Renwick turned to see Captain Everton lying dead, crushed by a block of stone. He did not think. He took up the flag dropped on the stone and waved it above his head. Beside him, Breckton blew on his trumpet until another flag responded.
The mist of dust had only just begun to settle when Renwick heard a cry that no amount of wax could block out. The screech came from overhead and he felt a burst of air as a great shadow flashed across the ground. Looking up, he caught sight of a horror that seized him with fear. A great serpent beast with a long tail and leathery wings flew above him. Clearing the wall, the creature dove with claws that cleaved roofs and walls; then, like a barn swallow, the monster swooped upward, hovered for just a moment, and as Renwick watched, let loose a torrent of flame that bathed the homes and shops below. The creature was not alone. Renwick spotted others; dozens of winged serpents swept out of the swirling clouds and descended on the city. Like a swarm of bats, they swooped, banked, and dove, crushing, clawing, and burning. Within minutes, the whole city was ablaze.
Renwick felt tears on his cheeks. Smoke filled his nostrils, and even through the wax, he could hear the screams. Breckton’s hand grabbed him roughly and shoved him back hard. He cried out, but it was too late. Renwick lost his balance and fell off the battlement, plummeting and crashing through the thatch roof of the guardhouse stable. He hit the soft, manure-warmed ground on his back, and every bit of air was driven from him. He could not move or breathe. The wax was out of his ears and sounds flooded his head. The hammering of hooves and the cries of horses were the loudest. Farther away—screaming, snapping, splintering wood, cracking fire, and always the screeching shrieks from the flying beasts.
Renwick managed short shallow breaths as he worked to fill his lungs again. His arms and legs moved once more, and he rolled carefully to his side. It hurt. His head throbbed, his neck ached, and his back was sore. Just as he got to his knees, the stable’s roof was ripped away and three horses were stolen from their stalls. They were pulled into the air by two great talons.
He ran, his feet struggling to stay out ahead of him. Fire was everywhere. He was looking toward the gate, searching for Sir Breckton and his post, but everything was gone—the entire southern gate was missing. Only rubble and a shattered bit of slivered wood remained. Under the pile, he saw hands and feet.
The massive stone wall that had ringed the city was gone. Renwick stood on the street, looking out at the elven forces, feeling naked. Then the front row of hawk-helmed archers bent their bows and the sky darkened with a flight of arrows.
It felt like someone else controlled his body as his hands reached behind him and pulled his shield free of his shoulder. He slid one arm through the straps and raised it over his head. The sound was like hail as the arrows peppered the ground, glinting off the cobblestone around him and lodging in the wood of buildings. Three punched through his shield, safely caught, but one went through the back of his hand. He saw it before feeling the pain. Blood sprayed his face. He stared at the shaft protruding through his palm as if it were another person’s hand.
“You’re alive!” Sir Elgar shouted, his hulking frame casting a shadow over him. “That-a-boy! But get your ass up. This is no time to rest.”
“My hand!” Renwick screamed.
Sir Elgar looked under the shield and grinned. Without a word he snapped off the arrow’s point and pulled the shaft out. The pain made Renwick’s legs weak and his breath shudder. He fell to his knees.
“Up, boy!” Elgar shouted at him. “It’s only a scratch.”
As absurd as it seemed, Renwick nodded, knowing Elgar was right, and marveled at how little it hurt. Pushing off the ground with the edge of his shield, still ornamented with the four white-feathered shafts, he got to his feet.
Elgar’s own shield held two similar decorations. Another arrow was embedded in the knight’s shoulder and Renwick grimaced when he saw it.
“Ha-ha! A bee sting is all.” The knight laughed. His right cheek bled from a deep gash along the bone. “Murthas, Rudolf, Gilbert—all dead. The wall is gone. There’s nothing for it. It’s back to the palace for us. We have but one task remaining, one defense left to make.”
“Breckton?”
“Alive.”
“Where? I must go—”
“His orders are to defend the empress.” Elgar grinned and drew his blade. “Break that stick off me, will ya?”