“We’re ready,” Bernard mumbled. “Just say when.”
Amara nodded to him and turned, focusing her attention on Cirrus, then sent him up and out into the sky, feeling for the windcrafters she knew would be carrying Fidelias’s rogue Knights toward the fortress.
She felt it a moment later, a tension in the air that spoke of a coming stream of wind. Amara called Cirrus back and worked another sightcrafting, sweeping the sky, searching for the incoming troops.
She spotted them while they were still half a mile from the fortress, dark shapes against the morning sky. “There,” she shouted. “They’re coming in from the west. Half a minute at the most.”
“All right,” Bernard murmured.
Amara stepped out into the open, as the Knights Aeris with their transport litters swept down from the skies, diving for the fortress. A wedge of Knights Aeris flew before the litters, weapons ready, and the sun gleamed on the metal of their armor. They headed toward the gate in a steep dive.
“Ready!” Amara shouted, and drew her sword. “Ready!” She waited a pair of heartbeats more, until the enemy reached the valley-side wall and passed over the western courtyard then the garrison commander’s building. She took a breath, willing her hands to stop shaking. “Loose!”
All around her in the courtyard, hummocks and lumps of scattered hay shook and shimmered, and a full fifty holder bowmen, covered with handfuls of hay and by the woodcrafting Bernard had worked over them, became vaguely visible. As one, they lifted their great bows and opened fire directly up at the underside of the incoming Knights.
The holders’ aim proved deadly, and their attack had taken the mercenaries completely by surprise. Knights Aeris in their armor cried out in sudden shock and pain, and men began to plummet from the skies like living hailstones. The archers stood their ground, shooting, even as the stunned mercenaries began to recover. One of the Knights Aeris who had not been hit began to weave the air into a shield of turbulence, and arrows began to abruptly veer and miss. Amara focused on the man and sent Cirrus toward his windstream. The Knight let out a cry of surprise and fell like a stone.
The second and third litters listed and began to spin out of control toward the ground, while injured and surprised bearers struggled to keep them from simply dropping. The first litter, though one of its bearers had taken an arrow through the thigh, made it through the withering cloud of arrow fire, though it had to veer to one side, and dropped onto the roof of one of the barracks on the opposite side of the courtyard.
Knights Aeris began to swoop and dive toward the courtyard, attacking, and though the holders’ archery had done well when the Knights had not been prepared to face it, the air shortly became a howling cloud of shrieking furies, rendering the holders’ arrows all but useless.
“Fall back!” Amara shouted, and the holders began to withdraw, harried by the airborne Knights, toward the stables. The Knights gathered together for a charge, their intention evidently to take the courtyard and hold it, and rushed at the retreating archers in a swift and deadly dive. Amara hurled Cirrus at the opposing furies, and though she was able to do little more than disrupt the formation of the Knights Aeris, they broke off the charge, swooping back up into the sky above the fortress, enabling the archers to retreat into the carrion-stink of the stables.
Amara herself turned and pelted toward the legionares stationed outside the gate. She caught a glimpse of the Knight Commander standing beside the makeshift wooden barricade. The Marat had managed to find two or three ways to crawl through it, and Pirellus danced from one spot to the next, his blade, and the spears of the two men backing him up, keeping the Marat at bay. “Pirellus!” she shouted. “Pirellus!”
“A moment, Lady,” he called, and whipped his sword out in a blinding thrust. The Marat who received it died without so much as a struggle, simply collapsing in the gap among the various wooden objects. Pirellus took a pair of steps back and nodded to the spearmen and to a few of the other legionares standing by. The men moved forward to hold the barricade, and Pirellus turned to Amara. “I heard you calling. The mercenaries attacked?”
“Two of their litters went down outside the walls,” she said, and pointed, “But a third landed on the roof of that barracks.”
Pirellus nodded once. “Very well. Stay here and— Countess!” The black blade swept out and something shattered with a brittle sound. Amara, who had begun to turn, felt splinters of wood flickering against her cheek, and the broken fletching of an arrow rebounded from her mail. She lifted her eyes to the barracks and saw Fidelias there, calmly drawing another arrow to his stout, short bow and taking aim, even as behind him, several men began to clamber down from the roof. The former Cursor’s thin hair blew in the cold wind, and though he stood in the shadow of the newly risen walls, Amara could see his eyes on hers, calm and cool, even as he drew back the second shaft, aimed, and loosed.
Pirellus stepped in the way of the shot, cutting it from the air with a contemptuous slap of his blade, and called to the men behind him. Fidelias’s soldiers were joined by the Knights Aeris who circled back above the fortress and then dove toward the gates.
Pirellus dragged Amara back to the stables and growled, “Stay down.” Even as he did, Amara could see the legionares form into a ragged rank that met the oncoming troops and the Knights above with an uncertain tenacity. Fidelias, on the barracks roof, climbed down to the ground, his eyes flickering over the hay scattered there. He knelt into it. There came a blurring in the air, and then he simply vanished, covered by a woodcrafting of his own.
“There!” Amara cried, grabbing at Pirellus’s arm. “The one who shot me! He’s covered with a woodcrafting and headed for the gates.” She pointed at a flickering over at one side of the courtyard, hardly visible behind the struggling legionares with their backs to the gate.
“I see him,” Pirellus replied. He glanced down at Amara and said, “The Steadholder exhausted himself with that woodcrafting. Good luck.” Then he rose and stalked out into din and whirl and scream of the fight in the courtyard.