The Chosen by Kris Kramer (best novels ever txt) 📖

he'd been aiming for the casters and druids in the back lines and watching in amusement as they scurried about for cover while he picked them off one by one. At first, he'd only been trying to push them back by aiming for their legs and arms, or to incapacitate them to keep them from firing back. But that had been a bad idea. The Anduains were smart, and by leaving them alive, they'd been able to plan a counterattack. They moved out of range, or changed their targets, or slipped out of his line of sight, all to distract him or to lull him into thinking he was winning. And just when Kat tried to pull him back, they had moved in and attacked his position en masse. He saw the barrage of bolts and arrows coming from the corner of his eye, and he'd been able to dodge the brunt of it as the battlement exploded around him, but a chunk of stone hit Kat in the head, and she fell to the ground in a heap. Bad luck on her part, he figured.

Finias leaned over and checked her breathing, and was relieved to find that she still lived. But her hair was matted with blood, and she'd need Riordan's help very soon. He knew how dangerous a head wound could be and he didn't want to take any chances. He looked back and saw that the battlement he'd been hiding behind was half-destroyed anyway, and he counted himself lucky to not be dead right now. He wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, then leaned over to pick her up, intending to carry her down to the lower levels. As he leaned over, though, he saw blood on his sleeve. He wiped his forehead with his hand this time and confirmed that he was also bleeding. He hadn't felt the wound at first, but now the side of his head throbbed, and it was getting worse. Suddenly, he stopped worrying about his injury, or even about Kat. The only thing he felt now was anger. He wouldn't let these Anduain invaders come to his lands and take a piece of him or of anyone else. Not now, not ever. He grabbed his bow again, leaving Kat lying unconscious on the roof behind him, and leapt over to the next battlement.

He peered around the edge and saw that most of the Anduains had rushed inside the broken door, but several of the casters and healers had stayed back, their arms moving frantically as they worked to keep those in front of them alive. They probably thought they'd killed him with their attack, but he would prove them dead wrong.

He loosed arrow after arrow at the attackers below, and while a few missed their mark, most did not. One pierced a nuathreen in the leg, just below the hip. Another caught a human in the center of his chest. Then he struck an elf in the neck, who dropped to the ground, writhing about and clutching his throat. Finias reveled in the moment, no longer concerned about the bloodlust he'd feared his whole life. It came naturally to him now, one arrow after another. Suddenly, he was a hunter, perched on the high ground, and everything below him was prey.

He found another elf, a wraith he thought, dressed all in black, black robe, black cloak, black boots, waving his arms about maniacally in his casting motions. Finias fired an arrow and watched it strike the mage's chest, near his right shoulder. The elf spun away, clutching at the arrow, and started to run away clumsily, but Finias would have none of that. He fired again, this time striking the calf, and the elf fell to the ground. Finias ducked back behind the battlement, and pictured his next shot in his mind. The killing shot. He pulled the arrow out, nocked it, then stepped back over to the crenellation and fired. The arrow found its mark, puncturing the elf’s throat at an angle that caused the bodkin to exit from the back of the head. The elf stopped writhing and Finias smiled at how easy this was for him.

He aimed for another target, a human tracker, who wielded a bow just like him. The tracker fired an arrow at Finias' position, but he ducked back as it sailed over the tower. Finias peered back around to see the tracker running away, trying to get out of range. Finias aimed for his legs, hoping to cripple him like the mage, but the tracker made that a moot point when he stopped. Finias glanced just ahead of him, noticing movement in the trees behind the Anduain forces, the same movement that now prompted the tracker to back away. Finias watched him turn and run to his allies, shouting something in warning, only to get cut down by an axe in his back. The tracker dropped to the ground, still alive, barely, and Finias watched as a new horde of enemies emerged from the shadows of the forest to finish him off, mercilessly.

