I have no difficulty envisioning an attack from Arwen. Theice between us has not thawed since my first day here. If anything, it is thicker than ever.
“With focus, you will be able to sense far more than just maegical threats. As a wind weaver, you more than any of the Remnants are innately attuned to body and breath. You can sense the smallest hitch in a throat, the quickest intake into lungs. These are telltale cues from your enemy.” He takes a deep breath that broadens his whole frame, as if to underscore his point. “You can feel an arrow as it flies at you through a sightless sky, can perceive the swing of a soundless blade as it arcs toward your neck. Think of it as an internal alert system. One that will protect you from harm, if you put it to use.”
Soren calls another globe of water from the shallows. Shafts of afternoon sun pierce through it, refracting in all directions like a diamond in the light, as he sends it hurtling toward me without warning.
But then, I do not need warning. Not this time. In addition to the brief swell of maegic in the air, when I hone my attention I can indeed sense the slightest change in his breathing—the infinitesimal huff that escapes his throat as he heaves the heavy water my way.
I cast out my arm and watch the ball careen off course under a wind current, splashing harmlessly into the shallows.
“Well done.” Soren’s smile is anticipatory. “But can you do it at double speed? Or how about two at once?”
His next few attacks come at me twice as fast and twice in number. I dodge a strike coming at my face only to be struck from behind; duck an inbound volley only to be clipped in the shins. Predicting his moves takes every ounce of my focus. Despite my best efforts, he manages to douse me multiple times.
“I suppose there was no other way for you to teach me thislesson?” I grunt as I stop an incoming globe, holding it still between us. “One that did not involve me ending up soaking wet?”
From my peripheral, I see a secondary ball sailing straight for my head. I manage to stop it at the last second, throwing up a wall to shield my right flank.
Soren grins as he neatly sidesteps my retaliatory shot, his boots kicking up a shower of sand. “None that would be half so effective at drilling it into your head. Or half so amusing to witness.”
I respond by way of an eviscerating glower.
Unbothered, he sends a pulse of pure maegic my way. I am instantly dry, every particle of water leached from my skin and clothing in the time between two blinks. The sudden change is disorienting.
“Uh…thanks.” I run my hands through the wild tangles of my hair. It, too, is bone-dry, but still holds traces of salt, sand, and seaweed. “I don’t suppose you have a comb handy…”
He does not chuckle at my low request. He does not hear it at all. His eyes are fixed over my shoulder, far out to sea. I turn to follow his gaze. At first, I see nothing. Nothing but a haze along the distant horizon, emerging from the mist that shrouds Prydain Isle in the north. After another moment of squinting, I am able to pick out the familiar shape of matchsticks moving toward us.
Ship masts.
Many of them.
I look at Soren. “More wedding gifts for the blushing bride?”
He shakes his head slowly, eyes still riveted.
The look on his face is making me nervous. My heartbeat picks up speed. “The fleet from Daggerpoint, then?”
“No. Alaric’s ships are larger.” His voice is tight. His eyes finally cut to mine and, when they do, they are rife with fervor,all traces of humor stripped away. “Those are Frostlander longships.”
My lips part to ask a question, but it is drowned out by the sudden blare of the Westerly Beacon overhead. And then, there is no more time to ask anything. Soren has my hand in his and he is running—pulling me across the rocky beach, up the narrow stone steps, into the dark passageway that cuts back into the city proper.
The soaring wallsof Hylios are something of an architectural marvel. Since my arrival in the capital, I have spent many twilights strolling along the ramparts, admiring the view of the labyrinthine canals below, the endless expanse of ocean that stretches as far as the eye can see. The true marvel is not in the lofty sightseeing spots atop the walls, however.
It is within the walls themselves.
A series of ladders, trapdoors, and narrow corridors cut through the thick stone, leading to hidden battlements built at strategic points around the perimeter. It is dark and narrow inside. Only the occasional slotted window allows shafts of sunlight to pierce the shadows, cleverly angled so an archer might take aim without exposing himself to return fire.
Navy-clad members of the Hylian Guard are taking up their positions even as Soren and I race southward in the direction of the sea gate. We pass six water cannons, by my count. The massive metallic beasts are the city’s strongest fortification against incoming ships, sending out huge streams of pressurized spray over the bay—or so I read inHistorical Battles of Hylios: Waging War from Behind the Walls, a sharp-tongued account Soren left on my bedside table for perusal several days ago. The pages within detail all of the capital’s many unique methods of defense,from the sea gate to the beacon lights to the nearly invisible tidal shoals that ring the outskirts…All solid protection measures in their own right, yet none half so effective as the water cannons.
They’ll take down anything in range,a boasting soldier told me just last night during my stroll atop the walls.Brigs, schooners, dinghies. Doesn’t matter the size. Our cannons can smash ’em to bits, simple as that. Keeps most marauders from even thinking to raid us.
I confess, I have been eager to see them in action. To witness their hull-crushing capabilities firsthand. But in this moment, as I watch teams of two working in tandem, using brute force to turn wheels wider than I am tall in order to pump streams of water up from the bay, my enthusiasm is tempered by reality.
The closer we get to the sea gate, the more crowded the battlements. Armed soldiers are everywhere, strapping on bows and quivers, sharpening blades on whetstones, loading crossbows with sturdy bolts. Everyone is in motion, climbing ladders up to the ramparts or down toward the canals, depending on their orders. Overhead, the blaring of the beacons is a distant drone, warning civilians to take cover in their homes.
We reach the end of the passage where a thick spiral staircase leads up to the top of the walls. Soren scales it quickly; I follow close behind. He’s tense. I can see it in the lines of his broad shoulders just as I can feel it thrumming down the bond. The fact that I can feel him at all is indicative of the situation’s severity. For once, he is too preoccupied to bother blocking me out.
We burst into the hazy daylight, searing after the darkness. I blink rapidly as my eyes strain to take in all that I am seeing. The upper fortifications are lined with soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder. They stare out at the horizon, looks of foreboding on their faces. A similar pit of dread opens in my stomach as I follow their worried eyes out to sea.