“We know our duty,” Henrick said quietly. “We failed it once. We won’t fail again.”

  Felix joined me at the edge of town as evening approached.

  I studied the terrain from the eastern road. Open fields stretched on either side for the first hundred yards before the buildings began. Those streets could become chokepoints or escape routes depending on how the fighting went.

  “The bedrock is close to the surface here,” Felix said. He pointed to an area where exposed stone broke through the grass. “I can feel it. It’s the same kind of formation Merrick showed us in Ironhollow.”

  “Can you establish a power draw?”

  “I think so. The resonance patterns are similar.” Felix knelt and placed his palm against the stone. He closed his eyes as he concentrated. “Yes. There’s energy here. It’s deep and slow, but accessible.”

  “How much?”

  “Enough for what you’re planning.” He opened his eyes and looked at me. “Marcus, are you going to do what I think you’re going to do?”

  I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I pulled out the ward anchors we had brought from Valdmere. Metal stakes inscribed with patterns I had memorized months ago. Patterns designed to channel energy into devastating effects.

  “Remotely triggered ice wards,” I said. “When they charge, I release the effect and freeze anyone standing on the activation points.”

  “We’ve never used offensive ward work against people.”

  “No. We haven’t.” I looked toward the road where thirty armed men would appear tomorrow. Where professional fighters would come to destroy everything these people had built. “But we’ve never had to defend a town from an army before either.”

  Felix was quiet for a long moment. Then he stood and brushed dirt from his knees.

  “Show me where you want the anchors,” he said. “I’ll establish the power connections while you set the triggers.”

  We worked as darkness fell.

  I dug holes at six positions along the main approach. Strategic points where attackers would naturally cluster as they entered the town. Chokepoints in the road. The gap between two buildings. The open area in front of the meeting hall where defenders would likely make their stand.

  Felix followed behind me and placed his hands on each buried anchor. The resonance glyphs he inscribed connected the metal stakes to the bedrock below. Energy flowed up through stone and soil and into the ward patterns I had prepared.

  The local glyphwright joined us after the third anchor.

  “I want to learn,” he said. His name was Osric, and he had worked with us during our first visit to Dunmarch. “Whatever you’re doing, I want to understand it.”

  “This isn’t standard ward work,” I warned him.

  “Nothing you’ve done here has been standard.” Osric grabbed a shovel from nearby. “Show me.”

  So I showed him. Explained the theory while we dug. Demonstrated the inscription patterns while Felix established power connections. Answered questions about energy flow and trigger mechanisms and the principles that turned defensive knowledge into offensive capability.

  “Merrick taught you this?” Osric asked as we buried the fifth anchor.

  “He taught us how to draw power from stone. How to create wards that didn’t need manufactured components.” I tamped dirt over the hidden stake. “The rest we figured out ourselves.”

  “You figured out how to freeze people in place.”

  “We figured out how to stop a charge and break momentum in order to give defenders time to respond.” I moved to the sixth position. “These won’t win the fight. They’ll just even the odds a little.”

  “A little is better than nothing,” Osric said. He echoed the young farmer’s words without knowing it. “Dunmarch stands together and the land remembers.”

  We finished as the moon rose.

  Each of the six buried anchors was connected to the bedrock through Felix’s resonance work. Each one was capable of flash-freezing a ten-foot radius when I sent the activation signal. And each one was invisible beneath an inch of packed earth.

  “The triggers are keyed to your ward signature,” Felix said as we gathered our tools. “No one else can activate them.”

  “And if something happens to me?”

  “Then I’ll find another way.” Felix’s voice held an edge I rarely heard. “But nothing is going to happen to you. We’ve survived dungeons and corruption and kidnapping. We’ll survive this too.”

  I wanted to believe him. Wanted to share his confidence. But thirty armed men against a town of farmers and tradespeople didn’t favor optimistic outcomes.

  “Let’s check on Adrian,” I said.

  We found the prince in the meeting hall with Roderick and Henrick. Maps covered the table in front of them and showed tactical assessments of defensive positions, retreat routes and rally points if the line broke.

  “The perimeter is set,” I reported. “Six ice traps along the main approach. Weapons reinforced for everyone who’s fighting. Felix established power connections to the bedrock.”

  “How long can you sustain the effects?” Adrian asked.

  “The initial burst draws from stored energy. After that, the bedrock provides continuous flow.” I studied the map he had been examining. “If we need sustained cold, we can maintain it. But the first strike will be the strongest.”

  “Then we use it when it matters most.” Adrian tapped a position on the map. “Here. When they commit to the charge. Before they can spread out and surround us.”

  “That’s what I planned.”

  “Good.” Adrian looked up from the map. His face still bore bruises from his captivity, but his eyes held the sharp focus of someone who had found purpose. “Dunmarch stood for us. Tomorrow we stand for them.”

  The town gathered that night.

  It was something between a celebration and a vigil. A gathering that needed to happen before whatever tomorrow brought. Families shared meals in the street. Children played games while their parents watched with worried eyes. The baker distributed bread that might be the last he made if things went badly.

