Author's Note:
If you look at the pictures of Arendelle online, you'll notice that the stronghold doesn't actually have any battlements. It's something worth noting. I didn't realize that until I've finished writing Part 1 of the battle! But then Arendelle is literally one of the most stupidly designed castles out of all those I've seen or read about in medieval stories. It is not built for war. I know, right? It's Disney! So deciding to make a little change in its construction in my fanfic, I believe, is perfectly acceptable.
By the way, all my fanfics are now also available on Archive of Our Own (AO3), just in case any of you prefer the format and presentation on there.
Chapter Twenty: The Battle of Arendelle (Part 2)
PEARCE
They carefully edged down a steep slope that meandered through the colossal, sky-scraping mountains. The path was narrow, wedged between crags and rock faces, treacherous and unreliable, like it shouldn't be there. But it was a path all right. They navigated in the dark with only the silver moonlight as guidance. Pearce had insisted there were to be no torches, fires, or magically generated balls of light. The last thing they wanted was to blow their cover and give Hans a heads-up they were coming. Hans did not know an army would be attacking from another direction, and Pearce wasn't going to let him know, not until he and the magicians were right beneath the castle walls. Then, and only then, were they to reveal themselves.
Pearce stared up at the night. The sky was tinged with grey and blue. Dawn would be here soon.
He halted. Ahead, the precipices to either side of them came to an end and the mountain became a precipitous drop. This was as far as they could go. Below, separated by a stretch of sea, was the fortress and village of Arendelle, situated at the foot of green, grassy hills that went up and up and eventually became tall snow-capped mountains. Concealed somewhere in those forests was the Valley of the Living Rock, the haven where Pearce had stayed and slept. And now he was on the other side. Directly facing the back of the fortress. It was faintly silhouetted by a weak orange glow, too dull and dim to see from here. That must be where the war was raging.
Pearce mentally measured the distance from the mountains to Arendelle. "By the looks of it, the fortress is about half a mile from here," he said.
"That's, like, slightly over eight hundred metres," Byron said. He voiced the question that was on everybody's minds, "How're we supposed to get there?"
"There are people guarding the towers and turrets. Unless we want to be spotted by Hans's soldiers we can't conjure boats and bridges. Our only option," Pearce said, "is to swim."
He knew it was what they had to do and that they couldn't avoid it. Good thing the people he brought with him were all excellent swimmers. He had specifically made sure of that.
"A thousand magicians swimming across the sea out in the open? Yeah. The guards are definitely not going to see that," Byron replied sarcastically.
Pearce smiled. "They won't, because we will be invisible." It was another thing he had made sure of, that every witch and wizard in the army had the power of invisibility. He said to Byron and Janine, "Since you two don't have supernatural powers, I'll be happy to help you with that."
"You had it all figured out, didn't you," Byron said, shaking his head slowly from side to side.
"Why did you think our friends let him lead?" Janine said wryly.
Pearce asked them, "Do you guys remember the laws of physics they taught you back at school before the New Order? About how you shouldn't confuse the mass of an object with its weight?"
Byron said, "I couldn't recall much, but I know the difference between the two. Mass is the quantity of matter or amount of stuff in an object whereas weight is the gravitational force acting on it. The more mass an object has the greater its weight will be."
"Precisely. Here's what we're going to do." Just like Wisty, Pearce had developed an ace method to communicate with the army so that they could hear him speak to them no matter how far away he was. Utilizing the method now he ordered, "We're going to reduce the mass of our weapons and armour with magic to make them as light as possible. In that way they won't be able to drag us down or drown us while we're swimming. Everyone intone the incantation."
The magicians obeyed. Pearce rested one hand on Byron's shoulder and the other on Janine's and closed his eyes to recite the spell. It wasn't in Latin or a foreign language or anything that made it hard to enunciate, but in plain English. His sword, scabbard, shield and armour gradually decreased in mass until they became as weightless as a feather. The leather material of his armour tightened and stuck to his body like a swimsuit, and his helmet folded a little around his head like a swimming cap so that it wouldn't fall off.
Pearce asked, "Do you feel anything?"
"Yeah," Byron said. "Yeah, I feel it." He turned the handle of the weapon in his hand. "Holding this shield and war hammer is like holding a paper airplane." He tittered. "This is amazing."
Janine touched the front of her breastplate and said, "I'm so light I could be wearing a bikini. Although I think my body mass stayed the same."
"That's the idea," Pearce confirmed. The magicians were marvelling to each other about their weightlessness as well. Pearce commanded them, "Let's move."
Byron suddenly stammered, "I'm not sure if—I mean, I don't, I don't really think I'm up for this. I've been in battle before and I had been ready to die once, but I'm not sure if I could do it again. I-I think I'm feeling nervous and a little sick and timid and—"
Pearce interrupted, "Byron, when you followed me and The One to Shadowland, leaped into the void of the Portal and locked yourself in, you became a hero. No one knew you had that depth of valour in you. You paid for Whit and Wisty's freedom with your life. It was a brave and noble sacrifice. That day you were not Byron the Coward, you were Byron the Courageous, and that's what I need you to be right now. It's OK to be afraid. We're all afraid to some extent. But tonight? Tonight Arendelle is going to need your braveness. Can you do that?"
Byron hesitated, then he nodded. "Yes, I can."
"Good."
"What about you?" he asked. "Are you scared?"
"We're about to take on some of the toughest, strongest, not to mention the most brutal and powerful, warriors we've ever known," Pearce told him. "If I'm not scared I'm an idiot."
He turned and addressed the rest of the army, "After me!" He ran to the edge of the crag they were standing on, which was about forty yards above sea level, and jumped. It was a long fall. Wind rushed up his face and howled in his ears. He hit the water with a loud splash. It was chillier than he expected, and the waves weren't rippling as gently as they seemed to be when staring down from above. Byron, Janine and the others followed his lead. He waited until everyone was in the water and then ordered, "Erase yourselves completely from sight." They did. Byron and Janine vanished with his help. Now Pearce was alone in the sea, by himself, but he could still hear sounds of water swashing. Apparently, being invisible did not prevent you from making noise. Pearce touched himself. Head, shoulders, legs, chest…yep, still there. He could feel himself but was unable to see his own body, and that was daunting.
