A constant whicker of arrows flew from the long-range Alamont bows, and Uraban soldiers fell from the stone wall like rows of harvested wheat.
“I don’t think they much care for our surprise, my Queen,” Shenro said in a smug tone. Jenirod sat on his saddle, his face pale but satisfied.
As she watched, Anjine could not help smiling. The horse shifted restlessly beneath her, uneasy from the commotion, but she squeezed her thighs and yanked the reins, bringing the mare under control. “Two more volleys, then move forward.”
“Get those wagons ready!” Subcomdar Hist shouted.
Field commanders repeated the queen’s orders, and footsoldiers cleared the way for overloaded horse carts to come forward. The large battering rams lay on the road, untouched. The Alamont archers shot more arrows, continuing the mayhem, though all of the Urabans on the wall had already fallen or fled. The far-flung arrows passed over the barrier and pattered indiscriminately into the streets of Ishalem, where they were no doubt taking a great toll.
The queen watched, her jaw set, her eyes bright. The blue-and-green Tierran banner flapped behind her. Dray horses strained against the traces, and the heavily laden carts rumbled forward.
* * *
Despite the enemy army hammering God’s Barricade, Kel Unwar could think only of Alisi. He had seen to it that Soldan-Shah Omra was safe, and now he had to concentrate on his sister. No one else knew the Teacher’s secret.
“Don’t take me to a surgeon.” She clutched at his arm with a gloved hand. “Don’t let them take my mask…or see me.”
Even if he managed to convince a Uraban surgeon to leave the polished silver mask in place despite her choking on blood, her garments would have to be cut away in order to remove the arrow. With one look at her body, her breasts, the surgeon would know the truth. Alisi could never allow that.
During the panicked retreat from the hailstorm of arrows and the chaos of screaming wounded, Unwar dragged the Teacher’s limp body to a small storage building nearby. He kicked in the door, pulled her inside.
Though the arrow protruded from her chest, Alisi said she did not think it had pierced her lung. Working intently, his expression grave, Unwar used his dagger to slice the fabric of her dark robe and expose the arrow shaft.
“It’s not bad—the bone stopped it. I can cut it out.” He wasn’t lying to her. Unwar had been a battlefield commander, and he knew about emergency medicine. He looked down at the knife, and his voice became quiet as he braced himself. “This is sharp. I’ll be as quick as I can.”
“I am used to pain. I’ve had enough of it, and what you do can’t possibly be worse than the abuse I suffered from the Aidenists. Do it.”
“I hate that they’ve hurt you again,” he said through clenched teeth.
Unwar cut with the dagger tip, extending the wound just enough that he could work the arrow back and forth; he finally tugged it free with a grating, sucking sound. Alisi nearly fainted, but she uttered only a quiet whimper and kept the rest of the pain within, as she always did.
She bled, but not as much as Unwar had expected. He unwrapped his olba, cut the cloth into strips, and bound her wound around her shoulders and chest; the olba soaked up the blood and kept her arms immobile.
“I’ll live, brother—but not if the Aidenists break through. You have your duty. Go, and defend Ishalem.”
Unwar knew well enough not to argue with her. Understanding his obligations, he raced back to the wall.
In the lull after the Uraban defenders died or fled from the storm of arrows, Anjine’s soldiers seized the opportunity. Jenirod grabbed the lead. “Hurry, men—get those wagons to the wall and the gate!” The seven carts creaked forward on the weed-overgrown road, and the dray horses snorted.
Behind the high wall, moans rose from the wounded and dying. A few surviving soldiers poked their heads out from the parapets to see what the Aidenists were doing. Spotting the barrel-loaded wagons, a young Uraban soldier waved his hands and shouted, “Soldan-Shah! Soldan-Shah!” Ten arrows peppered his body and drove him backward before he could give any details.
Anjine’s sword felt light in her hand. The carts seemed to go so slowly! The wooden wheels bumped over rocks, and the horses strained until the large wagons were up against the stone wall and towering gate. “In the name of Aiden,” she whispered, “this barricade must fall.”
On the wall, a group of Urecari soldiers struggled to shoot arrows and throw rocks down at the vulnerable drovers, but the Urabans were wounded, and their aim was poor. Several arrows stuck into the piled barrels, and one grazed Jenirod’s mount, leaving a red wound on its flank. He wrestled with the reins to control the horse. “Hurry! Unhitch the horses and light the fuses!”
While Aidenist soldiers held shields over their heads as best they could, the wagonmasters worked at the quick-release Eriettan harnesses. The wagonmasters jumped onto the freed horses and rode away, while the huddled soldiers struck sparks to the fuses with flint and steel.
“Light only one on each wagon—the rest will take care of themselves!” Jenirod shouted.
Finally the fuses caught, and the soldiers ran away as if pursued by monsters, holding their shields behind them to protect against Uraban arrows. Jenirod turned his mare about, scooped up a young soldier who had fallen behind his comrades, and pulled him across his saddle. Uraban sentries clamored for help, and Jenirod smiled as he galloped back toward Anjine and the front line of waiting troops.
He was still riding hard when the first barrel detonated with a roar like all of Ondun’s anger unleashed at once; his mare stumbled from the shock wave, and the soldier he held nearly slipped off the saddle. The explosion spread across the seven firepowder wagons, hammering through the stone blocks and the wooden gate. Boulders, shattered rock, and splintered wood flew in all directions, carried high by the fire and smoke.
From her front line, Queen Anjine watched with awe. The explosions were far more spectacular than she had dared hope. Around her, cavalrymen and Tierran footsoldiers fell silent, drawing a simultaneous breath. Moments later, they exhaled in a wild and frantic cheer.
The explosions had smashed a large hole in the barricade, and the titanic wooden doors groaned with slow thunder as they collapsed inward to crush many of the enemy soldiers waiting there.
“To Ishalem!” Anjine shouted, and a resounding cry from the troops echoed her words. The queen watched from her position as thousands of faithful Aidenists poured through the wall and into the holy city.