"Your man claims to be able to feel something," Yoeli said. "Out there."
"They have channelers, Lord Ituralde," Deepe said. "I suspect at least six, perhaps more. Men, since I can feel the Power they're wielding, doing something powerful. If I squint at the far camps, I think I can sometimes see weaves, but it may be my imagination."
Ituralde cursed. "That's what they've been waiting for."
"What?" Yoeli asked.
"With Asha'man of their own -"
"They are not Asha'man," Deepe said fervently.
"All right, then. With channelers of their own, they can tear this wall down easily as knocking over a pile of blocks, Yoeli. That sea of Trollocs will surge in and fill your streets."
"Not so long as I stand," Deepe said.
"I like determination in a soldier, Deepe," Ituralde said, "but you look as exhausted as I feel."
Deepe shot him a glare. His eyes were red from lack of sleep, and he
clenched his teeth, the muscles in his neck and face tense. He met Ituralde's eyes, then took a long, forced breath.
"You are correct," Deepe said. "But neither of us can do anything about that." He raised his hand, doing something that Ituralde couldn't see. A flash of red light appeared over his hand the signal he used to draw the others to him. "Prepare your men, General, Captain. It will not be long. They cannot continue to hold that kind of Power without . . . consequences."
Yoeli nodded, then hurried away. Ituralde took Deepe's arm, drawing his attention.
"You Asha'man are too important a resource to lose," Ituralde said. "The Dragon sent us here to help, not to die. If this city falls, I want you to take the others and whatever wounded you can and get out. Do you understand, soldier?"
"Many of my men will not like this."
"But you know it is for the best," Ituralde said. "Don't you?"
Deepe hesitated. "Yes. You are correct, as you so often are. I will get them out." He spoke in a lower voice. "This is a hopeless resistance, my Lord. Whatever is happening out there, it will be deadly. It galls me to suggest it . . . but what you have said about my Asha'man applies to your soldiers as well. Let us flee." He said the word "flee" with bitterness.
"The Saldaeans wouldn't leave with us."
"I know."
Ituralde considered it. Finally, he shook his head. "Every day we delay up here keeps these monsters away from my homeland a day longer. No, I cannot go, Deepe. This is still the best place to fight. You've seen how fortified those buildings are; we can hold inside for a few days, split apart, keep the army busy."
"Then my Asha'man could stay and help."
"You have your orders, son. You follow them. Understand?"
Deep snapped his jaw shut, then nodded curtly. "I will take- "
Ituralde didn't hear the rest. An explosion hit.
He didn't feel it arrive. He was standing with Deepe one moment, then found himself on the floor of the wall walk, the world strangely silent around him. His head screamed with pain and he coughed, raising a trembling hand to find his face bleeding. There was something in his right eye; it seared with pain when he blinked. Why was everything so quiet?
He rolled over, coughing again, right eye squeezed shut, the other watering. The wall ended a few inches away from him.
He gasped. An enormous chunk of the northern wall was simply gone.
He groaned, looking back in the other direction. Deepe had been standing beside him . . .
He found the Asha'man lying on the wall walk nearby, head bleeding. His right leg ended in a ragged rip of flesh and broken bone above where the knee should have been. Ituralde cursed and stumbled forward, dropping to his knees beside the man. Blood was pooling beneath Deepe, but he was still twitching. Alive.
I need to sound the alarm . . .