Freestyle was preferred because it was the stroke that allowed you to move forward the fastest, so they all went with freestyle. Towards Arendelle they swam. Propelling through the sea at night was dead scary, especially when the water beneath you was pitch black and could go down to any depth and you had no idea what marine species awaited you below the surface. Swimming in a lane in a pool was like ambling along a riverbank in comparison. Apprehension of sharp teeth closing around his ankles or calves gnawed at Pearce. Now was seriously a bad time to be bitten. His heart thumped wildly in his chest. He half expected to bump into people, but he didn't. They were either spread out far enough for them not to hit each other or the undulating waves had moved them apart. Hopefully not too wide apart. Pearce allowed himself brief pauses to check he was swimming in the right direction from time to time, and generally he was, although the rise and fall motion of the sea made it hard for him to move in a straight line and kept bringing him sideways, slowing him down, delaying him, making the distance feel longer than it actually was. At least it was a clear and windless night. It would've been worse if it rained and much worse in a storm.
His heater shield, weighing no more than a floating helium balloon, was locked between his legs and did not affect the force and speed of his kicks, but the scabbard hanging from his sword belt, which was secured tightly around his waist, did. Pearce rotated and adjusted the belt in exasperation so that the scabbard brushed the side of his thigh instead of the front. Better. He could not, however, fix his shallow breathing because the cold water was compressing his diaphragm. It was not a comfortable sensation and he often had to tilt his head to the side to suck in air. Tiredness wasn't the reason he was panting and inhaling deeply. Long hours of training in the City barracks made him very fit and meant that he had great stamina, so a half a mile swim did little to tire him. The reason he was heavily panting was because his lungs were demanding more oxygen by the minute. Even when he was swimming, the water felt cold. He didn't think he could carry on for much longer. He needed to get out soon, to step on land. Somewhere dry…
He might not even make it. Soldiers were watching the sea in which the army was approaching, and even though they could not see them, they'd notice the wavelets, ripples and the queer disturbance they made in the water and might still shoot them. They were completely exposed after all.
Why was he thinking about that? Not helping.
Pearce swam faster. As fast as the sea would allow him to, anyway. The salt water stung his eyes, but he ignored it. Had to get to there. Had to get to the castle…
His arm hit something solid. He stopped. In front of him were piles of boulders. They were slick with moss and lined the rampart to the back of the castle. He got there. At last! Excellent. All he had to do was find a way in. There had to be an entrance built in the wall of each tower. Pearce swam along the rampart, searching. Sure enough, there was an oaken door leading into a tower at the corner of the stronghold, exactly where he presumed it to be. At the bottom of the tower at the other end of the rampart was another door. Both were being watched by a sentry.
Pearce spoke quietly to the army, knowing they'd all be able to hear, "This way." He went for the door closest to him. He could not see any of the others, but the noise they made in the water told him that they were close behind. The sentry at his post was pacing anxiously, staring out at the dark sea. His gaze passed over Pearce and the magicians. Apparently the sound of their arrival had perplexed him and he did not know what on earth was going on.
And he never will. Pearce drew a knife and flung it at him. The guard gave a yelp, slumped to the ground, and did not move again.
Pearce clambered onto and over the boulders, landed on the narrow area built along the castle wall, and turned off his vanishing power. He could hear footsteps on stone. "You can become visible now."
The witches and wizards reappeared, so did Byron and Janine. Everyone was dripping wet. There were no bodies floating in the water. The soldiers did not shoot at them. His neat little trick had worked. They used magic to return the mass of their armour and weapons to normal.
The dead sentry was blocking the entrance. Pearce dragged him aside, kicked open the door, and stepped through. He was in! The interiors of the fortress were more fancy and ornate than the exteriors. It mocked the Mountain kingdom Pearce grew up in and lived as a child. All the lights in the fortress were out except the sconces burning along the walls, but even in the dimness the majestic grandeur of Arendelle was mind-blowing.
A hallway in front of him and a hallway to his right.
Pearce commanded, "Should you encounter any of Hans's comrades, kill them. Our goal is to get to the courtyard."
"This is the first time we've been here," one guy his age pointed out. "How we supposed to know the way?"
"If we head along the outermost walls, we should find it eventually," Pearce responded. "The point is to get rid of as many enemies as we can."
"Should we split up? Half of us can go this way and the other half that way," Janine suggested, nodding at the two corridors in turn.
Pearce shook his head. "We have a thousand fighters and who knows how many Hans have outside? We're probably already outnumbered. Better to stick together than to separate. C'mon!"
He jogged down one of the hallways and the others kept pace, spraying water droplets as they ran. The leather armour Pearce was wearing was soaked and it made his movements feel heavy, slowing him down, which was bad, but hey, they had gotten into the castle undetected, he was satisfied of that much at least.
Someone began, "How are we going to—"
"Shush!" Byron hissed.
"But I'm—"
"Hans doesn't know we've infiltrated the castle, all right? You talk, he'll find out."
Shouts and cries issued from behind, followed by the ringing of metal.
"Crap!" Byron cursed.
Black soldiers at the far end of the corridor were combating witches and wizards at the rear. They found them! Pearce couldn't afford to lose anyone before they even got to the courtyard. He stretched both arms toward the vault above their area and yanked. It shook almightily. He focused harder with his telekinetic power and yanked again. The arched ceiling gave away. Massive chunks of stone and granite came loose and fell, smashing down on top of the soldiers, crushing them. The sound was thunderously loud, drowning out their screams.
The witches and wizards at the far end did a thumbs-up and Pearce gave them a gesture in return. They kept moving.
Follow the outer walls. Don't stray to the side corridors and get lost. Follow the outer walls.
The hallway was wide enough for six to run abreast, no more. They were nearing the end of it when a soldier rushed out of the tower ahead. Janine aimed, pulled back the bowstring, and released. The bloke slammed against the bricks and sagged along the wall, her arrow sticking out of his chest.
More came. They rushed out of the tower in a rapid stream. In no time the hallway in front of them was jammed. Several men emitted a huge blast in their direction. A couple of adults and boys on Pearce's side fired back. There was a crackling collision and then the forces cancelled out. The magicians charged. Pearce fought and pushed through the men, attacking them with his powers and cutting down whoever hindered him with his sword. His veins pumped with adrenaline.
