[This post is from Thom’s point of view.]
The heavens opened up, actual rain starting to pour down as the arrows knifed toward the front lines. Thom cursed under his breath. They wouldn’t get many more shots like that—if any.
Unless I miss my guess, these people will know how to handle arrows.
The rain wouldn’t help, either.
“Rifles!”
They didn’t have many, but J.T. was right. If they didn’t use them here, when else would they use them? They’d been too often ineffective against the other foes they’d faced in the past. But today…
He glanced over the gate and nodded to Sif. She nodded back and hefted her bow. “Archers!”
Thom took a deep breath and lifted his rifle, focusing down on the front lines marching toward them—they hadn’t broken into a run yet, which said a great deal for their discipline, he had to admit.
But we’re defending our home. That counts for something.
It has to.
“Fire!”
“Loose!”
Her shout mingled with his and even as the men on the field ahead of them lifted their shields in an effort to protect themselves from the arrows, the scattered rifle-shots tore into them. Thom saw a few fall, but his throat tightened.
There’s too many.
Not for the first time, he wished Phelan was up on the wall with them. They could have used his magic here today.
We just have to hold out long enough—
How long would be long enough? He didn’t know.
“Six ranks deep!” Paul shouted from the watchtower. Thom swore under his breath.
“Rifles!”
Sif took a deep breath before she followed his call. “Archers!”
What would Cameron come home to when he got back? Would they still be here, licking their wounds? Would they be under siege?
Would there be nothing left?
“Fire!”
“Loose!”
More fell. The cadence of the drums shifted and Thom held his breath.
Thunder crashed. A jolt shot through Thom and for the briefest moment, he was blinded by the glare of lightning striking at the heart of the field.
Blinking to clear his vision, he swore he saw a pair of figures standing where the lightning had struck, the taller holding up the shorter, who faltered, then straightened.
A voice rang out over the field and Thom’s blood ran cold—not at the words, but the pain he heard behind them.
“Congratulations! The monster you’ve made has been drawn out by this pointless attack on people who hate me! Come out and claim me if you dare.”
Oh -shit-. It’s about to get real.