Work here was constant. Guards wearing the nondescript clothing of House Eligar worked in consort with civilians. Both men and women rushed to and fro, some carrying stone, others wood into The Stocks beyond. A group of guards, shirtless and dripping with sweat, hammered away feverishly with heavy mallets, each hammer’s fall smashing another chunk off the broken stairs.
Ryl almost laughed as he saw Aelin bound to the top of the staircase, a hammer far too large for a boy his size in hand. The guards sneered as he pushed past, yet he paid them no mind. Within a matter of swings, their condescending looks altered to those of unrestrained awe. Shrapnel from the massive chunks of stone he demolished peppered those onlookers who chose to gawk at the youngster.
The foreman of the crew was a surprise as well. Ryl reached his side quickly, casting a scan of the city beyond before attempting conversation.
He could feel the hatred of the black mass as they moved ever closer. The ring of darkness that stretched around the western portion of his vision oozed forward as though it was still but a singular mass. None strayed from the host that approached as one.
The throbbing in his left arm had surged again. He winced as he massaged it with his opposite hand.
“It’s fine work you’ve done, Averine,” Ryl commented as he stopped beside the eccentric elder.
“The majority of the iron that this kingdom uses comes from the mines on my property. Well now, Lord Eligar’s property, that is,” he added with a grin. “This is not the first crew I’ve managed. Besides, nothing a little blasting powder couldn’t handle.”
“I thank you for your foresight,” Ryl added. “That stairwell had been a concern. Even with the confined quarters, the Horde would have taken it without trouble. Do you have more blasting powder at your disposal?”
Averine chuckled.
“The presumptuous lord used far more than required for the demolition of the bridge,” Averine grumbled. The annoyance was clear in his voice. “Though I’ve left enough for a few surprises.”
His eyes darted to the buildings that formed the corners of the square.
Ryl smiled, laying his hand thankfully on the elder man’s shoulder.
“Your resourcefulness is again a fortune,” Ryl added with a smile.
The howls in the distance broke their rapid conversation.
The noise was louder, more pronounced than it had been moments earlier. Ryl needed no mindsight to acknowledge that they were far too close for comfort.
“Averine, get them inside,” Ryl ordered. “Who commands the soldiers of House Eligar?”
The eccentric old man laughed as he scratched a hand on his head in confusion.
“You do, of course.”
Chapter 42
Averine wasted no time calling the work to an end. His shrill voice cut through the clamor of the demolition still underway.
Beside the crumbling remains of the stairs, Aelin took a final last swing. Shards of stone exploded out in all directions. A sizable section of the crumbling stairwell cracked free from the remains, crashing to the ground below.
“Aelin, let’s go,” Ryl boomed as the boy bounded down from the remains. He beamed with pride as he noted Ryl’s presence.
“Get inside the gates now. They aren’t far behind,” Ryl ordered. The cheer that had lit his face blanched as the reality of the threat sank in once again.
Ryl forced a mild wave of calm over the tribute.
“You did well. Very well,” he added.
The boy had astonished him. They’d spoken but a few words since the encounter with the Horde. There was a tale yet untold; even still, he’d survived against the odds. He’d done so protecting the life of another.
A stab of pain tore through his arm. He winced as he watched Aelin hasten inside the Pining Gates.
Ryl stepped purposefully to the center of the square, pulling the Leaves from his holsters. A wash of green light shimmered around him as he called the blades to life. Fire danced off their serrated edges as they rippled in the darkness. Though the enemy moved closer, he held the blades low, angled outward to each side. He’d done so more for show than function. The thinning trail of citizens who’d heeded their warning steered wide to avoid him, though they now ran at the warnings of the soldiers.
“Archers, ready arrows,” he called to the marksmen above. “They’ll be too fast to strike from a distance. Save your bolts for when they will truly count.”
The sensation of approaching blackness swelled. Though the moon shone clear in the sky overhead, it moved like an unnatural shadow across the city. He felt the inky darkness blanket everything in its path.
“Make ready to close the gates,” Ryl yelled over his shoulder. There were a few still scrambling up the street toward them. How many would fail to reach the gates in time? How many would be butchered before the wall, arriving moments too late?
Ryl felt the anger swell in his body at the thought. The streets to the west likely ran slick with blood already. The blades flared brighter in his hands.
Between the growing shrill wails of the Horde and the agonized cries of men and women, a rumble arose. The sound of hooves pounding on the pavement grew from the east.
Ryl called back to the soldiers manning the gate behind him.
“Are there any yet to report in?” Ryl demanded.
It took an intolerable few moments of thought as the soldiers confirmed with another behind the gate.
“Aye,” the soldier responded, his eyes now wide with concern. “One patrol to the east has yet to report.”
Ryl cursed under his breath