A girl named Leven had lifted her shield up. Two men were pounding at its surface crazily like demons. Byron body slammed one of them. The guy crumpled and instantaneously one of the witches was on him. The other directed a shock wave of energy. Byron avoided it and swung the handle of his weapon. The war hammer caught the man in the forehead. There was an obnoxious crunching sound, then he went down. Behind Byron, a roar. Byron whirled around. Too late. Just as the comrade was about to bring a two-handed greatsword down on his shoulder, Leven intercepted him with her sword. She kicked him hard in the torso, grabbed him, and ran him through. Another guy came at them. Byron swung his war hammer viciously at him just as Leven slashed with her sword, and together they killed the opponent.
Two soldiers had Janine backed up against a wall. Janine, who had her arrow nocked and ready, was switching her aim back and forth, back and forth, indecisive about which one to kill. Finally, she shot the arrow into the neck of one of them. The other soldier tried to deliver a punch, Janine dodged, and his fist struck the wall. The bloke cursed angrily. Janine kicked him in the groin and punched him twice in the face. He staggered backwards into Pearce, who was right behind him. Pearce touched him almost gently on either side of his waist. A tingling sensation left his fingertips, flowed into the man. He did not have the time to scream. His face dissolved, his skin turned grey and shrivelled into cinders, and his entire body crumbled into ashes.
Janine raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Really?"
"It was fun!" Pearce protested with a shrug.
She shook her head wryly.
A few minutes later all the people blocking their passage were dead. The witches and wizards turned the corner and continued down a second hallway. This hallway was very long and through the windows Pearce saw that it ran parallel to the courtyard, which meant that the castle's main gate must be halfway across. Apart from the guards flanking the gate, Pearce did not see any soldiers. The way ahead was clear. They jogged on. Nearly there. They were going to make it.
Terrified cries broke out. He halted abruptly and looked back. No, up. About twenty comrades dressed in black were descending from their hidden positions in the vault. They had been waiting above on the rafters to attack. They did not have thin wires or strings attached to them but simply floated down, shooting at the army below with crossbows. It was impossible to load and cock their crossbows in midair, so each soldier could only shoot once. They landed amidst the magicians, drew their swords, and began to fight.
Pearce was impatient to reach the courtyard, but he couldn't just leave his fellow army members behind. The next round of comrades commenced their descent from the vault, in even higher numbers this time. Archers nocked their arrows, pointed them upward, ignited the broadheads in purple flame, and fired. As soon as the arrows made contact with the enemies, their figures were engulfed in flame. In seconds they were nothing, wiped out entirely from existence by the magical fire. Not a trace of them was left.
In spite of the magicians' efforts, the soldiers came hard at them with their crossbows nevertheless. In fact, the ceiling was covered with moving black shapes. How many of them were there?
Bolts flew. Arrows flew. People barking orders. Soldiers yelped and fell. Purplish flames burning here and there. Shrieks and wails from the magicians filling the corridor…
Combat had to be spreading in at least two hallways.
Janine shot again and again. She had no power to create the fire like the other archers so all her arrows did was penetrate the bodies of the foes. "Pearce, give me a hand!" she shouted as she reloaded.
He stared intently at the point of the arrow so that glitters shown on the broadhead. Janine let go of the string. The arrow whizzed toward one of the floating men and the victim erupted like a volcano in millions of golden, silver and blue sparks. The two of them repeated the process, trying to bring down as many comrades as they could. But none of the archers could prevent all of them from landing.
Some of the blokes overhead discharged quarrels at Byron and Pearce. Instinctively they raised their shields in protection. The bolts punctured the wood. Janine released an arrow and one of the guys blew up in a shower of multi-coloured sparks. She destroyed more of her enemies with aid from three fellow archers, who sent the descending dark figures to death in a blaze of purple flames.
Meanwhile, Byron and Pearce had managed to pull out the quarrels stuck in their shield. With his telekinetic powers Pearce levitated the quarrels and hurled them at the fighting soldiers. Their howls of pain were like music to his ears.
Byron and Pearce squeezed through the combatants back down the length of the hallway, killing whichever opponents they encountered. Due to the hydra venom coated over Pearce's sword, every opponent who was wounded by his blade died almost immediately, hence it did not require much difficulty for him to strike them down.
The corridors gradually grew quieter as more and more of their adversaries were killed, and after a while they were totally silent. No more soldiers drifted down from the vault to ambush them. They were all gone.
Byron and Pearce returned to the army's van. Pearce addressed one of the wizards at the rear, "Aiden, are we all clear?"
"Hang on, let me double check," the boy replied.
Pearce waited. He looked out a glass window. The courtyard outside was full of Hans's troops standing in a neat and organised formation, facing the front entrance. There had to be around one thousand five hundred of them, all ready to defend the castle if the City's main army made it through the village. Pearce's gaze travelled skyward. It was no longer night but very early morning just before dawn. The world was becoming more and more visible.
Aiden's voice came through again, as audible as from the radio or a walkie-talkie. "All clear."
"No more onrushing soldiers?"
"No more," Aiden confirmed.
Two corpses were flumped on either side of the gate. Those were the sentries Pearce had seen earlier. A red smile stretched from ear to ear across their necks. They must have joined the battle at some point and someone must've slit their throats. A pat on the back for the magician who did that.
Pearce instructed, "Let's do this. Follow my lead!"
The army let out a prolonged, booming, thunderous roar. The entrance doors burst open. With Pearce in the lead and Byron and Janine flanking him, the witches and wizards stormed out in a triangular formation into the courtyard. The warriors clad in black turned around and unsheathed their swords. The two armies clashed, and battle was joined.
Kill them! Kill them all! Pearce raged.
Things got messy pretty quickly, with people destroying each other using both their weapons and powers and all. In a quarter of an hour the opposite forces were mixed up and the combatants had spread out.
Pearce stayed close to Byron. He didn't know the magicians of the City very well and Byron was the closest thing to a friend he had, so he was determined not to lose him in battle. Byron didn't seem to want to lose him either. The two of them eliminated foe after foe. Pearce had intended to keep count of those who had fallen by his hand, but the number grew big very quickly and before long he had lost track.
Two malignant comrades raced for them. Pearce delivered a cut to the ankle of the first. The man fell on his back. Byron pounded his head with the war hammer. The comrade tried to twist away and push himself up with his elbows, but Pearce's foot on his chest pinned him in place. Byron did not stop pounding until he was dead. What was left of his messed up face was no longer recognizable as a human being's.
The second bloke attacked. Byron lifted his round shield and blocked the blow, then smacked it into the bloke's body, causing him to reel sideways. Pearce caught him and reduced him to ashes.
