the ’Hooks,” Unwar said.
Omra studied the Tierran army. “Their catapults barely scratched the wall. Maybe they mean to push it down through sheer force of numbers.” He was only half joking.
“Vermin,” Unwar whispered under his breath.
The Uraban archers lined up along the wall, setting up for the best shot as they waited for the enemy to come into range. “The Aidenists are wearing armor,” Omra called down the line. “Better if you target the horses, and once you’ve struck them down, aim for the footsoldiers. Infantrymen will have less shielding. But don’t fire too soon—no need to waste arrows.”
The Urabans were keyed up, their blood running hot. They had seen the Tierran army camped outside the wall for months, making only halfhearted skirmishes, and the soldiers of Ishalem were anxious to fight. Behind the main gate, reinforcements milled about, ready if the Tierrans should somehow break through, or if the soldan-shah threw open the wooden doors and unleashed his howling forces.
The Aidenists marched closer, step by step, in the same formations they drilled every day. On top of the wall, two tense archers loosed arrows, shooting recklessly at the front lines, and then like a flock of startled pigeons a flurry of archers fired, despite Omra’s orders to hold. All the arrows fell short, pattering into the ground some thirty feet ahead of the front ranks of the enemy.
The armored queen raised a gloved hand. Standard-bearers waved their banners, calling a halt. The cavalry stopped their advance.
Unwar gave a gruff nod, as if that had been his intent. “Now they’ll think twice about coming closer.”
Omra was not pleased, though. “I’d rather we lured them into range so our arrows could strike Aidenist hearts instead of just the ground.”
A few more Uraban archers took heroic shots, but didn’t achieve enough range. The rest of Omra’s bowmen jeered at the cowardly enemy that hovered just out of reach.
When Anjine halted her advancing army, the helmet visor hid her satisfied smile. She studied the neat line of feather-tipped arrows spread out on the ground and mentioned to Destrar Shenro beside her, “If any of the Curlies survive this battle, I’ll have to thank them for so thoughtfully delineating their range.”
“My archers have what they need, Majesty,” Shenro said.
Her soldiers made rough noises, and the horses snorted; armor and swords clanked as the men shuffled and held their places. Even so, she could hear the distant insults hurled by the Uraban soldiers high on their wall.
With a predatory grin to Shenro, she said, “Call out your archers, Destrar.”
Shenro echoed the order. Ninety specially trained bowmen had come down from Alamont, where they had practiced in the grassy hills—one archer for each Alamont horseman slain at Ishalem. The destrar’s archers spread out in a line and strung their long recurved bows. They had more arrows than they could possibly require—and Anjine wanted the bowmen to use them all.
Destrar Shenro signaled to the queen, “My bowmen are ready, Majesty.”
“They’ll never have a better target than this,” Subcomdar Hist said, indicating the line of men silhouetted atop the pockmarked stone wall.
She called over her shoulder, “Archers, loose your arrows swiftly and keep shooting. Don’t let them run and hide under rocks like the cockroaches they are!”
Well outside the demonstrated range of the Urecari bows, the Alamont men pulled back their strings and with a whistling twang loosed the first volley. In perfect coordination, ninety arrows flew into the air, arcing high and far, then dropped upon the surprised enemy soldiers massed on the wall. Most of the shafts flew even farther, pelting the crowded fighters who waited on the other side.
The Alamont archers shot a second volley, and a third, even before the first arrow storm struck. Nearly three hundred deadly shafts hammered the Uraban forces who had felt safe behind their wall.
With unwavering grim expressions, the Alamont archers fired swarm after swarm of arrows, as quickly as they could. Some of them pinpointed their range and mowed down the ranks standing atop the barricade, while other arrows rained down into the city itself, massacring random civilians in the streets. A wave of shock and fear swept over the enemy.
“They aren’t jeering at us anymore, my Queen,” observed Shenro.
The tiny figures atop the wall fell like dropped stones.
The hail of arrows came from out of nowhere. Soldiers sprouted shafts from their backs or shoulders, and collapsed on top of one another; others clutched arrows in their throats or chests. More shafts fell, and then more, with an eerie hum like buzzing bees.
The Tierran archers did not let up.
Amid the screams and chaos, Kel Unwar pulled Omra to shelter behind the battlements. One shaft sliced through the soldan-shah’s silken tunic to clatter on the stones at his feet, missing him by only a miracle. The Teacher did not move quickly enough, and one of the shafts plunged through the black robe and into the upper chest. The black gloves flailed and clutched at the arrow.
Unwar yelled in dismay and grabbed the Teacher, holding the figure up. “Don’t pull out the arrow! We’ve got to get you away from here.” Looking up to see Omra safe, he yelled, “Soldan-Shah, get to shelter! Run!” Then he began to drag the Teacher, whose silver mask somehow remained in place.
But Omra helped Unwar pull the Teacher to the steps. Arrows showered past the wall and clattered into the streets, skewering people who fled in panic. The Uraban soldiers crowded behind the main gate dropped by the dozens.
As Unwar wrestled with the Teacher, he called a sharp command: “Soldiers—bring shields! Protect the soldan-shah!” Several men responded, holding their shields up to cover Omra’s head. Two arrows thunked into the raised shields, and the men hustled the soldan-shah swiftly through the streets.
The Tierran arrows continued to fall.