 

~~~~~

 

The firbolg warrior stood inches from Aiden's face, laughing at his prey.

The firbolg were impressive people. Taller than humans, usually by a hand’s width, and strong, like the havtrols from Bergmark, but with an agility that their size belied. Firbolg, being one of the old races, had always been Anduain in spirit, but they’d been apathetic about efforts in the last few centuries to break free from Calderan influence. That is, until a Calderan army slaughtered most of their people while returning from a failed attack on Andua at the beginning of the Uprising. Now, the remaining firbolg had not only joined the war, but they’d become some of Andua’s fiercest warriors, cutting down their enemies with savage glee. They killed Bergsbor and Calderan alike, but they saved a special hatred for anyone who wore the emblem of the wolf, because it had been a Sotheran army, led by the Earl himself, that had nearly destroyed their people. And unfortunately for Aiden, this particular firbolg had seen his cloak, and ever since breaking through the tower door, he’d made a point of trying very hard to kill the overwhelmed armsman.

They pressed together in a clash of shields and armor, Andua’s soldiers trying to push up the narrow stairwell and the Calderans trying to push them back down. Aiden strained against the raw strength of the firbolg in front of him, their shields locked together, their faces both desperate and angry. This one seemed to be their leader, shouting to the others around him to push forward in their language, the old Anduain tongue adopted by the west. His armor, polished and expensive, had the scratches and dents earned by many battles.

"Push!" Aiden shouted, and both lines of defenders took a coordinated step forward, albeit a small one, the second row shoving against the backs of those in front. The clanking of armor plates smashing into each other echoed through the stairwell, but the Anduains held strong, using their greater numbers to keep the Calderan defenders in place. Aiden saw the firbolg’s eyes dart up, then his head suddenly tilted to the side as a spear jabbed over Aiden's right shoulder, missing the firbolg by inches.

Good try, Aiden thought. Malcolm had actually injured the first man who ran up the stairs to engage them, a human who'd barged into Aiden's shield only to take a spear into his arm. The Anduain fell back, replaced by the firbolg, but Aiden had been surprisingly impressed by Malcolm at that moment and was glad to have him at his back.

The firbolg roared a command of his own, and the Anduain front line, supported by three more behind them, pushed up, and Aiden had no choice but to back up almost two steps. He was out of practice, his strength wasn't what it used to be, and now his muscles screamed at him from the exertion. But he couldn’t give up now. Not unless he wanted death. A spear jabbed in under his shield, missing his legs, and Aiden responded by awkwardly hacking his own sword over his shield at the Anduain on his right. The blow struck armor, but it didn’t have enough force behind it to pierce the metal. Aiden cursed, wishing he had an axe instead, a much more useful weapon in a shield wall than a long sword.

"Push!" he yelled again. The Calderans surged, and again they gained only inches of ground. The firbolg yelled, and the Anduains pushed them back up another two steps. They were running out of room in the stairwell fast, and Aiden's only backup plan was to retreat to the roof, where they could hopefully cut off attackers as they came up the ladder. That would work for a while, at least until the Anduains rained siege weapons down on them, or just razed the entire tower, destroying it, and them with it. The curved stairwell made it difficult for the Anduain casters and archers to get a good shot at the defenders, so they could hold here for as long as they could push back, but if no reinforcements showed up soon, they wouldn't survive this ordeal.

A crossbow bolt clanged off the helmet of an Anduain infantryman in the second row, and Aiden glanced back to see that the archers from above had moved in behind them. The second and third rows of Anduains raised their shields to provide cover for those in front, and a call went up in the back lines that no doubt warned those behind that archers had arrived. Suddenly, a barrage of magical bolts hit the walls to Aiden's left, as the dominators began counterattacking. The explosions were small and glancing, but the armsman closest to them, the one protecting Aiden's left side, fell back trying to take cover, a huge mistake. Another firbolg had pushed up to the front line, and he knocked the armsman off balance, sending him sprawling backward against the line behind him. Aiden twisted, partly to cover his now exposed left side, and partly to pin the other firbolg against the left wall before he could cut down the fallen defender. The firbolg leader opposite him sensed the disorganization and pressed in, holding his sword high as he readied to strike.

Aiden had been in enough shield walls to know that this one was moments from collapse. If that happened, he would die, as would everyone else in the tower. The second firbolg had almost pushed past him, his sword low, ready to gut the fallen armsman like a pig. The only thing holding him back was the confined space and Aiden's jostling with his shield. But every twist to his left gave the leader a clearer shot at him, and he couldn't hold them both off at once, while also avoiding tripping over his own man. He had to make a choice. He could either pick a target and commit, hoping the rest of the defenders around him could compensate until the fallen Calderan was back on his feet, or he could try to defend against both firbolgs, and surely fall himself in the process. So he gambled, and faced up against the leader, knowing that the Goddess had not taken him this far just to see everything fall apart again. He just hoped that the men to his left could somehow protect themselves, and him.

Fate was indeed on his side, as suddenly Malcolm threw himself forward into the gap, hefting his large shield in one hand and the spear in the other. The spear was useless at this point, but Malcolm either didn't know that, or just plain forgot to drop it and switch weapons. Either way, Aiden could breathe again knowing his left was covered. The boy blocked the firbolg's sword with his shield, seemingly by accident, and used his own considerable size to keep the snarling enemy at bay. He straddled the fallen armsman, who tried to crawl behind the palatine and get back on his feet. Somehow, Malcolm's strength and balance made the whole maneuver, as dangerous as it could have been, look easy.

More good luck came as Aiden heard a strangely familiar voice shouting behind him to make room. He chanced a glance over his shoulder to see a ragged-looking wizard moving through the cramped mass of soldiers at the back, with the posture and grace of someone accustomed to situations like this. Aiden's eyes grew wide as he recognized another old face from his past – the Warhound wizard named Landon, who smiled when he saw Aiden in front of him. Landon deftly moved between the armored men around him and stood just behind the armsman.

"Duck," was all he said.

"Get down!" Aiden yelled as he crouched, holding his shield up to cover