Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Still, I run toward him, cutting through a pair of skeletons on the way, ignoring the slice that tears through my armor’s shoulder strap.
“Ilmarinen!” I shout. “Torben needs you. He can’t break the ice alone. I think his staff is compromised.”
Ilmarinen glances at me. “I can’t hold the wards at the same time.”
“I’ll be fine!” my father booms. “But no one else will if you don’t thaw the swamp.”
The shaman nods and grabs a small pouch from his belt, the energy of the wards fizzling. My father brandishes his sword, ready for the next unicorn to try anything.
Ilmarinen and I push through a knot of soldiers toward Torben and Rasmus.
“I can amplify our power,” Ilmarinen says, voice calm despite the chaos. “If the staff is indeed magicked against us, this will help.”
He rummages in his pouch and pulls out a handful of runic nails. “Hold them,” he instructs me. I do so, cupping them in my palm, feeling them vibrate with faint power.
He takes one, presses it against Torben’s staff, and whispers something I can’t hear over the battle roar. The runes on the staff flare brighter, and Torben tries again, voice carrying a strange harmonic note as the ground beneath us shivers.
Below, the skeleton army surges again, pushing closer. More soldiers fall, screams torn away by the wind. I see my father spearing a unicorn in the chest with his sword as Tapio conjures grasping roots that ensnare legs. Tellervo’s birds swoop and soar, dodging and wasting the arrows that were meant for us. The Magician’s galaxies swirl brighter, warping space so an Old God with five legs stumbles into a wall, as if misled by illusions.
Still, there are too many.
Then, I feel it. A deep crack resonates through the stone under my feet. Torben and Rasmus’ chanting rises in pitch, the runes glowing like wildfire. Ilmarinen drives a nail into the parapet stone, and there’s a sound like thunder as, beneath the enemy army, the ice splits apart.
What had been a solid, frozen surface over the swamp now fractures into jagged shards. Sections of the enemy ranks suddenly lose their footing as skeleton warriors slip, tumble, and crash through the breaking ice, plunging into the dark Oblivion beneath with their weapons. I watch entire columns of enemy soldiers collapse into the swamp’s depths, dragged down by armor and tangled limbs. Old Gods screech as they flail, trying to climb back up, but it is no use.
Infinity has its hold on them.
The flying skeleton unicorns, startled by the sudden shift, swoop lower, only to meet a barrage of our arrows, bullets, and spears that knock them from the sky, each one landing on the skeletons, taking more of them out. Cheers rise from our troops. Hope is on the wind. The enemy numbers thin as a third of their force falls into watery oblivion, and for a moment, hope flares in my chest. Maybe we can hold Castle Syntri after all.
But they keep coming. Louhi’s forces seem endless as more undead spill from over the ridge. The few horrors that avoid the pools surge forward, smashing at our walls, forcing us back. Archers run out of arrows, gunmen out of bullets, soldiers tire, and many of our troops lie lifeless in the snow.
“We’re being overwhelmed!” a general cries.
I grit my teeth, slashing at a skeletal warrior who dared climb the wall. It falls apart under my sword, but for every one I cut down, two more appear. The courtyard is littered with broken bones and shattered shields.
My father stands on the highest battlement, summoning storms and hail, but even a God can tire. I see him falter, shoulders slumped, as if carrying a great weight. Tapio and Tellervo cling to each other, their powers waning as the night drags on. Vellamo tries to stir the water again, but the enemy no longer trusts the frozen swamp and stays on firmer ground. The Magician creates illusions, but illusions alone cannot stem a tide so vast.
It’s too much. Even with Torben and Ilmarinen’s success, we cannot hold forever. The enemy is pressing in, and I see soldiers retreating through the inner courtyard. Screams fill the night. My sword arm aches, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I search for my father’s face again, only to see pain and dread there, his mask pushed up on his face. He knows we’re losing ground.
This can’t be it.
Rasmus appears at my side suddenly, hooking another skeleton off the wall with that pole-blade. He’s shaking, eyes wide, but he’s helping. “We need a fucking miracle,” he gasps, voice cracking.
The castle is about to fall. The soldiers form a last ring of defense around the inner gate as my father lowers his hands, looking defeated. My stomach turns cold. We’ve done everything we could, but the enemy is too strong.