The men sprang into action, grabbing the wounded and dragging them back. They swarmed the watchtower, carrying their fallen comrades on their backs as they climbed the stairs. Those who could still fight gathered at the head of the road to the city and began piling barrels, empty arrow crates, anything they could find into a makeshift barricade.
Of the Oserans, Josef alone did not move. He watched his men climb the stairs, hands clenched around the Heart’s hilt. Down in the bay, nothing stirred, but as the minutes ticked by, the Heart began to quiver against his palm. Josef gripped it harder and stood firm, trying to press his strength into the Heart as the sword had done for him so many times before. He didn’t know if it worked, but the Heart held. Five minutes. Seven minutes. At ten minutes Josef knew as surely as though the blade had shouted that time was up. It was just enough. The sailor’s retreat was finished. He was now alone on the stairs with the flattened invaders.
In one smooth motion, Josef ripped the Heart out of the step and turned to run, charging up the stairs toward the Oseran line. Behind him, the sword’s weight vanished like mist, and the silent air filled with the angry, confused roar of the Empress’s army as it got to its feet and began to give chase. Josef reached the top of the stairs and ran full-out toward the makeshift barricade. Yelling for his men to get out of the way, he jumped the piled barrels. The second his feet hit the dirt, he turned and took stock of their new position.
It was bad. Osera’s primary defense on this side had always been the sea and the cliffs. Here, behind those walls, they had precious little. The tower with its thick stone and reinforced doors was safe, but the road was another matter. The wall of junk the soldiers had cobbled together wouldn’t stop a charge, only delay it. After that…
Josef glanced over his shoulder. The road ran up the mountain behind him, through the shoddy neighborhoods of the eastern slope to the castle and the city beyond. A straight shot. Josef gritted his teeth. He could feel his men watching him, their eyes wide and terrified. Raising his sword, Josef forced himself to look confident. He wasn’t sure if it worked. The men didn’t look reassured, but they didn’t run away either. That would have to be good enough, Josef decided. He wasn’t his mother, after all.
“We hold here,” he said, planting his feet firmly on the sandy road. “Get ready.”
He felt the line tighten around him. The royal guardsmen moved to take the road’s center, locking together in tight formation with their short swords ready. The sailors hovered at the edges, clutching their knives with wild-eyed intensity as the first enemy reached the top of the storm wall.
For a few seconds, it was just one man, and then the Empress’s army poured over the wall. They came in a black wave, armor rattling like an avalanche, their raised swords gleaming in the last rays of the evening sun. When they opened their mouths to shout, the air itself seemed to thicken with the rage of their battle cry.
“Hold!” Josef shouted, but the command was lost in the enemy’s roar. It didn’t matter. His men were frozen in place by fear. They couldn’t have moved now if they’d tried, not even to run. All they could do was bunker down and scream their last defiance as their death charged forward to crush them under a thousand booted feet.
Josef gripped the Heart. Even his sword couldn’t beat so many, but he would hold as long as he could. The Heart weighed heavy in his hands, echoing his resolve. They would go down as a swordsman should, in glorious battle surrounded by the bodies of their enemies. But even as he braced for his final stand, Josef heard a cry that stopped him cold. It was a high-pitched shout, not panicked or afraid, but commanding. A woman’s shout, and as it sounded, a great wave of water shot through the air above his head and landed on the charging army.
The wave swept the soldiers off their feet, washing them back over the storm wall and down to the beach in the space of a breath. Josef lowered his sword, staring dumbfounded at the now-clear storm wall. He was so shocked, he didn’t even flinch as the lithe, silvery, canine shape sailed through the air and landed right in front of him.
Gin landed neatly and turned to flash Josef the smuggest, toothiest grin he’d ever seen, but the dog’s grin was nothing compared to the haughty smile on his rider’s face.
“Well, well,” Miranda said, looking down on him from her ghosthound’s back. “If it isn’t Josef Liechten.”
“Miranda,” Josef said, leaning on his sword. “Took you long enough.”
Miranda sniffed. “Is that any way to greet your savior?”
Josef shrugged. “Better late than never, I suppose.”