The wizards Lucas, Ethan and Josh were engaged in a big fight with thirteen men. Pearce and Byron rushed to their aid. Pearce sliced the hip of one soldier and the stomach of another and kept going, and in half a minute and with the help of the hydra's poisonous venom, he had killed five men. Byron killed two as well in the concurrent moment. Ethan, Josh and Lucas were each fighting two soldiers. Pearce turned one of Josh's opponents into a mound of ashes with a single touch. The other opponent fell after Josh ran him through. Lucas screamed as one of the troops wounded his upper arm. Pearce disintegrated him into ashes in vengeance, then did the same to Lucas's other adversary.
There was something delightful about eradicating these men, Pearce had to admit. It made him feel as if he was his old, psychopathic, wicked self again, back in N.O days, and he happened to quite like that trait. It was a part of him that could not truly be taken away. Right now he was ending these soldiers' lives without remorse. And he was relishing in it.
He spun in time to catch Ethan driving the edge of his blade into the back of his enemy's neck, right where the neck joined the bottom of the head. The guy shrieked in pain and fell. Just one comrade left out of the thirteen now. And he was duelling Ethan. Pearce lashed at him. The bloke parried the blow. He counterattacked. Pearce fended it off. Their blades met and met again. The sound of scraping and ringing metal was loud in Pearce's ears. Ting! Ting, ting, ting, ting. Ting!
Ethan thrust at the bloke but he brushed his sword aside.
"No, Ethan, he's mine!" Pearce called.
Lucas, Josh and Byron were already combating other soldiers. Ethan nodded and headed off to join them.
The bloke grunted and lashed at Pearce's head. He ducked. Pearce slashed horizontally and the bloke danced out of reach. They switched between delivering attacks and defending, and it went on like this for a while. Finally, with one swipe of the sword across the comrade's face Pearce threw off his helmet. He was on him in a flash. Pearce placed a hand on the soldier's head and…the skin on his face simply fell away. All that was left was a naked skull sitting atop his body. He let go, and the body crumpled to the ground.
Pearce grinned his devilish grin and said, "I've been dying to do that again."
He looked around. Everybody was too busy fighting. Pity. He wished they could have witnessed the glorious spectacle.
Whoosh!
A few wizards and witches nearby suddenly collapsed, their bodies penetrated by bolts. Pearce whirled. Soldiers were shooting at the magicians from above the west rampart behind him with crossbows. In fact, they were stationed all over the ramparts surrounding the courtyard, positioned between the regularly spaced squared openings of the stone parapets. They crouched behind the squared openings to aim and shoot, and whenever the City archers fired back, they would duck behind the parapets.
Pearce heard the loud mechanical click, click, clicks as crossbows were being cocked. The comrades above the west rampart were preparing for another round.
Pearce summoned his mojo and waited for the energy to crescendo. When it rose to its maximum, he thrust his hands outward in their direction, uttered a bestial and barbaric howl, and released it all.
"Aaaahhhhhh!"
KABOOM!
The explosion was deafening.
Warriors and City magicians alike shielded their bodies, clamped their hands over their ears, and covered their heads as stone bricks, pieces of wall, and yelling soldiers were blasted sky-high. A cloud of dust billowed from the centre of the detonation. Some of the human figures and debris flew into the courtyard, but the majority of them soared and crashed into the sea. When it died down, you could see a gaping aperture in the stone wall to the west. A huge section of the upper half of the castle's rampart had been blown apart. The surviving crossbowmen who were on top of the structure had fled and scurried to neighbouring ramparts. Pearce stood there, upright as a statue, triumphant and victorious, and watched it all, his mouth twisted into a cruel sneer.
Enraged, Hans's comrades began to fight the witches and wizards of the City even harder and more savagely than before. At least a dozen of them came straight for Pearce. Ethan, Lucas, Byron, Leven, Josh and a handful of magicians dashed over to help, and battle was resumed. Janine stood a few feet apart from them, shooting at the comrades nonstop.
Pearce spotted her and shouted, "Janine, climb to the top of the ramparts! You'll have a higher vantage point!"
Janine gave him a firm nod and complied.
Using the supernatural method he developed he ordered again, "Archers, head up the towers to the battlements! Take out the crossbowmen!" Then he added in a severe and almost threatening tone, "All of them."
"Got it!" A male adult voice replied.
The archers did not move up the towers in rapid streams but in small groups. Clever. Clever and well thought out. Pearce understood why: if they had rushed up in one go, the entrance at the bottom of the towers would be crowded and jammed, and soldiers atop the ramparts would no doubt make them an easy target for their crossbows.
Three men were directing deadly jinxes and curses at Pearce, and even when he retaliated with powers of his own, they refused to back off. Byron swung his war hammer at one of them. The soldier obstructed the blow with his shield, body-slammed Byron, and then persisted in attacking Pearce. Byron tried to strike again, but a guy had stepped in front of him and now kept him occupied. A sixteen-year-old witch attempted an assault on another one of the three foes. The soldier, annoyed and impatient, sliced the sword through the girl's neck in a single violent motion and decapitated her. He wiped the gore on his midnight blue cape.
Pearce took a step back, then another and another, while the three men, hell-bent on destroying him, advanced. He discharged a powerful shock wave at them but they deflected it. Pearce did not see the effect, however, because he had retreated behind a fountain.
The fountain was tall, and there were two of them in the courtyard. The one he sheltered behind provided some concealment, but it was no good when there were three soldiers coming at him instead of one. He'd have to get rid of two of them. Then he could take his time with the remaining one. Pearce extended his arm and pointed. Orange electricity shot out from the tips of his fingers and zapped the first soldier.
The second soldier shape-shifted into a ferocious jaguar. It leaped onto the lip of the fountain, hissed, and pounced on Pearce. Pearce jumped and brought his weapon up in one thrust, hoping to skewer the animal, but it moved too fast and all he ended up doing was scrape its black-spotted belly with the point of his sword. He quickly manoeuvred out of the way. The jaguar turned, hissed again, charged, and leaped, too fast for Pearce to swing his sword. In a wild panic he sidestepped, but not before the beast had clawed at his breastplate. He stumbled. Pain. At the part just above his stomach, to the right. Not a stab of pain, no, more like a sting. Pearce rubbed the part with hasty fingers. The claws had ripped the leather material, torn through the shirt of chainmail beneath and left long scratch marks on his skin. The scratches weren't wide or deep but thin and faint, and hurt a lot less than he thought it would. It wasn't even bleeding. Nothing he couldn't endure. Just as he glanced up, the jaguar pounced. He tried to react but it was a split second too late. The beast slammed into his body, knocked him on his back, and bent forward to get at his neck to deliver the killing bite.
