I cheer, too. I can’t help it. When Soren hears my whoop, he casts an amused look my way.
I shrug sheepishly. “Her attitude leaves something to be desired, but even I can admit that was incredibly epic.”
“Skies, don’t tell her that. She needs more confidence like I need a Frostlander ice-arrow through the heart.”
My gaze tracks her for a moment, then moves beyond to the approaching armada. “Can’t you summon a tsunami?” I ask. “Take them all out at once before they can do any harm?”
He snorts softly. “Much as I appreciate the vote of confidencein my abilities, summoning a wave of that magnitude would require strength beyond even mine.”
I look at him, brows lifting. “But I watched you dispel one just last week.”
“Dispelling requires far less effort than conjuring. The ocean’s weight is…immense.Even for me. Still waters do not easily shift. Those already in motion are far more malleable.”
My lips purse.
Shaking his head, as though he finds my disappointment charming, Soren turns to stroll the length of the sea gate. He examines the soldiers as he goes, occasionally stopping to give a low order or point out an untied bootlace or clasp a shoulder in greeting.
It is clear the Hylian Guard has been drilled for this exact occasion. There is no chaos, no confusion. They take up their posts and gather their weapons with an ease that speaks of long discipline. Unlike in Dyved, which clings to more rigid gender roles, the Llyrian ranks are a near even split of males and females. When I look behind us, I see navy-clad forms of many shapes and statures lining the ramparts from our position all the way to the beacons halfway around the city. Down at the inner harbor, a sparser secondary squadron is stationed along the docks, prepared to stop anything from advancing into the canals.
Not that anything will breach the sea gate. It is nearly as thick as the walls themselves. As large as it seems from harbor level, one cannot appreciate its true scope until you are standing upon it.
“Longbows, hold steady!” Soren calls, coming to a stop at the very center. His voice rises to a boom that carries into the distance. “Main cannons, engage!”
At his signal, the teams of four brawny men stationed at the Twins on the lookout towers brace their hands against the spokesof the giant wheels and begin to push in slow, backbreaking circles. It is a punishing task, one that requires brute strength and total synchronicity. I watch them make two full rotations, waiting breathlessly for something to happen. Finally, there is a metallic groan, then a rumble that rattles the city’s foundations. A ripple of awareness moves through the Hylian Guard, but no one even flinches as the water cannons begin to blast monumental streams out over the bay.
Even having read about it beforehand, it is an astounding sight. The sheer volume of water that comes out, the stupendous force of the spray…Like two horizontal waterfalls, they shoot well above even the tallest masts in the anchorage. Where they strike down, the ocean turns to pure lather, stirred into a frenzy beneath the cannons’ might.
My gasp is audible.
“Impressed?”
I nod, not looking over at Soren. “However do they aim?”
“Swiveling bases beneath each cannon. You see that man—the stocky one with the gauntlets?” His shoulder brushes mine as he lifts his arm to point out the man taking up position on an elevated perch directly behind the cannon. “We call him a gunner. He’s the cannon’s eyes. There are two levers he can use to pivot the stream back and forth. It’s not instantaneous, but it works well enough. Usually.”
Even as he speaks, I am watching it happen. The gunner on the tower to my left is turning his cannon, shifting the stream of water across the ocean’s surface. A moving barricade. It is a brilliant way to do damage from the safety of your defensive lines.
The Frostlanders are not yet within striking distance, but given their speed, they soon will be. If the sight of the Twins pummeling their path forward intimidates them, it does not show. Their rowing pace only seems to increase. They are soclose, their low chants can be heard even above the constant rumble of the pumps—a chorus of deep grunts, one for each oar pull.
Fearless, Arwen flies ever nearer, the silver glint of the sun catching on her bow as she swoops low over the water. Atyr’s coat is brilliant white beneath her hunched form.
“She shouldn’t be out there alone,” Soren says tightly, eyes on his sister. “She’s going to get herself killed.”
“Then go to her.”
He glances over at me, brows lifting. “She’ll be furious.”
“She’ll bealive,” I counter.
His eyes flare with warmth, there and gone in a flash. “And leave you up here alone?”
“Alone? Hardly. I am surrounded by scores of highly trained soldiers. I think I’ll be fine.” I roll my eyes. “If they get close enough, I’ll show off some of my new skills.”
His mouth twitches. “Beware the fearsome levitator of lemons.”
“Ha!”I shove his shoulder. “And here I was, actually worried you might die at the end of a Frostlander spear! That’s passed. Feel free to perish.”
He grins at me as he braces one hand against the top of the stone balustrade. “You’ll regret that when I’m no longer around to cook for you.”