Chapter 46

Moments after Husamettín left, winged demons began harrying the archers aboard their crescent of ships. Other demons stormed the hulls and threw themselves against the soldiers. Yet more skittered over the sand, squeezing through the gaps between the ships. They were met by the defense’s front ranks, who had shields interlocked and spears set for the oncoming charge.

The sound was terrible: men and women shouting, demons screeching, the ring of steel rising as soldiers fought to stem the tide.

Atop the nearby wall, all hints of smugness from the Mirean archers had vanished. Many watched the horde’s approach, others stared down at Ihsan and the soldiers holding the battering rams. Their expressions were grave, as if they were finally coming to grips with the fact that their enemy’s fate would soon be theirs.

The first gap in their defenses appeared. Along their right flank, demons poured between two galleons and fell upon the defending soldiers. A reserve regiment charged forward, screaming as they went, and laid into the demons, pushing them back.

The line held, but they’d no more than shored it up than another gap formed, this one along the center. As the second reserve regiment rushed in, Ihsan tried again to command the Mirean soldiers, but it was useless. His mouth burned as if molten iron had been poured into it, and he was forced to give up.

All the while, Ashael gained ground. Though his eyes were hidden, he appeared to survey the battle. His broad horns swept the air as his head swiveled, and a perverted smile lit his gaunt face, as if the struggle playing out at his feet amused him.

It wasn’t long before the line broke along their left flank, and it was the worst so far. Hundreds of demons poured through. It was met by the third and last reserve regiment, led by Çeda herself. She charged forward in her white armor and the mask of Nalamae, her black sword high, and fell against the demonic horde. Sümeya, Kameyl, and Shal’alara ran beside her. A cadre of Shieldwives came next, a fighting force nearly as impressive as the Blade Maidens. Last came the warriors of the thirteenth tribe.

Çeda fought with fearsome skill, and commanded the desert to obey her as well. Gouts of sand pushed the enemy back. At one point she stumbled when she was bull-rushed by a hulking demon, and those around her swarmed to her defense, cutting the demon down as Çeda regained her feet.

As they stemmed the tide, Ihsan caught movement along the ranks of battering rams. Every third soldier was releasing their hold on the masts and unwinding the ropes that held the ballistae parts in place. Moments later, they were assembling the ballistae. Two dozen were erected on wooden pedestals that would allow them to fire their bolts straight up.

The archers above hardly seemed to notice, focused as they were on the battle with the demons.

The teams of soldiers who’d constructed the ballistae each split in two. As one soldier cranked the ballista’s winch to tighten the firing cord, another ran a rope through the eye of a bolt, the sort used to catch an enemy ship’s rigging. The bolt was then laid in the ballista’s slider. Curiously, one end of each rope was coiled neatly beside the ballista, while the opposite end was tied to the belt of a Silver Spear.

Near the crews, Husamettín had Night’s Kiss held high above his head. The sword thrummed loudly in the air, a sound Ihsan had long ago come to associate with an eagerness to taste blood.

“Now!” Husamettín cried, and brought his dark shamshir down with an angry, rattling buzz.

A score of ballistae let loose in unison. The bolts streaked upward, the ropes attached to them wavering in the air like smoke from burning incense.

As they arced over the battlements, the ballistae teams pulled the ropes tight, arresting their forward momentum, then began running away from the wall. The hooks caught along the wall above, the ropes sizzled through the iron eyes, and the Silver Spears tied to the ropes’ opposite ends were whisked upward, flying through the air until they could plant their legs against the harbor doors and fairly run to the top. It made for a peculiar sight, like the world had suddenly been tilted sideways.

The Mirean archers, caught completely flat-footed, shouted warnings. Some drew knives and attacked the ropes, but the ropes were zipping through the eyes so quickly they had no hope of cutting them. Others were felled by archers on the sand who were targeting sections of wall where the Silver Spears were closest to gaining the top. Before Ihsan could count to five, there were a dozen soldiers atop the wall and more on the way. Some were felled by the Mireans. But the Sharakhani soldiers had all been hand chosen by Husamettín. They were the Silver Spears’ elite, devils with blade in hand. They fought viciously, clearing space for others. In a blink there were three large clusters of Silver Spears atop the wall.

More hooks flew from the ballistae. More soldiers, these bearing the fire pot satchels, were lifted up. Some were struck through with arrows. Others plummeted as their lines were cut by the Mirean soldiers above. But many reached the top and joined their brothers in arms, adding to their advantage. They fought the Mireans hard, driving the enemy back to make room for yet more on the wall.

Husamettín sheathed Night’s Kiss. “Be ready!” he shouted, then grabbed one of the ropes and began climbing hand over hand with remarkable speed.

The Mireans were finally stemming the momentum of Husamettín’s surprise offensive and starting to push the Silver Spears back when Husamettín reached the top of the wall, slipped through a crenel, and drew his sword. Night’s Kiss blurred as he blocked blow after blow from the Mireans who stood against him. Even from this distance, even through the thunder of battle, Ihsan heard the sword sizzle as enemy after enemy fell to its keen edge. Husamettín pushed into the leftmost tower. A line of Silver Spears followed him while, along the righthand side, more Sharakhani soldiers pressed toward the opposite tower.

Behind Ihsan, as the battle against the demons raged, horns blew, calling for an ordered retreat, sooner than he’d feared. The broad arc of their defenses abandoned the ships and pulled back toward the harbor doors, collapsing their lines to prevent a complete rout. Grouped by nation earlier, their fighting force had been reduced to a mad mix of soldiers, be they Sharakhani, Qaimiri, or desert tribesman.