An arrow pierced the jaguar's ribs. Shot from the battlements by Janine.
The jaguar howled in pain.
Pearce wasted no time. He threw a punch at the animal right between its eyes and kicked it in the belly with all his strength. The beast went flying several feet and landed on its back. Janine launched another arrow into its flank. Pearce aimed with his hands, palms out, at the jaguar's head and emitted an unseen wave of killing heat. There was a blurring and rippling of the air in front of him.
The jaguar's struggling ceased. Its eyes turned milky. Pearce had cooked its brain from the inside out.
He inclined his head at Janine in thanks and turned away.
Now. Onto the third soldier. Where was he? Where was that despicable bastard? Ah. There he was! Just on the other side of the fountain, half obscured by the water tubing and the tiers.
The soldier leaned sideways for a peek and extended his arm, but before he could aim, Pearce directed a ball of red light at him…and missed. Pearce started making his way around the fountain. The soldier, not wanting to be easily targeted, did the same. They circled the exterior, keeping one another partially hidden from view, calculating each other's moves.
His opponent hurled a stream of yellow light. Pearce ducked under the exterior. Staying low, he peeked over the bottom tier. A second jet of yellow light zipped past his ear. The soldier edged closer to him. Pearce stood up straight and fired crackling blue lightning from his palms. It hit the soldier's shield. While Pearce's rival kept his shield raised he launched equally powerful lightning with his free hand. Pearce sidestepped and fired another gleaming red ball. The guy avoided it by leaning sideways and once again ejected a yellow jet of light, but Pearce had darted out of view and it smashed into the fountain.
"Enough of this game, I'm bored," Pearce said.
He vanished, reappeared behind the man, and touched his waists with his fingertips. The soldier knew what he was about to do next, because he whipped round, backhanded Pearce across the cheek, grabbed and threw him against the exterior of the fountain, and plunged him headfirst into the water. Pearce was unprepared. He had not inhaled a big gulp of air beforehand and his breath was coming short. He scuffled and tried to prise the gauntlet loose from his nape, but the grip was too strong. Bubbles blew from his nostrils and mouth. Pearce tussled more vigorously and now both of the soldier's hands were wrapped around his nape.
What should he do? What could he do?
Think, think, think!
Must be such a glorious sight to see, wasn't it? The great and almighty Pearce, drowned by a bloke who was once a farmer, stonemason, or stableman.
Pearce's lungs ached, screaming for oxygen.
The dagger! Attached to his sword belt in its sheath!
Pearce fumbled for the weapon and his hand came to rest upon the hilt.
Where to thrust it? In his chest? Nah. Couldn't twist his arm far enough to reach it. His stomach? That'd wound him but it still wasn't a promise that he'd let go.
Pearce pulled out the dagger and stabbed the soldier in the back of the gauntlet.
The soldier yelped and released that hand. His other hand was still around his nape, but it relaxed. Pearce prised it off of him and re-emerged from the water. He took a sharp intake of breath. He ruffled his wet hair, shook it free of droplets, then snatched the guy's arms, pinned it behind his back, bound it with iron fetters he magically conjured, and threw him against the lip of the fountain.
The man spoke, "I was a stableman once, did you know that? All I had ever wanted was a royal life. With royalty come better living conditions and riches. Now I've got them. So go ahead, boy, kill me. If I am to die, I die not as a stableman but as a warrior."
Pearce walked up close to him. "You do not gain royalty and a better life by taking them away from others, warrior."
He removed the man's helm and put his hand on his head. The soldier screamed as his skin began to peel away from his skull. Pearce melted off his face, and only until all that was left were the raw muscle—red and stringy over the cheeks—fleshless mouth, and those empty, unblinking eyes did he let go.
Someone clapped sardonically.
Pearce turned slowly around and peered at the imposing young man standing before him. Fair skin. Auburn hair. Green, dreamy eyes. He was face to face with no one but the king himself. He looked like he had just come out of a fight.
"Bravo, bravo! How spectacular and admirable! Quite a show you've put on there," commented the king. "In case you do not know, I am King Hans of Arendelle."
Pearce was only half listening. Who was that tall, aggressive and pugnacious dude beside him? His assistant? His menacing sidekick? He was dressed in shiny, polished black armour and held a morning star. He didn't look like the guy who could be easily challenged or who you wanted to provoke.
The king, who was watching Pearce, followed his gaze. "I see you have noticed my Champion, the toughest, best warrior in my ranks," he bragged. "Remarkable and excellent in combat."
"Is that so?" said Pearce.
He was not too afraid of or discomposed by the outlooks of the dude. He felt as if he had seen worse, though exactly what it was that could be more frightening than this thug, he couldn't quite put his finger on. Hans's Champion was intimidating, he'd give him that, but he was not undefeatable.
"You." The king pointed at him. "You come from the Mountain realm to the west of the City, don't you?" he stalled. "I have heard all about you, Pearce. The psychopathic teenager with a wolfish demeanour, that patronizing smile, and serious magic power. The infamous wizard with the ability to melt off the flesh from people's faces. The pitiable, unstable boy who was unloved by his daddy and shunned by his granddaddy." Hans was barely able to contain his laughter. His sidekick grinned nastily. "Oh, I'm trembling all over."
Pearce cringed. The mistreatment and abuse from The One and the Wizard King he had put up with had left a deep scar on his soul that was always fresh and never faded. Those were bad memories. He needed not be reminded of them, and certainly not by the arrogant Hans.
The king continued, "It was audacious of you to sneak an army into my castle undiscovered and undetected tonight and lead them into the courtyard to battle my comrades. I must confess I am impressed." He paused. "But it was a reckless action. You are only leading these people to their deaths."
Pearce responded curtly, "I think you talk too much, Your Highness. You've picked a bad time for chitchat. If your sidekick here is as formidable as you say he is, why don't you let him prove it?"
"So eager!" Hans exclaimed exaggeratedly. "I like that!" He turned to his so-called 'tough warrior' and said, "Champion?"
It happened in eight seconds.
