If he’d had more time to prepare, he could have held, as he’d told Deepe. Not now. Light, but this defense has been one disaster after another.
“Gather the Asha’man,” Ituralde ordered. “And any of my officers you can find. We will organize the men into a retreat through gateways.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Connel said.
“Ituralde, no!” Yoeli burst out onto the balcony, uniform dirtied and ripped.
“You survived,” Ituralde said, relieved. “Excellent. Man, your city is lost. I’m sorry. Bring your men with us and we can—”
“Look!” Yoeli said, pulling Ituralde to the side of the balcony, pointing to the east. A thick column of smoke rose in the distance. A village the Trollocs had burned?
“The watchfire,” Yoeli continued. “My sister has seen aid coming! We must stand until they arrive.”
Ituralde hesitated. “Yoeli,” he said softly, “if a force has come, it can’t be large enough to stop this horde of Trollocs. And that’s assuming it’s not a ruse. The Shadowspawn have proven clever in the past.”
“Give us a few hours,” Yoeli said. “Hold the city with me and send scouts through those gateways of yours to see if a force really is coming.”
“A few hours?” Ituralde said. “With a hole in your wall? We’re overwhelmed, Yoeli.”
“Please,” Yoeli pled. “Are you not one of those they name Great Captain? Show me what that title means, Lord Rodel Ituralde.”
Ituralde turned, back at the broken wall. Behind him, in the palace’s top room, he could hear his officers gathering. The line at the wall was fragmenting. It wouldn’t be long now.
Show me what that means.
Perhaps…
“Tymoth, are you here?” Ituralde bellowed.
A red-haired man in a black coat stepped onto the balcony. He’d be in command of the Asha’man now that Deepe had fallen. “Here, Lord Ituralde.”
“Gather your men,” Ituralde said urgently. “Take command of that gap and have the soldiers there retreat. I want the Asha’man to hold the breach. I need a half-hour. I want all of your energy—everything you’ve got—to hit those Trollocs. You hear me? Everything you’ve got. If you can channel enough to light a candle when this is done, I’ll have your hides.”
“Sir,” the Asha’man said. “Our retreat?”
“Leave Antail in the Healing tent,” Ituralde said. “He can make a large enough gateway for the Asha’man to run. But everyone else, hold that breach!”
Tymoth dashed away. “Yoeli,” Ituralde said, “your job is to gather your forces and stop them from running through the city like…” He paused. He’d been about to say, “like it’s Tarmon bloody Gai’don.” Burn me! “…like there is nobody in command. If we are going to hold, we will need to be organized and disciplined. I need four cavalry companies formed up in the courtyard in ten minutes. Give the orders.”
“Yes, my Lord,” Yoeli said, snapping to it.
“Oh,” Ituralde said, turning. “I’m going to need a couple of cartloads of firewood, as many barrels of oil as you can come up with, and all of the wounded in either army who can still run but who have face or arm wounds. Also, get me anyone in the city who’s ever held a bow. Go!”
Nearly an hour later, Ituralde stood, hands clasped behind his back, waiting. He’d moved in from the balcony to look out a window, as to not expose himself. But he still had a good view of the fighting.
Outside the palace, the Asha’man line was finally weakening. They’d given him the better part of an hour, blasting back wave after wave of Trollocs in an awesome display of Power. Blessedly, the enemy channelers had not appeared. After that show of power, hopefully they were drained and exhausted.
It felt like dusk, with those oppressive clouds overhead and the masses of figures darkening the hillsides beyond the city. The Trollocs, fortunately, didn’t bring ladders or siege towers. Only wave after wave at that breach, whipped into attack by the Myrddraal.
Already, some of the black-coated men were limping away from the breach, looking exhausted. The last few threw a final blast of Fire and erupting Earth, then followed their companions. They left the gap completely open and undefended, as ordered.
Come on, Ituralde thought as the smoke cleared.
The Trollocs peered through the smoke, climbing over the carcasses of those the Asha’man had killed. The Shadowspawn loped on hooves or thick paws. Some sniffed the air.
The streets inside the gap were filled with carefully placed men who were bloodied and wounded. They began to scream as the Trollocs entered, running as commanded. Likely none of their fear was feigned. The scene looked more terrible now that many of the nearby buildings were smoldering, as if from the blast, roofs on fire, smoke pouring from windows. The Trollocs wouldn’t know that the slate roofs had been designed not to burn, and laws kept buildings from containing too much wood.
Ituralde held his breath. The Trollocs broke, running into the city, howling and roaring, groups breaking apart as they saw the opportunity to pillage and slaughter.
The door behind Ituralde slammed open, and Yoeli hastened in. “The last ranks are placed. Is it working?”
Ituralde didn’t answer; the proof was below. The Trollocs assumed their battle won—the blasting Power of the Asha’man had the air of one final stand, and the city appeared to be in chaos. The Trollocs all ran down the streets with obvious glee. Even the Myrddraal who entered appeared at ease.
The Trollocs avoided the burning buildings and the palace, which was walled. They moved deeper into the city, pursuing the fleeing soldiers down a wide avenue on the eastern side of the city. Carefully piled rubble encouraged the bulk of them down this avenue.
“Do you have aspirations of being a general, Captain Yoeli?” Ituralde asked softly.
“My aspirations are not important,” Yoeli said. “But a man would be a fool not to hope to learn.”
“Then pay attention to this lesson, son.” Below, shutters on windows were flung open on buildings along the avenue the Trollocs had taken. Bowmen surged out onto balconies. “If you ever have so much as an impression that you’re doing what your enemy expects you to do, then do something else.”
The arrows fell, and Trollocs died. Large crossbows that shot quarrels almost the size of spears targeted the Fades, and many could be seen lurching across the pavement, not knowing that they were already dead, as scores of Trollocs linked to them fell. Confused, enraged, the still-living creatures began to bellow and pound in the doors of the buildings filled with archers. But as they did so, the thunder began. Hoofbeats. Yoeli’s best cavalry charged down the streets, lances forward. They trampled the Tro