Chapter 453: The Cracks Beneath the Walls (2)
The cavalry rode out at first light, hooves spanking the dew-soaked grass until the ground trembled beneath their weight. Raine and Surena led the column, their banners snapping in the wind: Astellian blue edged with silver. Each banner bore the rising sun emblem, a promise of new beginnings—and of inevitable doom for those who would stand in its path.
Raine’s lungs burned with exhilaration as she urged her steed forward. The cold morning air sliced across her cheeks, but she barely noticed; her focus was on the glint of armor before her, the swirl of cloaks behind. She reveled in the surge of power, the synchronized dance of twelve hundred horses learning to think as one. Freedom and fury churned in her blood.
Surena’s shout carried like thunder over the ranks. "Push them back! Show them the folly of standing in our way!"
Raine grinned, voice lost to the wind, but her eyes never left the horizon. Far ahead, the ancient stone walls of Lisban were bathed in that gray dawn, their towers huddled against the rising mist. Sentries on the ramparts squinted down, rifles and bows raised—but too few, and too uncertain, to stop this tide.
Arrows glittered in the pale sky, arching toward them. Raine’s heart leapt as she saw the first volley launched from the parapets. The sound of twanging bowstrings was distant, almost playful, against the hoofbeats now thundering like a heartbeat. Sentries scrambled along the wall, but hesitation slowed them; horses charged, painting the ground in thunder and dust.
Surena’s laughter rang out—a sharp, triumphant sound. She spurred her mount into a high, arcing charge that forced the enemy’s focus. Defenders shifted nervously, uncertain whether to hold their bows or retreat behind the crenellations. "They’re shitting themselves!" Surena roared, the words carried away on the wind.
Raine’s eyes snapped to the far treeline. A handful of dark shapes slithered through the mist, slipping among the bracken and rocks. Varzadian skirmishers, cloaked in gray, creeping closer under cover of the morning haze. Even a fool could see the threat: a blade at the flank could shatter this charge before it reached the walls.
She cursed, kicking her heels into her mount’s ribs. The horse whinnied, its flank muscles bunching under Raine’s leg. "Left flank, thirty meters!"
A taut line snapped in her chest as she jerked her horse’s reins to the left, hooves skidding on slick grass. The world unfurled in a burst of motion: Surena’s cavalry thundered onward, banners snapping like war calls, while Raine pivoted her blade to ward off the first volley of arrows loosed from the hidden skirmishers. Each arrow’s hiss through the dawn air felt personal, a reminder that death often came quietly—and hoped for her hesitation.