Fallen City by Adrienne Young - 35

“The messages.”

The words left my mouth, inaudible over the roar of ballistae. The Citadel was sending messages to Valshad. It was so simple. So easy. And we had never seen it coming.

I’d been wrong about the Consul. We all had been. He wasn’t delusional, refusing to believe that he’d been beaten. No, he knew that he’d lost. And now he was going to take us down with him.

I turned as another line of bolts soared overhead, punching holes into the Lower City below. Down the wall, Roskia was staring at the hills, his eyes wide and full of shock.

“Archers!” Vale shouted, raising a hand over his head as every bow on the wall lifted in unison, strings creaking as the archers nocked their arrows.

His hand dropped heavily and a sea of arrows shot into the air, spinning in the wind until they rained down onto the hills. Bodies dropped by the dozens and Vale’s hand rose again.

“Take down those ballistae! Now, ” he roared.

I moved around him, running up the top of the wall to the nearest watchtower. “Scorpios!” I called out, climbing the steps. The order was echoed down the wall and every watchtower called it back.

When I dropped onto the landing, two legionnaires were already arming the scorpio, winding the ropes with a steady click as the shutters flew open. Light filled the watchtower’s defense quarters and I took position behind the wheel, lifting the arms from the ground. The bronze circle before the frame looked out at the expanse and I swiveled the scorpio until I could see one of the ballistae on the hillside. I pulled in a breath, centering the weapon in the sights and waiting for the legionnaire beside me to make the call.

“Ready!”

I pulled the lever and the stays snapped loose, shooting the heavy bolt into the air. I held my breath as it arced and hit the ground, splintering into pieces. I’d missed.

“Load!” I dropped the arms of the scorpio, tearing at the buckles of my breastplate until it was sliding over my head. Then I took up the arms again, getting closer to the sights.

“Come on,” I murmured, blinking against the sting of smoke in my eyes.

The wind was rolling over the hills, steering the bolts awry. I watched the pull of the army’s tunics and shifted my aim to the left. Too far for an accurate shot, but with the wind, I hoped it was enough.

“Ready!”

The lever released and the scorpio loosed the bolt, the recoil striking me in the chest as it rolled back. I hit the stone wall behind me, catching myself as the bolt glided through the air. Its path bent and swayed as it flew, and I bit down so hard as it neared the ballista that I thought my teeth would crack.

It hit its mark with a boom, sending a cloud of earth and splintered wood into the air. But behind us, Isara was already burning.

“Pull!”

Vale shouted to the legionnaires at the bottom of the wall and they heaved against the ropes, lifting a crate of more iron-tipped bolts into the air.

Across the hills, cohorts of green-clad soldiers dotted the landscape, orchestrating a synchronized attack targeting the base of the city walls. Below, I couldn’t see any sign of a breach, but it was only a matter of time before Valshad hauled a battering ram from behind the hills.

The crate swung clumsily as it reached the watchtower and I grabbed hold of the lines, guiding it to us just as an arrow slammed into the ramparts and splintered into pieces. As soon as it hit the planks, I started passing the bolts to the legionnaire beside me, who stacked them at the foot of the scorpio for reloading. Far down the wall, Roskia and his men were doing the same thing in the east tower.

The stays of the scorpios creaked as they were cocked, and over and over, the bolts were hurled into the air, aiming for the most crowded sections of the army in the distance. This wasn’t a spontaneous attack. It was an onslaught. A well-prepared and efficiently organized battle strategy that was working.

A shriek of wind shot over us and I ducked when another storm of arrows pierced through the clouds. Beside me, a legionnaire launched forward, snatching up the lid of the crate and tossing it to me. I caught it and swung it up over my head before I crouched low, and the pop of iron piercing through the wood pounded in my ears as they came down on top of us. When the last of them had fallen, I tossed the makeshift shield to the planks.

I instinctively glanced behind me to what was visible of the Citadel District, looking for any sign of smoke. The shots coming from the other side of the wall hadn’t made it that far yet, but as the army came closer, they would.