In those eight seconds, Hans's sidekick dropped the morning star, took out a pair of magnificent dual blades and, with superhuman speed, travelled all over the courtyard and cut down all the magicians he could reach. All Pearce saw of his figure was a speedy dark blur, and the slicing and spinning motion of his short swords too were a blur. When the dude zoomed back to his position beside the king, covered in gore, over a quarter of Pearce's army was massacred.
Brutally.
Throats were slit. Limbs were severed. Bodies were decapitated, chopped in half and sliced open. Red stains spreading over chests. Red flowers blossoming over stomachs. Blood pooling from dark red holes where ears should be. Wounds too nasty and dreadful for even someone as sadistic as Pearce to look upon…
"I'll kill you for this," Pearce whispered. What that thug did with the dual blades was unimaginable, horrid. "You will rue the day you were born and pay with your life."
The Champion retrieved his mace…and laughed. Laughed like a maniac. The sound of those guffaws was husky and guttural.
"I'LL KILL YOU!" Pearce bellowed.
He charged. He slashed horizontally and delivered a blow to the Champion's hip, then directed another one to his stomach. Pearce did nothing more than create dents in the suit of armour, but the dude screamed anyway. Pearce went for another strike. The enemy's elbow came up and he received a painful stroke in the temple. It was like being thumped by a rock. The edges of his vision blacked out briefly, then the blackness receded and his sight returned to normal. Pearce hadn't realized he had collapsed to the ground. The Champion swung his morning star. Pearce rolled away as the ground surrounding his area trembled. He got back to his feet. Another swing came and two more followed. Pearce ducked the first, stepped back out of range in the second, and leaped over the heavy spiked head in the third. The mace zoomed straight at his upper body. Pearce brought his shield up in reflex. The shield obstructed the welt but splintered on impact, and Pearce cried out due to the throb in his forearm, shaking it and then rubbing it. At least it was his left arm; if it had been the right…
Leven and a male adult Pearce had taught in training were battling Hans with all they've got, but the king was too accomplished, too excellent. With a single strike he killed the adult. After that he generated a million sharp needles out of nowhere which penetrated Leven's armour entirely. Not one patch of her skin was left uncovered. There were so many needles that they were even sticking out of her scalp and eyeballs. Blood leaked out from the millions of tiny perforations. Leven was dead in a heartbeat.
A small crowd of magicians were on Hans. They surrounded him in two circles, keeping him trapped in the centre. Spears were produced magically and the witches and wizards slowly closed in, shoving and jabbing the weapons' tips at Hans, keeping him trapped in the centre. After futile attempts to brush aside the spears and hew the shafts with his sword, Hans formed a peridot gemstone the size of a tennis ball. He held it out in front of him and murmured a spell.
Every magician in the front half arcs of the circles opened out their arms against their will.
They curved their spine backwards into a 'C.'
Their eyes widened and turned round.
Their mouths were forced into the shape of an 'O,' as if stretched in a yawn.
Yellow-green smoke issued from their chests into the peridot gemstone. It was as if Hans was sucking the living spirit and the very soul from their bodies.
When he was done, the magicians touched their chests. Their breaths came in quick, short gasps.
"What did you do?" rasped a teenage boy, sounding spiritually drained.
Hans, relishing the brokenness he sensed inside the boy, answered, "You mean with this?" He held up the crystalline yellow-green object. "I linked your lives to the peridot, of course! You doomed wretches and the gemstone are now connected. Tied together. Hence whatever happens to the peridot happens to you. If I crush this gemstone, then you will—"
"No!" screamed another wizard, making a grab for the amulet.
Hans rotated his arm out of reach. He clenched his fist around the peridot and crushed it with superhuman strength. The magicians clawed madly at their chests as if they wanted to dig their hands in. Their faces turned red and purple from the effort. They tried desperately to clutch their hearts that were being squeezed by an unseen force, the hearts that were beating and pumping blood rapidly under the overwhelming pressure.
Then altogether the organs burst.
Every witch and wizard in the front half arcs of the circles collapsed like marionettes with their strings cut loose. Hans gradually let go of the gemstone's shattered remains. The tiny pieces fell like sand in an hourglass.
"—die," Hans completed his sentence.
Janine surveyed the battlements. All archers who were still alive had climbed to the top of the ramparts. But that did not stop the crossbowmen from targeting them. One guy in black shot a quarrel into the ankle of a teenage witch. The girl went down. The soldier placed his crossbow on the ground and slipped his foot through the stirrup. He gripped the string with both hands and pulled it upward all the way to the cocking mechanism. A loud click was heard.
One weakness with crossbows, Janine thought, is that they take an awful long time to reload.
Should she use that to her advantage? Thought so.
The soldier was standing on an adjacent battlement. He placed a short bolt in the groove and aimed it at a City adult. Janine pulled back the bowstring, pointed it at his neck, and fired. Her arrow went all the way through.
Hans turned to the back half arcs of magicians who were previously surrounding him. One of them threw his spear. Hans stopped it in midair using his mind. He grabbed the shaft, spun it to point the steel tip the other way round, and flung the weapon, impaling the magician. Josh, incensed at the ugliness he just witnessed, charged at Hans. Ting, ting, ting, ting, ting! Blades scraped, clashed and clanged. Josh lifted his arm to deliver a high strike when Hans thrust his sword vertically into his right armpit. Josh's screech was so loud and agonizing it sent daggers into Pearce's heart. The blade came sticking, red and dripping, out of Josh's right shoulder. Hans pulled out the sword with a sticky, liquid sound. Josh crumpled to the ground. He attempted to staunch the blood gushing from the wound with his hand, but in seconds the silver leather gauntlet was drenched. Josh was pale from blood loss. His screeching ceased and had turned to whimpering. He passed out.
Janine squealed as someone yanked on her dark hair. One of Hans's comrades tried to stab her in the sternum with a knife from behind. Janine grasped his wrist and stopped him, but the soldier wouldn't let her go. She struggled violently and when she realized it was futile, she gathered all of her strength and aimed a kick to his left groin. Then she gave his forearm a wrench. She was free. The comrade recovered and raised his crossbow, but Janine was quicker. She released an arrow into his gorget.
A seventeen-year-old boy with ginger hair crept up behind the king with his sword raised, but before he could hurt him, Hans spun around and met his blade with his. The boy pressed down on Hans's sword with the flat of his blade, metals scraping, and then pushed upwards, moving his arm in an almost complete circle, before he disengaged. He whacked the king with his shield and Hans's steps faltered, but he did not fall. Hans made a gesture with his gloved hand. Millions of sharp needles materialized and penetrated the boy's whole body.
