Chapter 500: The Siege Begins (2)
"Late to the party, Commander?"
"Fashionably," he shot back, unable to keep the grin from stretching his cheeks.
Behind her, Emilia urged her destrier forward—no subtle mount, this beast, but a hulking black charger that tossed its head like a furnace bellows. The red of Emilia’s hair seemed almost to glow in the cold morning, matching the glint in her eyes as she hefted her greatsword across the saddle-bow.
"You mean to stare all day, or kill something?" she barked, voice carrying over the din.
Lyan’s spirits chimed in unison.
(You should answer her,) Cynthia advised, half amused.
Lilith purred, (Tell her you can do both.)
He settled for a lopsided salute with his glaive, then wheeled to take stock. Tara and Sigrid thundered in next—Tara’s brown curls plastered to her cheeks by sweat, Sigrid’s pale braid already flecked with ash where arrow-fire had seared the tower she toppled. Behind them rolled an avalanche of warriors: knot-armoured shieldmaidens banging axes against rimmed shields, barefoot berserkers daubed with runes, mounted archers in patchwork lamellar who rode so low their chests nearly brushed horse withers.
Flaming shafts arced overhead in staggered flights. Every arrow left a comet tail that hissed as pitch-soaked rags guttered in the wind. One found a timber watch-tower on the mid-wall; another lodged in a crenel beside a ballista crew. When the fire reached the fletching, the shaft burst, cracking the dried pine like a matchstick. The entire platform collapsed, taking screams with it.