  I sat on the steps of the meeting hall and watched Dunmarch prepare to fight for its existence.

  “You should eat something,” Alderman Marsh said. She appeared beside me with a plate of food. “Tomorrow will be hard. You’ll need strength.”

  “I’m not hungry.”

  “Neither am I.” She sat down. “Eat it anyway.”

  The bread was fresh. The cheese was sharp. I ate without tasting any of it.

  “They’re going to hurt us,” Alderman Marsh said. Her voice held no illusion about what was coming. “Even if we win, people will get hurt. Maybe killed.”

  “Yes.”

  “But we’re still fighting.”

  “You could surrender,” I said. “Give them what they want. Let them destroy the systems and go back to how things were before.”

  “Before meant slow death.” Alderman Marsh looked at her town. At the people who had chosen to stand instead of kneel. “This is dying with a chance. That’s worth something.”

  I nodded. “It’s worth everything.”

  She nodded back and stood. “Get some sleep, journeyman. Dawn comes early. We’ll wake you if anything happens before then.”

  I watched her walk back to her people. Watched them gather courage from each other and from the woman who led them. Watched a town decide that some things were worth fighting for.

  Tomorrow would bring violence. Pain. Possibly death.

  But tonight, Dunmarch stood together.

  And tomorrow, so would we.

  Chapter 36

  Extra Help

  Dawn came too soon.

  I had slept in fits and fragments. Every noise brought me awake with my heart racing. Every shadow held enemies that dissolved into nothing when I looked directly at them. By the time gray light crept across the eastern sky, I had given up on rest entirely.

  Dunmarch stirred around me. Families emerged from homes where they had spent the night holding each other. Children clung to parents who tried to hide their fear behind brave faces. The baker had his ovens fired before sunrise because bread needed to be made regardless of what the day might bring.

  We gathered at the positions we had planned the night before.

  The townspeople took their places with the grim efficiency of harvest workers preparing for a long day. Farmers bore pitchforks. Shopkeepers held hammers. The smith with had a giant forge hammer that most men couldn’t have lifted. All of them were armed with weapons we had reinforced. All of them were ready to fight for their home.

  Adrian stood near the center of the main street with Roderick and Henrick flanking him. The prince had borrowed a sword from somewhere. It hung at his hip with the ease of long familiarity. Whatever weakness his captivity had caused, he showed none of it now.

  Felix and I waited near the meeting hall. Close enough to see the road. Far enough to trigger the ice wards when the moment came. My weighted stick rested against my leg. The activation patterns for the buried anchors ran through my mind on endless repeat.

  “Movement,” Roderick said. The calls echoed from opposite sides of the town’s defensive line.

  Everyone went still.

  They came down the main road like a storm rolling across open water.

  Thirty men at least. Maybe more. They marched in loose formation with weapons drawn and expressions that promised violence. Professional fighters in practical armor. They looked like the kind of men who hurt people for money and slept well afterward.

  Their leader walked at the front. He was a heavyset man with a shaved head and a sword that had seen hard use. He surveyed Dunmarch with the casual contempt of someone who had conquered places like this before.

  The column stopped at the edge of town and the leader studied the empty street ahead. The closed doors. The shuttered windows. A thin smile crossed his lips.

  “Looks quiet,” he called out. His voice carried easily in the morning air. “Maybe they learned their lesson.”

  Adrian stepped forward.

  He moved into the center of the street with Roderick and Henrick close behind. His borrowed sword stayed sheathed. His hands hung loose at his sides. Nothing about his posture suggested threat.

  “You’re trespassing,” Adrian said. His voice matched the leader’s for volume and exceeded it for authority. “This town is under crown protection. Turn around and leave. Now.”

  The leader laughed. The sound was ugly and dismissive.

  “Crown protection.” He spat into the dirt. “I see two guards and a boy playing prince. That’s not protection. That’s decoration.”

  “Last warning,” Adrian said. “I’m in no mood for games.”

  “Or what?” The leader spread his arms wide. “You’re outnumbered, boy. Outmatched. Whatever you think is going to happen here, it isn’t.”

  On cue, the townspeople appeared.

  Doors opened along the main street. Figures emerged from alleys and gaps between buildings. Farmers and shopkeepers and fishermen and bakers. All of them armed. All of them angry. All of them stepping into view with the coordinated precision we had practiced the night before.

  The leader’s smile faltered.

  The numbers had shifted. They weren’t overwhelming anymore, but closer to even. His professional fighters against Dunmarch’s defenders with swords against pitchforks and training against determination.

  “Interesting,” the leader said. He didn’t sound worried. “You’ve been busy.”

  “We’ve been preparing.” Adrian hadn’t moved. “Your choice is simple. Leave peacefully, or face the consequences.”

  “Consequences.” The leader chuckled and made a gesture.

  More men emerged from the treeline behind his column. A second wave that had hidden in the forest. Ten more fighters, maybe fifteen, fresh and ready and grinning at the trap they had set.

  “You’re not the only one who prepared,” the leader said. His smile had returned, wider now and crueler. “We brought extra help too.”