Just as the magicians forming the back half arcs of the circles charged at Hans, he generated another peridot in his palm and held it out in front of them. Again, he murmured the spell. Yellow-green smoke emanated from their chests into the amulet. Pearce was no more than several feet away. He was going to be one of the victims! In sudden panic Pearce seized the arm of a battling soldier, pulled him so he blocked the peridot from view, and shoved him forward. As if he was being controlled, the soldier threw out his arm and curved back his spine. Smoke drifted from his chest and flowed into the peridot.
"Your Highness, sever me from the link!" The comrade begged.
Hans shook his head. There was no pity or sympathy in his tone. "It doesn't work that way."
"Please, Your Highness!"
"I don't know how. You are doomed to this fate. Sorry."
"Your Highness! Hans! Please!"
Hans wrapped his fingers around the gemstone and squeezed. The comrade, together with the witches and wizards of the City, let out torturous cries as their hearts were being crushed. When the organs popped, they flopped down lifelessly to the ground.
That poor bloke. Dead because of Pearce. Oh, who cares? Pearce thought. He deserved it.
He jumped aside as the Champion revolved his morning star. Didn't he ever get tired of lifting his arm? The thug targeted his hip, feet, torso, and arms, but Pearce evaded all of the assaults. He discharged a streak of magical energy. The thug avoided it. He fired blue electricity at him in revenge. Pearce sidestepped and the electricity zapped an unlucky wizard instead. Pearce lashed at the Champion's right flank with his sword, creating a tear in the armour and a bleeding wound, and then ducked as the spiked head flew over his head. The tall dude tried to slap him but he missed. Pearce thrust his fist up under his chin and he yelped.
Janine spotted the familiar wavy light brown hair of her friend above the ramparts and fought her way through to her. What was her name again? Izzy. Yes, that was it: Izzy.
She clasped her arm and said, "Stop shooting the crossbowmen, Izzy, there are enough archers who're doing that. Shoot the soldiers racing up the towers!"
Janine scanned the ramparts. She was happy to see that her side was winning. There were more archers on the battlements than the king's crossbowmen. A good sign. Which was why more soldiers were rushing up from the courtyard below to fight them. The two girls began to take out those heading up the nearest tower. Janine's fingers were aching from releasing too many arrows, but she persisted nonetheless. Izzy brought one enemy down by shooting at his ankle. The soldiers dashing through the tower's entrance had their backs exposed, so it was easy to hit them.
One bulky guy emerged on top of Janine's rampart. He was skilled with a crossbow and reloaded fast. He fired repeatedly and eliminated three adults and five teenagers in a minute. Janine aimed, then released, but the people duelling before her meant there was no way she could get a clear shot. She missed and hit a different soldier. That got the thickset man's attention, however, and he stretched out his arm. White lightning careened from his palm towards Janine. She threw herself aside. She bumped the side of her head with great force on the stone parapet. When she touched the spot, her hand came away red. No time to worry about that now. Whit would have to heal it later.
She heard a squeal that could only have come from Izzy. Still rubbing her bleeding injury, Janine crawled to her. There was a bolt in her stomach. Whoosh! The next bolt was so fast she didn't even see it. It buried itself in Izzy's heart. The stocky man lowered the crossbow, caught Janine's terrified expression, and laughed.
Feeble fingers brushed Janine's jaw and she turned back to her friend. Izzy's lips were moving. She was saying something but her voice was so puny Janine could barely hear her.
"What?" She bent and leaned in to listen more closely.
"Janine—" Izzy broke off and coughed blood. She croaked in her ear, "Avenge him for me."
Janine took her hand in both of hers and promised, "I will."
Izzy drew her last breath and was gone.
The stocky warrior was shooting others and had his back to Janine. He disappeared into the tower he emerged from. Janine threaded her way through the combatants and raced into the tower. She didn't even nock an arrow. She simply threw herself at the soldier. He tumbled to the ground. Janine welted him on the nose, causing blood to spill from his nostrils into his beard. The thickset man shoved her off him and she crashed into the stone parapet on the adjacent rampart, the one at the front of the castle with the outer gate. The impact knocked the breath from her. Pain in her buttocks. But it was nothing compared to the sharp stab of pain in her spine, which was so acute she wondered whether her backbone had cracked. The soldier's gauntlet-covered fist zoomed toward her face. Janine clumsily tossed herself sideways. The fist missed her by millimetres and smacked the bricks. Janine scrambled backwards but her adversary grasped her ankle and dragged her none too gently towards him. He drew a knife and sliced her on the right knee, blade cutting through leather poleyn and flesh all the way down to the bone.
Blood was pumping from her knee and Janine was screaming and the inside of her cheek was bleeding because she had bitten it to fight down the pain and a thwack to her forehead made her eyes cross and there were stars in her vision and she was spiralling, spiralling, spiralling but no she must not drift away she had to stay conscious she had to!
In a blind rage and ignoring the searing pain, Janine brought her legs up and kicked the bulky soldier with so much force he thumped the bricks of the outer front rampart. Janine cupped her hands around his throat so that his head hung over the parapet. She pressed firmly down on his larynx, compressing the air passage to his lungs, choking him so that he couldn't breathe. The stocky man looked like he was gagging even though nothing came up. Colour rushed to his face. He scratched and clawed the back of Janine's hands, pinched her thumbs, and beat her jaw and chin, but oh no, she wasn't going to let go. She dug her fingernails in and pressed even harder. She could feel the rising pulsations in his neck as blood desperately tried to get past the steely hands that were blocking his arteries. Janine shouted and squeezed with all her might. Squeezed until there was no strength left in her arms.
Her enemy stopped struggling and became still. Dead eyes stared into empty space. Janine heaved his legs above his head and pushed him over the edge of the rampart. His body hit the water with a splash. Exhausted beyond belief, Janine slumped against the bricks.
Violet electricity escaped Pearce's palms and flew rapidly at the Champion, coming into contact with his gleaming black armour. But then, to Pearce's astonishment, it deflected off the thug's body...
…and careened right back at him.
Not at the Champion, but at him!
