“So there you are!” he said, spotting Renwick. “Got your armor and sword, I see. Good.” He raised his hands to quiet the crowd. “Men! I have called you together here on behalf of the empress. Everyone take a knee!”
The soldiers made a loud shuffling of feet and swords. Renwick saw the small, slender figure of the empress Modina dressed all in white enter the mass of men like a flake of snow amidst a mound of mud and ash. She stepped up on a box placed at the center and looked around her, smiling. Several of the men bowed their heads, but Renwick could not; it was impossible to take his eyes off her. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld and he still felt the kiss she had left on his cheeks. Before that day, he had seen her only once, when she had addressed the city from the balcony. That day he had stood in awe like the rest, marveling at her—so impressive, so powerful. Now, like in the fourth-floor office, what he saw before him was a woman. The picture of innocence wrapped in a pristine white dress that hung from her as if she were bathed in light. Modina wore no coat or cloak. Her unbound hair, glimmering like gold, fell to her shoulders. She appeared so young, not much older than him, and yet in her eyes was the aging from years of pain and hard-won wisdom.
“The elves are coming,” she began, her voice soft and faint against the wind. “Reports tell of a host moving up the road from the south. No one has yet provided an accurate number or assessment of troops.” She looked to the sky and took a breath. “We are the last stronghold of mankind. You are the last army, the last warriors, the last defenders of our race. If they should take this city…” She hesitated and a few bowed heads looked up.
She looked back as if taking in each face.
“None of you know me,” she said, her voice changing, losing its formal tone. “Some have seen me on a balcony or in a corridor. Some have heard stories about me, of me being a goddess and the daughter of Novron—your savior. But you don’t know me.” She raised her arms out at her sides and slowly turned around. “I am Thrace Wood of Dahlgren Village, daughter of Theron and Addie. I was but a poor peasant from a family of farmers. My brother Thaddeus—Thad—was going to be a cooper until one night I left the door to my home open when I went to find my father. The light…” She hesitated and the pause gripped Renwick’s heart. “The light through the open door attracted an elven monster. It ripped my home apart and killed my family. It killed the boy I hoped that I might one day marry. It killed my best friends, their parents, even the livestock. Then it killed my father—the last reason I had to live. But it did not kill me. I survived. I did not want to. My family—my life—was gone.”
She looked out at them and he watched as her soft chin hardened as she gritted her teeth.
“But then I found a new family—a new life.” She held her hands out to them and tears glistened in her eyes even as her voice grew stronger, louder. “You are my family now, my fathers, my brothers, my sons, and I will never leave the door open again. I will not let the beast in. I will never let it win again! It has taken too much from me, from you, from all of us! It has destroyed Dunmore, Ghent, Melengar, Trent, and Alburn. Many of you have lost your homes, your land, your families and now it comes here, but it shall go no farther! Here we stop it! Here we fight! Here we face our enemy without running, without flinching, without bending. Here we stand our ground and here we kill it!”
The knights cheered; the soldiers rose to their feet and beat their swords on their shields.
“The enemy comes, Sir Breckton,” she shouted over the clamor. “Sound the alarm.”
Breckton waved a hand and men on the roofs of shops stood up and blared fanfares of long brass horns. The sound was repeated throughout the city as other horns echoed the call. Soon Renwick could hear the bells of the churches ringing. People in the streets quickly heeded the signal and headed for the shelters.
“To the walls, men!” Breckton ordered, and they all rose.
Lightning cracked again; this time Renwick saw the crooked finger of light strike the grain silo on Coswall Avenue. There were a flash and then flame as the roof exploded in fire.