Anais and the Broken War (The Blood Mage Chronicles Book 5) by Jamie Wilson Page A

walls to fight directly with the furies. Apparently these were Carenhail’s terms, and the fat man conceded.”
    “Why?” I gasped. “It’s impossible to beat back a hoard of furies.”
    “The furies are attacking the walls in two and threes right now. Mostly at night, so the city hasn’t panicked. Not completely anyway. Carenhail wants to draw them all in and take them down in one fell swoop. He’s going to use the cannons and release burning oil from the parapets once enough gather at the walls, and we’re the bait. A major victory will go a long way in securing his future,” Fynn explained.
    “He’s willing to slaughter the skins, too.”
    “Apparently. So you can understand why I might want to find a way out. I didn’t sign up for this, Ani. I’m just an artist. I don’t intend to die this way.”  
    No longer content to sit idly, I stood from the table. “Gorman, please. You can’t let this happen. It’s pointless. There is no end to the furies. All you will accomplish is throwing away your life.” Remembering the countless camps in the south spread out impossibly far into an infinite distance, I felt a wave of despair strike through me.
    “The fat man is behind Carrenhail. Although this plan may seem cruel, we have to accept it. This is his choice. We have to follow.”
    “That man sitting with you–he said the men were with you. Can’t you use them to defeat Carenhail? If Carenhail is gone, you could make the decisions, like before. You wouldn’t send the skins out of the city. Perhaps you could just increase the number of crossbowmen…”
    “It won’t work,” Gorman said, his voice flat. “I’m sorry.”
    Fynn stood up next to me and gripped my arm. “I’m scared,” he murmured.
    Wiping the tears gathering in the corner of my eyes, I turned to Fynn. “I can save you,” I whispered into his ear.  
    “All hail to us renegades,” he whispered back.
    A voluminous figure approached our table, an angry expression on his face. “Are you all right girl?” my uncle Gil asked, apparently concerned at finding me at such an unsavory establishment in the company of two apparent scoundrels.
    Fynn let go of my arm and stared at Gil, who had appeared in such an unexpected fashion.
    “I’m fine. It’s okay,” I said quickly.
    “Humph. It looks like you were attempting to leave and these men were keeping you here against your will.” Gil glared at Fynn and Gorman. “You shouldn’t be trying to corrupt the lass. She’s a sister of mercy, as you can plainly see.”
    Suppressing a giggle at the notion that Fynn or Gorman could pose a threat to me, I bit my lower lip.
    “You’ve upset the poor girl. Can’t you see that?” Gil roared the question.
    Fynn jumped on the defensive. “How is the girl any of your concern?”
    “It’s my concern because the girl in question is my niece. I’m the only family she has here.” He pushed Fynn, who fell into his seat. Surprise lit Fynn’s face suggesting that he didn’t expect Gil would dare touch him. Fynn propelled himself back up and raised his arms in a defensive stance. Gil, who wobbled on his feet, exposed himself as less than a credible threat. Gorman hadn’t moved or said a word during the entire affair.
    Although I hadn’t realized it at first glance, I could not see that Gil was drunk, and I suddenly feared he might start a real brawl, trying to defend my honor. And I certainly didn’t want that.  
    Several men entered the room, and one moved to the front, an angry expression on his face. “I do not allow fighting in my establishment,” he barked.
    “Please, gentlemen. I think it would be best if my uncle escorted me out of the tavern.” I smiled at the proprietor. “My apologies if we caused a disruption. We’ll be leaving.”
    The proprietor sniffed. “I suppose it’s all right if you leave now. This back room stays quiet. There’s no fighting or loud noises back here. Those are the rules.”
      “Gil, we should go