Pearce was rooted to the spot. But when he returned to his senses and moved, it was too late. The violet electricity struck his upraised arms. Pearce had meant for the energy to be hazardous, therefore the electricity had high voltage. The experience was just like when Whit and Wisty directed that relentless, high voltage into his brain during the war against the Wizard King. Just like when Janine and the Allgood family zapped his chest with deadly electrical power in the City plaza. He had come very close to, and actually had, died of electrocution. And now he was about to die again and meet the same fate. It was as if history was repeating itself. The electric current travelled to his limbs and torso. It was in his heart. In his brain. The world went blind. His entire body convulsed. He could feel every single muscle twitching, the fibers acting without coordination. The muscle fibers of his heart contracted rapidly and irregularly, causing a lack of synchronism between his pulse and heartbeat. Deep down Pearce knew there was a word for it: fibrillation. Or something along that line, no way to know for sure. The harmful current coursing through the cerebrum of his brain made it impossible for him to think. All he felt was blinding pain. Pain beyond what he could endure or imagine.
And then it stopped.
Pearce had fired a streak of electricity at the enemy, not an unending stream of it, so the current wouldn't flow in his body forever. In reality his spasm only lasted for about five seconds, but for Pearce it felt like a lifetime.
Gradually, the wheels in his head started turning again. He tried to ponder what had happened. The Champion…there was something mysterious about his armour. Or did it have something to do with the dude himself? Oh, his brain wasn't functioning, he was so tired. No, it couldn't be the dude, no one was that powerful. It had to be the armour. Only extraordinary and magical armour had the ability to ricochet whatever object or force that hit its surface. The discovery left Pearce dumbfounded. A pang of envy washed over him. Why hadn't he thought of something as ace as that?
Byron Swain flung a dagger at the Champion. It struck him in the sternum and then bounced back. Byron ducked. The dagger penetrated the throat of an unfortunate wizard. A handful of magicians fought alongside Byron. The Champion either killed them with that supernatural armour of his or by revolving his morning star. Now it was just Byron left. The mace lashed at him and he leaped to avoid it. He bolted away from the tall thug, but the next swing of the weapon caught him full-force in the calves. Byron emitted a nerve-racking, blood-curdling scream.
"BYRON!" Pearce shouted.
He tried to prop up on his elbows, but the movement required a ton of effort, so he gave up. Pearce had profligately used too much of his mojo in the past hour or so for the sheer delight of it, and now weariness was catching up with him. He was physically drained and so very, very weak. He hadn't realized just how spent he was.
"Don't give me the impression you actually care about him," Hans said. "What is he to you apart from a snide, snivelling weasel?"
Byron wailed continuously. The lower half of his legs was completely shattered. A gruesome mess of blood, flesh, and bones. Pearce doubted even a healer as strong as Whit could save him.
"You don't care about Byron, do you, Pearce," Hans taunted. "You couldn't possibly. Not for someone like that."
There might be little strength left in Pearce's body, but he still had enough energy to talk. "Not really," he concurred.
Hans brightened. "Do you mean I should kill your little teenage friend here, then?"
Pearce leered at the king and said, "Go ahead."
"And put him out of his misery?" Hans laughed. "How merciful of you! I don't think so. Byron is not done for, not yet. Not in a long way, in fact. I am going to leave him alone to suffer, and I think you are going to enjoy watching."
His barbaric sidekick growled, "Shall we give him another spectacle to witness, Your Highness?"
"Who would you suggest, my Champion?" asked the king.
"How 'bout the serious-eyed, pretty girl over there? The one with the long, brown curls?" The Champion pointed in the direction of Janine.
Pearce glimpsed her atop the battlements. She was discharging arrow after arrow at the king's crossbowmen, furious determination in her sage-green eyes. But Pearce could tell from the way she moved in general that her body was fatigued. Janine winced suddenly, rubbing a spot down on her leg Pearce could not see. She was hurt. She pulled back the bowstring with fingers encrusted in dried blood and destroyed another one of Hans's troops.
"Perfect," Hans responded, "absolutely perfect." He grinned at Pearce. "I hope you're watching."
The king made a motion with his arm, fingers slightly bent in a claw-resembling shape, and dragged Janine, screaming, towards him by telekinesis. Four comrades near Hans had just finished killing their opponents and were looking for someone else to fight.
Hans barked an order, "Bind her!"
The men moved in and surrounded Janine so that there were two of them on either side. A juniper green, plant-like hawser was magically produced in their hands. They grew and elongated and bound Janine's ankles and wrists before she could fall and land. The comrades pulled the other end of the thick ropes far enough back to hold her tight in place. Janine was suspended in midair, limbs extended outward by the hawsers. She could not move.
Pearce now saw clearly the leg injury that made her wince earlier. She had sustained a slice to her right knee so brutal that the patella beneath it jutted out. And there were purplish-green bruises on her forehead, jaw and chin, as if she had been battered. But she still looked beautiful despite it all.
Hans cupped his hands together and turned his wrists back and forth, then slowly began to spread his hands out. A small, glowing cyan blue sphere had formed between his palms. It expanded as Hans gradually moved his hands further apart and continued to spin his wrists, and kept on expanding. He was manipulating the bright, shining sphere, controlling it, leering up at Janine and pursing his mouth in an evil smirk the whole time. When the destructive ball of light grew big enough, Hans aimed it at Janine, straight in the chest. The force of the impact severed the hawsers and sent her soaring back. She cannoned into a stone rampart with the speed of a golf ball, crumpled ungainly to the ground, and stayed still.
Someone needs to check on her, Pearce worried. Whether she was dead or simply unconscious, he could not tell. He hoped it wouldn't be the former. It'd better not be, or else Whit would—
Something distracted Pearce from his thoughts. A large number of City magicians who were previously scattered in combat had regrouped, and so did a lot of Hans's soldiers. Ethan, Lucas, and Aiden, the three boys in the lead, uttered a thundering roar, and rumbling cries from the herd of witches and wizards followed. Both sides charged forward, the two armies met and clashed, and battle was engaged once more. Hans and his sidekick were right in the middle of it.
Byron and Janine, the two people out of the one thousand in the army Pearce was closest to, were seriously hurt. It was up to him now. So why was he lying on the ground like an impotent child? He should be out there fighting! This wasn't over yet. He was stronger now. His magic had returned to its normal level and was building up. There was a reinvigoration in his veins. He could feel it. Pearce flexed the fingers of his sword arm, got back on his feet, and raced confidently into battle, into the midst of all the fun.