Page 66 of Taming the Eagle

“Loose!”

Heavy crossbow bolts rained down on the warriors now clambering across the ditches, sending some of them flailing down upon the spikes.

But they kept coming, warrior after warrior.

Justin watched the advance, a chill sweeping over him.

He’d once called Toutorix a ‘carnifex’—a butcher—after the slaughter at Ardunie, but it seemed the chieftain of the Wolves of the North was just as happy to send his own people to die.

The Wolf would breach their defenses tonight, even if he had to use every warrior he had to do so.

He wanted blood.

He wanted Justin Aquila’s head on a pike.

Another ladder went up, and then another, and soon the walls were crawling with Picti. The defenders sent many down to their deaths, but many more kept climbing—and it wasn’t long before the first of them breached the top of the wall.

The garrison, still holding position, were ready for them when they did.

Justin moved from the top of the guard tower and descended to the wall, drawing his sword.

“Get back, General,” Marcus called to Justin as he drew his own gladius. As legate, he was expected to watch the siege unfold from afar, and only fight when things were dire.

However, Justin had never acted like most generals—and Marcus knew that.

The chill in his blood deepened, ice prickling his skin.

He had no intention of watching his men die while Toutorix and his warriors swarmed over them. Every soldier would have to fight tonight if they were to prevent Ardoch from being overrun.

And so Justin advanced to where a Picti had just leaped onto the wall. The warrior was young and lithe, his bare chest smeared with blue woad. Snarling curses, he cut down the camp prefect. Felix Magnus fell, his cry of agony ringing out across the fort.

The warrior whirled, and spying the general, he went for him, teeth bared. Justin ducked his strike and smashed his shield into the man’s chest, driving him backward.

He then swung his gladius and drew blood.

XXIV. GO IF YOU MUST

STANDING IN THE courtyard, Fenella pulled her woolen shawl about her and peered into the sky. She couldn’t see anything from here—a fact that frustrated her no end. The praetorium had no outward-facing windows, and she was leery of sticking her head out of the entrance just yet.

Justin would have men flanking it, and she didn’t want to make them suspicious—not until she had to fight her way past them.

Sniffing, she marked the char in the pre-dawn air. Smoke was drifting down from the ramparts.

Her pulse quickened.

Had they set the fort alight?

Even here, at the heart of Ardoch, the thunder of battle reached her. And it was getting louder.

The attack had been going on for a while, but instead of rising to a crescendo, and then dying away, the roar intensified.

They’ve breached the walls.

Her people were inside Ardoch.

Justin.

No, she couldn’t think of him—not now. Instead, she had to focus on making her escape.