The thought made my gut twist. At least Maris was as far from the wall as she could get, but everything beyond the Sophanes was unprotected.

Vale called out another order down the wall and the clang of the ballista rang out again, making every legionnaire stop. Our eyes jumped from one Valshadi cohort to the next until we saw the bolts soaring through the air. They hit the wall only feet away, and the ropes of the pulley swung again. We lurched back into the scaffolding before the suspended crate slammed into the stone and I tipped sideways on the edge, my balance tilting away from the wall. I could feel the fall in my stomach first, that sensation of dropping through the air, but a pair of hands caught hold of me.

I turned to see Théo, his fists twisted in my tunic as he wrenched me back from the edge. He was out of breath, his face red and shining.

“Where is she?” I rasped.

“She’s in the district.”

I stared at him, the panic I’d been keeping at bay since I first saw Valshad in the hills finally beginning to spill over.

A quick, hot jolt pierced my arm, knocking me backward. Théo’s eyes went wide and then he was on top of me, lifting his shield overhead to cover us. It wasn’t until I looked down that I saw what he did. A long, feathered arrow was sticking out of my upper arm, torn through a line of shredded flesh and buried deep in the muscle.

Théo pressed down hard around the wound, where pressure was building by the second, and blood gushed through his fingertips.

“Breathe,” he said, and I obeyed, drawing in an inhale, and then pushing it out in one long, steady stream. He didn’t wait before taking hold of the shaft, supporting the base, and then snapping it in two.

“Get him off the wall!” he shouted down the scaffold, but I took hold of his armor, shoving him back.

I got to my feet and didn’t so much as blink as I ripped the broken piece from my arm and tossed it over the wall. I couldn’t even feel it.

The legionnaires in the watchtower were calculating how to work with the wind, but the army in the hills had figured it out, too. With every ballista fired overhead, their aim was truer. Farther.

Again, I looked to the Citadel District. An explosion erupted down the wall, and I turned as the stones of the east watchtower cracked, buckling in on themselves. The wood-planked roof was next, snapping and collapsing before another growl of stone rang out and it crumbled.

Screams filled the wind and bodies ran down both sides of the wall, trying to escape the tumbling stones. But it was too late for the legionnaires inside.

Immediately, I searched the chaos around me for any sign of Vale. He was missing from where he’d stood only minutes ago. I moved past the stream of legionnaires running along the scaffold, pulling myself along the railing until I spotted him at the bottom of the pulleys. He was already reloading the crates.

“What is that? What are they doing?”

A voice shouted over the sound of the scorpio, and the legionnaire stopped firing. I stepped forward as Vale climbed the ladder, eyes trained on the shape of the brigades. Slowly, the wind cleared the smoke and the view opened up. The legion was shifting now in a movement that was mirrored across every cohort.

Beside me, Vale watched with darkening eyes. Every legionnaire on the wall waited for an order that wouldn’t come. Continuing the fight would bleed us dry of what little we had left. Now we could only sit and watch as they constructed a camp, built towers, replenished their weapons, and prepared to scale our walls. After months of fighting and days away from its end, the Lower City would become a battlefield. Again.

“Centurion?” Théo was staring at me now.

I followed his gaze down to my arm. It was covered in a slick, shining red that dripped from my limp hand, leaving a trail on the dusty planks beneath my feet. But my eyes moved back to the hills.

The ballistae didn’t reload. The archers didn’t fire. Steadily, the soldiers drew down the slopes toward the road. They lined either side in three rows as something appeared in the distance. A series of dark blots moved toward the city.

A caravan. An ever-multiplying line of carts with covered loads came into view, protected on each side of the road. The truth about what this was slowly began to sink in, making my heartbeat stutter. Valshad wasn’t just here to attack us. They weren’t puncturing the walls to weaken the New Legion and give the Consul a fighting chance. Of course they weren’t.

Wood, iron, chains, forges. Tents, tools, pitch, crucibles. They were the tools of conquerors. Of laying siege to a city. They didn’t want to destroy Isara.

They wanted to take it.