  The numbers had shifted again and back in their favor. More than forty armed men against Dunmarch’s defenders. Farmers with pitchforks against professional killers.

  “Now then.” The leader drew his sword and the blade caught morning light with a gleam that promised blood. “Let’s discuss terms. You hand over the prince and whoever’s been causing trouble for my employers. The rest of you go back to your homes and forget this ever happened. Nobody has to get hurt.”

  “And if we refuse?” Alderman Marsh stepped forward. She stood beside Adrian with a determination that matched his own.

  “Then everybody gets hurt, and we take the prince anyhow.” The leader shrugged. “Your choice. But I should mention that there’s five hundred extra gold for whoever brings me the pipsqueak hogtied. My boys are motivated.”

  Laughter rippled through the attacking force. Ugly laughter. The sound of men anticipating violence.

  “Last chance,” the leader said. He raised his sword and pointed it at Adrian. “Hand him over. Walk away. Live.”

  Adrian did not move. Nor did he speak. Instead, he just stood there with his guards at his back and an entire town behind him.

  The leader’s smile faded.

  “Fine.” He turned to his men. “Go get them.”

  They charged.

  I stepped forward as the attackers surged down the main street in a wave of steel and fury. Forty men with weapons raised and blood in their eyes charged past the gap between the first two buildings. They reached the open area in front of the meeting hall and ran directly over the buried ward anchors.

  I raised my hands and released the activation signal.

  Six explosions of ice erupted from beneath the charging men.

  The effect was instantaneous and devastating. Columns of frost burst upward from the hidden anchors. Ice spread across the ground in expanding circles. Men screamed as cold wrapped around their legs and locked them in place. Crystals climbed their boots and shins and knees. Some fell. Others stood frozen in poses of interrupted motion. All of them stopped.

  The charge broke.

  Half the attacking force remained trapped in ice that reached their thighs. They howled and cursed and struggled against imprisonment that wouldn’t yield. Their weapons fell from numbed fingers. Their faces twisted with pain and shock and dawning terror.

  The other half stumbled past their frozen companions. They had avoided the trap zones by chance or quick reflexes. But their momentum had shattered. Their formation had collapsed. They reached the townspeople’s line as individuals rather than a coordinated force.

  “Now!” Adrian shouted.

  He drew his sword and charged forward with Roderick and Henrick at his sides. The guards moved like wolves unleashed. War hammer and battle axe sang through morning air. The first attackers to reach them learned why princes traveled with professional protection.

  The townspeople followed with a roar.

  It was something rawer than a battle cry. Rawer than the practiced sound of soldiers going to war. The fury of people defending their homes and families and everything they had built. Pitchforks and hammers and farming tools rose and fell. The reinforced weapons held against steel.

  Chaos erupted across the main street.

  Felix and I stood at the back and watched the melee unfold.

  Townspeople clashed with attackers in a swirl of motion and noise. Roderick’s hammer cleared space with every swing. Henrick’s axe caught an attacker across the chest and sent him spinning. Adrian fought with the precise efficiency of someone trained from childhood. His blade found gaps in defenses. His footwork kept him moving. His guards covered his flanks.

  “What now?” Felix asked.

  I looked at the weighted stick in my hand. At the fighting that raged across the street. At the frozen men behind the battle line who cursed and struggled against ice that held them fast.

  “I guess we follow?”

  We ran after the crowd.

  Fighting up close felt nothing like watching from a distance.

  The noise was overwhelming. Shouts and screams and the crack of wood against metal. The smell of blood and sweat and something sharp that might have been fear. Bodies pressed together in the narrow street. Friends and enemies tangled in a chaos that defied any attempt at understanding.

  Felix reached the melee first. An attacker had broken through the townspeople’s line and threatened a young woman with a pitchfork. She held her ground but her arms shook from blocking repeated blows.

  Felix swung his weighted stick at the attacker’s ribs.

  The impact lifted the man off his feet and sent him crashing into a building wall. He slid down and did not rise. Felix stared at his weapon with an expression of surprise.

  “We designed those patterns for steel,” I said.

  “Apparently wood works too.” Felix sounded as surprised as I felt.

  I found my own target a moment later. A scarred man with a club who had cornered the baker near the town well. The baker’s rolling pin had broken. He held the pieces in shaking hands while the attacker advanced.

  I stepped between them and swung for the scarred man’s knee.

  The weighted stick connected with a crack that I felt through my arms. The attacker’s leg buckled. He went down screaming and clutching a joint that would not support weight anymore.

  “Get inside,” I told the baker. “Find somewhere safe.”

  He nodded and ran. I turned back to the fight.

  The battle raged without clear advantage.

  The ice traps had evened the odds. Nearly twenty attackers remained frozen in the street behind the fighting. But the rest had recovered from their initial shock. They fought with the desperation of men who knew surrender meant prison or worse.

  The townspeople fought back with equal ferocity. The smith’s forge hammer crushed shields and broke arms. Farmers used pitchforks like spears and drove attackers back with coordinated thrusts. Even the baker had returned with a cast iron pan that dented helmets.