The next three cocoons were already empty, and as Kip ran toward the next, his eyes lifted to the fort on Ruic Head, where he saw a flash of light and a gout of smoke. One thousand one. One thousand two…
Kip didn’t have time to worry about it. As he ran toward one of the awakening giants, another came from the side to intercept him. More than eight feet tall, this one had drafted a sword for his right arm. Green luxin shouldn’t hold an edge, but either different rules applied to the giants or it wouldn’t matter because getting hit with all the force in the giant’s massive arm would tear Kip to pieces regardless, edge or no edge.
Fumbling with his lenses at his hip, Kip put the red spectacles on his face, intending to wreathe the big bastard in flames—but he’d put the wrong glasses on his face. Orange splattered harmlessly across the giant’s chest and it drew back its huge sword arm and roared, charging at full speed.
Kip threw orange at the ground and leapt hard to the side. He felt something whistle past his ear. The giant stomped right next to him, his foot splattering in the slick orange luxin as he tried to change direction. His nonsword arm wheeled crazily and, slipping, he shot right off the edge of the tower.
Kip watched him spin into space with grim satisfaction. Fat kids know how hard it is to stop once you get up to a sprint.
The nearest merlon was empty.
Without warning, the empty merlon exploded in scraps and shrapnel of green luxin that hit the side of Kip’s face and his left arm like a swarm of hornets as the cannonball struck it.
One thousand six, I guess.
Still standing, stunned, bewildered, and bleeding, Kip heard the delayed, distant roar of the cannon. Those bastards up there really were trying to kill them. If he had been two steps closer, he’d be dead.
But there was no time. Gavin was bleeding from a slash down his chest, and Karris was literally smoking as if she’d recently been on fire. Baya Niel’s nose was streaming blood. Several giants were dead on the ground behind them, and the light at the center of the tower was dimming, revealing a figure. That should be a good thing. Kip didn’t think it was. He ran to the next merlon, stabbed the fully formed giant there, and ran on to the last one.
This giant was awake, pulling herself out of the merlon, getting her bearings.
Kip leapt at her, slashing.
The giantess brought up her forearm and blocked the slash, her arm catching Kip’s forearm. Kip’s momentum carried him forward into his own hands, his doubled fists smacking into his face.
He dropped at her feet, stunned, blood pouring into his eyes. He saw death in the giantess’s twisted visage.
“A miss!” the spotter cried. “Fifteen paces long, twenty paces left. Tore off a tower on the southeast. Nearly killed Breaker.”
Curses went up, but there were no recriminations. Everyone knew that merely hitting the top of the tower from five thousand paces was an incredible feat. There was skill, and there was art, and there was simple luck. They were operating at the uttermost of the first two. The last couldn’t be counted on.
But the crews didn’t slow. Men were already swabbing out the culverin. The powder was already measured.
“We’re certain that there’s no more shot?” Commander Ironfist asked.
“Triple-checked, sir,” Hezik said. “Just the one explosive shell. If by some miracle I hit the tower, it’ll kill all our people, too.”
Commander Ironfist’s face was grim. A second passed. Everyone looked at him.
“Load it.”
A cannonball right about now would be nice, Kip thought, looking up at Death.
But there was no shot. No rescue. Even if they fired a ball right now, it would be six seconds before it saved Kip—and in six seconds, he’d be dead.
He flailed, slashed. His dagger punched into the giantess’s calf muscle.
He thought it was over then. He’d hurt her, but not badly, and now she would kill him. But the giantess didn’t do anything. She stood as if locked in ice. Through the blood in one eye, Kip blinked up at her. She was blanching—literally desaturating from the head down as if he’d poked a straw into her and was sucking out all the color. The green luxin that covered her features was unraveling. Her green hair fell off, the green mask of perfection over her face drooped, sloughing off, dissipated in a smoke redolent of fresh cedar. Her jade eyes sank, her body shrank, deflating. In moments, a woman with the rags of a dress torn by her recent huge size and now draped over emaciated limbs stood over Kip. The broken green spars of her halos shimmered in the whites of her eyes and disappeared. The green in her irises shimmered and disappeared. Her skin was bleached to its natural Ruthgari-pale hue.