“You have to believe it is.” Kitay’s fingers were clenched so tightly around his sword hilt that they had turned white. “The Third will get here in time. You have to tell yourself that’s true.”
Rin swallowed hard and nodded. You were not trained to snivel and cower, she told herself. The girl from Tikany, the escaped bride who had never seen a city, would have been scared. The girl from Tikany was gone. She was a third-year apprentice of the Academy at Sinegard, she was a soldier of the Eighth Division, and she was trained to fight.
And she was not alone. She had poppy seeds in her pocket. She had a god on her side.
“Tell me when,” Kitay said. He was poised with his sword over the rope that constrained a booby trap they had set to defend the outer perimeter. Kitay had designed this trap; he would unleash it just as soon as the enemy was within range.
They were so close she could see the firelight flickering over their faces.
Kitay’s hand trembled.
“Not yet,” she whispered.
The first of the Federation battalion crossed the boundary.
“Now.”
Kitay slashed at the rope.
A rolling avalanche of logs was freed from its breaking point, pulled down by gravity to bowl straight through the main advancing force. The logs rolled chaotically, shattered limbs and crushed bone with a noise like thunder that went on and on. For a moment the rumbling of carnage was so great Rin thought they might have won the battle before it started, might have seriously crippled the advancing force. Kitay whooped hysterically over the clamor, clutching Rin to keep from falling over as the gates themselves shook.
But when the roar of the logs died down, the invaders continued to advance into Sinegard to the steady beat of war drums.
A tier above Rin and Kitay, standing at the highest precipices of the South Gate, the archers loosed a round of arrows. Most clattered uselessly against raised shields. Some found their way through the cracks, embedded their heads in the unguarded fleshy parts of soldiers’ necks. But the heavily armored Federation soldiers simply marched over the bodies of their fallen comrades, continuing their relentless assault toward the city gates.
The squadron leader shouted for another round of arrows.
It was close to pointless. There were far more soldiers than there were arrows. Sinegard’s outer defense was flimsy at best. Each of Kitay’s booby traps had been sprung, and though all but one went off beautifully, they were not enough to even dent the enemy ranks.
There was nothing to do but wait. Wait until the gate was broken, until there was a tremendous crash. Then the signal gongs were ringing, screaming to all who didn’t already know that the Federation had breached the walls. The Federation was in Sinegard.
They marched to the cacophony of cannon fire and rockets, bombarding Sinegard’s outer defenses with their siege breakers.
The gate buckled and broke under the strain.
They poured through like a swarm of ants, like a cloud of hornets; unstoppable and infinite, overwhelming in number.
We can’t win. Rin stood in a daze of despair, sword hanging by her side. What difference would it make if she fought back? It might stay her death sentence by a few seconds, maybe minutes, but at the end of the night she would be dead, her body broken and bloody on the ground, and nothing would matter . . .
This battle wasn’t like the ones in the legends, where numbers didn’t matter, where a handful of warriors like the Trifecta could flatten an entire legion. It didn’t matter how good their techniques were, it mattered how the numbers balanced.
And the Sinegardians were so badly outnumbered.
Rin’s heart sank as she watched the armored troops advance into the city, rows and columns stretching into infinity.
I’m going to die here, she realized. They’re going to slaughter all of us.
“Rin!”
Kitay shoved her hard; she stumbled against stones as an axe embedded itself in the wall where her head had been.
Its wielder jerked the axe out of the wall and swung it again toward them, but this time Rin blocked it with her sword. The impact sent adrenaline coursing through her blood.
Fear was impossible to eradicate. But so was the will to survive.
Rin ducked under the soldier’s arm and jammed her sword up through the soft groove beneath his chin, unprotected by the helmet. She cut through fat and sinew, felt the tip of her sword pierce directly through his tongue and move up past his nose to where his brain was. His carotid artery exploded over the length of steel. Blood wet her hand to the elbow. He jerked a little and fell toward her.
He’s dead, she thought numbly. I’ve killed him.
For all her combat training, Rin had never thought about what it would be like to actually take someone’s life. To sever an artery, not just feign doing so. To break a body so badly that all functions ceased, that the animation was stilled forever.
They were taught to incapacitate at the Academy. They were trained to fight against their friends. They operated within the masters’ strict rules, monitored closely to avoid injury. For all their talk and theory, they had not been trained to truly kill.
Rin thought she might feel the life leave her victim’s body. She thought she might register his death with thoughts more significant than One down, ten thousand to go. She thought she’d feel something.
She registered nothing. Just a temporary shock, then the grim realization that she needed do this again, and again, and again.
She extricated her weapon from the soldier’s jaw just as another swung a sword over her head. She rammed her sword up, blocked the blow. And parried. And thrust. And spilled blood again.
It wasn’t any easier the second time.
It seemed as if the world were filled with Federation soldiers. They all looked the same—identical helmets, identical armor. Cut one down and here comes another.
Within the melee Rin didn’t have time to think. She fought by reflex. Every action demanded a reaction. She couldn’t see Kitay anymore; he had disappeared into the sea of bodies, an ocean of clashing metal and torches.
Fighting the Federation was wholly different from fighting in the ring. She didn’t have melee practice. The enemy came from every angle, not just one, and defeating one opponent didn’t bring you any closer to winning the battle.
The Federation did not have martial arts. Their movements were blocky, studied. Their patterns were predictable. But they had practice with formations, with group combat. They moved as if they had a hive mind; coordinated actions produced by years of drilling. They were better trained. They were better equipped.
The Federation didn’t fight a graceful fight. They fought a brutal one. And they didn’t fear death. If they were hurt, they fell, and their comrades advanced over their dead bodies. They were relentless. There were so many of them.
I am going to die.
Unless. Unless.
The poppy seeds in her pocket screamed for her to swallow them. She could take them now. She could go to the Pantheon and call a god down. What did Jiang’s warnings matter, when they were all going to die regardless?
She had seen the face of the Phoenix. She knew what power was at her fingertips, if only she asked.
I can make you fearless. I can make you a legend.
She did not want to be a legend, but she wanted to stay alive. She wanted more than anything to live, consequences be damned, and if calling the Phoenix would do that for her, then so be it. Jiang’s warning meant nothing to her now, not while her countrymen and classmates were hacked to pieces beside her, not while she didn’t know if each second was going to be her last. If she was going to die, she would not die like this—small, weak, and helpless.
She had a link to a god.
She would die a shaman.
Heart hammering, she ducked behind a gated corner; for the few seconds in which nobody saw her, she jammed her hand into her pocket and dug the seeds out. She brought them to her mouth.
She hesitated.