Nayyan stood near Ihsan with her shamshir at the ready. Their stalwart wet nurse was with her, Ransaneh protected in her arms. Nayyan glanced up at the wall, the look on her face echoing everything Ihsan was feeling in that moment.

“Husamettín had better bloody hurry”—she stared at Ashael, who was just crossing the line of abandoned ships—“or it won’t matter if we breach the doors.”

Ihsan’s mouth hurt too much to reply. And what was there to say? Nayyan was right.

The winged demons had been focusing on the front lines, but more of them were swarming over Ihsan’s position. One bearing a trident with a broken tooth swooped toward him and Nayyan met it with a swing of her sword, but the demon pulled up and swept in from another direction. Another smaller demon with claws like sickles joined it, and Nayyan simply couldn’t keep up. She took cut after cut. Most of the damage was absorbed by her battle dress, but not all. In a half dozen places, Ihsan saw fresh blood that stained the violet cloth of her dress black.

The one bearing the trident had just struck a nasty blow to the back of Nayyan’s legs when an arrow punched into its chest. Another caught it in the neck as it tried to fly away and it fell, whirling like a waterwheel and was lost in the throng beyond the front lines.

Ihsan turned to see Emre, bow in hand, nocking another arrow. Ihsan nodded to him, and Emre nodded back, then turned to fire an arrow into an ifin hurtling toward Çeda.

Ashael floated above the crescent of wounded ships. As he cast his gaze over the death being dealt in his name, Ihsan found himself wondering where Meryam might be. Was she as amused as the elder god? Were those her emotions playing out on Ashael’s face?

As if in answer, Meryam was suddenly there, floating over the sand in Ashael’s wake. For a moment, her eyes met Ihsan’s, and she smiled, as if to say, “You see? I told you it would all be mine in the end.” Ihsan had never reveled in dealing pain, but now he wished he could turn invisible, as she could. He wished he could appear before her and send his blade into her heart—

—A massive explosion rent the air behind him. Meryam shook in fright, then disappeared, hiding herself once more with Ashael’s power.

Ihsan turned to see rock and dust coughing outward from the leftmost tower. A moment later there was a second explosion from the same tower, this one lower down, closer to the sand. A third came near the top of the opposite tower. Stone fragments rained down. Ready for it, the soldiers below lifted shields to protect themselves.

The explosions had destroyed the mechanisms that opened and closed the gates. It was meant to allow the soldiers below to push forward with the masts and force their way into the harbor. But no one was moving. They were waiting for a signal.

Hurry, Husamettín.

Even with the demons howling around him, Ihsan was transfixed by the battle along the wall. The Mireans were mounting a stiffer defense. More of their soldiers poured toward the fight. Soon, they would regain the left tower, and if that happened, the doors might never be opened.

There came a metallic pounding from the tower’s lower hole. Then a roar followed by a loud clink. Several breaths later, Husamettín ducked his head through the lower hole and waved Night’s Kiss back and forth. The sword buzzed, trailing darkness as it went.

“Now!” Husamettín called. “Reclaim your city!”

As one, the teams of men and women holding the masts shouted, “For Sharakhai!” and drove forward.

The masts pressed, and the right door held, but the left one was pushed back. Farther and farther it swung, and the moment a gap appeared, a line of Silver Spears rushed through it. The Mireans had sussed out what their enemies were trying to do—Ihsan could see teams on the opposite side trying to keep the gates closed—but they couldn’t hope to stand against so many.

The soldiers along the righthand side, seeing that the assault teams had failed to compromise the rightmost door, dropped their masts and ran into the gap to engage the Mirean soldiers. Soon it was an outright rush, dozens, then hundreds filing through to secure the passage of those behind them.

Husamettín slipped down along a rope from the smoking hole in the tower. Horns blew again, the signal that the doors had been breached. As hundreds more began attacking the Mirean soldiers inside the harbor, the flotilla of wounded were dragged toward the gap, and the lines of warriors fighting the demons retreated further. They did so with discipline, collapsing the lines as those behind them reached the relative safety of the harbor.

Order couldn’t hold forever, though. The battle was reaching a fever pitch. The demons, sensing weakness in their enemies, grew reckless in their assault. And the Mireans had managed to form a defensive line inside the harbor, slowing their advance.

Like sand through an hourglass, more and more joined those inside the harbor, but those who’d not yet gained entry were beginning to panic. A crush of soldiers pressed Ihsan backward, together with Nayyan, Ransaneh, and her wet nurse.

As the shouts around them rose to new heights, the four of them were pushed through the gap and into the harbor’s interior. It was hardly a relief. The Mireans had built a stout line of defense, comprised of not only their own soldiers, but those of Malasan and Kundhun as well. Warriors wearing grinning demons masks and mounted on qirin tore into their right flank. The legendary beasts with the head of a dragon and the rear of a horse trumpeted their strange calls, and sent gouts of blue flame over rank upon rank of Silver Spears. A Blade Maiden amongst them, acting too boldly for her own good, was gored by a qirin’s horns and sent pinwheeling through the air.

For all the progress they’d made initially, Mirea had now stemmed their advance, which was nothing short of calamitous. Fully half their numbers were trapped beyond the harbor doors, unable to make their way inside.

Ihsan saw the horde through the gap in the gates. The land-bound demons fought wildly, killing with fearsome efficiency. Those with wings fought with more precision, targeting the archers and those using spears to keep the larger demons at bay.

Ransaneh, still in her nurse’s arms, cried inconsolably. Nayyan stared about wide-eyed. None of them could do anything but watch as the slaughter played out.