Rewrite That Witch
CH446 · Rewrite
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Chapter 446: Here Comes the Giant Beast

Longsong Stronghold was split by a branch of the Redwater River — residential district to the west, farmland to the east. Unlike most great cities that held only their urban quarters within their walls, Stronghold’s city wall encircled both the residential area and a portion of the farmland, built not against demonic beasts but against human besiegers. Even under siege, the city could continue to feed itself.

Where the river divided the wall, the builders had hung massive chains — each link as thick as a man’s arm — suspended on hemp cords above the water. Cut the cords and the chains crashed into the river, blocking any vessel trying to enter. It was a sound design. The inner Western Region had seen very few river attacks in living memory, so the chains had almost never been used.

They would not be used this time either. Roland’s fleet came on through the storm.

Around twilight the silhouette of the fortress resolved out of the grey distance. Beacon fire lashed the darkening sky above the city walls in unsteady ribbons.

Lightning settled beside Roland at the bow, composing her report with the careful precision of a surveyor who had just returned from the front.

“The enemies have reached the lord’s castle and there’s fighting at the north gate — the militias are engaged with the guards there, and it doesn’t look like they can hold much longer.” She scanned her own mental notes. “About two hundred people are attacking the castle. The first assault failed. They have weapons that look like flintlocks — different shape, but the same principle.”

“Is Petrov safe?” That was what Roland needed to know first.

“He’s fine — a little frightened, but fine.” Lightning’s mouth tightened. “His family was killed. His Excellency Petrov warned his father and asked him to get to the castle, but the others were taken by the four families as hostages — the Countess and the rest of them — held as leverage for surrender, then executed one by one.” She paused for a moment. “I took the opportunity to fly into the castle and tell him you were coming. He had only one request.”

Roland waited.

“Blood for blood.”

There was an unwritten understanding among nobles: those holding bestowed titles were not to be murdered in the course of battle. Most of the Honeysuckle Family had been granted knighthoods — they qualified. The four families had chosen to discard that understanding anyway, driven by grievance against the Honeysuckles and by the promises of whatever power stood behind them.

Timothy. It was almost certainly Timothy. And there would be no accommodation with that.

Roland looked at the city walls resolving from the dusk and gave the order without raising his voice. “Straight into the city. Take the dock.”

Ayt heard footsteps below the wall.

He raised his flintlock and aimed it at the dark opening — the only way up from inside — with the mechanical attention of someone who had moved past fear into something more durable and more hollow. There had been several waves since the enemy took the city gate. Each time they’d been pushed back. Each time there were fewer of his unit left to push them.

The battle had started the previous noon and had not stopped. He had not expected to be standing in this wind so long. He had watched the men beside him drop into spreading pools of blood and had arrived, somewhere in the third or fourth hour, at a place where he could only attend to the next thing.

“They coming again?” A long-barrelled rifle appeared at the corner of the parapet beside him. Bronzehill, his unit leader.

“I hear them,” Ayt said. “Can’t tell how many in the dark.”

“They can’t tell how many of us are left either.” A pause. “Five of us now. Raven just died.”

“We won’t see morning.” It came out flat, not theatrical. “Can we still surrender?”

“Did you hear what they were yelling?” Bronzehill’s voice was dry as old wood. “‘Kill the rebels.’ There’s nothing but death ahead of us either way. Might as well take as many down as we can.”

Ayt knew he was right. Captured soldiers from the Second Army had been beheaded. They weren’t nobles; no one would pay ransom. But the instructor had spoken about what waited in Border Town — housing for soldiers who performed well, running water, a heating system that could warm a whole room without an open flame, enough food that a man never went to bed hungry. He’d described it the way you describe something you’ve seen yourself, not something invented to make recruits feel better.

Ayt wanted to survive long enough to find out if it was true.

“Here they come!” Bronzehill’s rifle fired. In the muzzle flash Ayt saw the enemy exposed — six or seven figures moving up the staircase inside the wall, shields raised. He caught the whites of their eyes.

He aimed at the nearest shape and fired.

The shot struck the shield — muffled thud — and then a shriek, and then the sound of something heavy tumbling back down the stairs.

The rest rushed through the opening.

Bronzehill struggled to reload, his frozen fingers slowing him badly. Ayt groped for his powder sack. Empty. He’d used everything.

Bayonets. He got the knife attached to the barrel on the third try, locked it, and lifted it just as the first man came through the breach.

Bronzehill fired — took the first man down — but the second man was already past him, sword driving into Bronzehill’s chest.

Ayt thrust mechanically. The blade skidded off a shield. The man behind it kicked him flat.

He lay on the stone looking up.

Is this it?

The night sky above him was solid black, and then it wasn’t. A shadow was falling — growing fast — a shape plummeting toward the wall like a curtain made of darkness. Too close and too quick for him to understand it before it hit.

It landed directly between Ayt and the men who’d just breached the wall, crushing the enemies under its weight.

The roar that came out of it was loud enough to stagger the air.

Ayt’s eyes stretched wide. The thing was enormous — head larger than a bull’s, mouth a red gape hung with pale fangs, wings that when folded still stretched most of the length of the wall. It had come out of the night and it stood between him and the men who had just been about to kill him, and none of this was possible, and yet here he was.

“Ow — ow — ow!”

The beast’s voice rolled over the city like thunder shaken loose from a storm.

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