I rise unsteadily to my feet, sand and rubble cascading off me. I pull my scarf up over my nose to protect my airway and try to force my mind into motion as I take in the situation.

Where in the eternal Burn is Will?

I leap at the building nearest me, traversing its facade, my hands and feet slipping on the loosened bricks. I reach the roof and heave myself up onto it, running in the direction of a still-standing portion of the Wall as I swing my bow out from around my back.

Until Will and the rest of the army show up there is nothing I can do but try to keep as many of the Wasters on the other side of the Wall for as long as possible.

The platform sways dangerously below my feet as I run toward the gap, halting just shy of the impact zone. I crouch down low and nock an arrow, sighting along the length of the weapon just as Will taught me.

My hands quiver slightly and I fight to clear my mind, staying focused on the area where the Wasters will soon be passing through. I think back to my training and try to concentrate on the mechanics of hitting my target, rather than who will be on the receiving end of my shot. I breathe slowly, watching and waiting.

From the depths of my trance I can dimly make out the sounds of our approaching army. Will's coming. He'll be here soon.

The swirling sand clears and a shadowed form moves through the dust. I adjust my aim slightly and release the arrow before I can second-guess myself, my heart stopping in my chest in the next moment.

Amongst the shouting and screaming I register a low utterance of pain and the form falls still. Instinctively I reach behind me and ready another arrow, loosing it the instant I get a clear shot on the next Waster. I fall back as something flies past my shoulder; the platform below my feet sways and cracks at the sudden movement.

I grip the platform tightly and scramble to my feet. My heart lurches back to life and pounds heavily against my ribcage as I leap from the scaffolding back to a building, where I duck and crouch behind the ledge.

In the fervor of battle I had almost completely forgotten that I had left myself entirely exposed to the enemy. I listen again for the sound of the horses and will myself up again to peer over the edge, nocking another arrow as I spy the few Waster front-runners scrambling over the rubble. I release my bowstring, cursing when the arrow bounces off the rocks. Taking a deep breath, I aim my next arrow more carefully. I will time to slow before firing, wincing when it hits its mark.

Something pings off the ledge behind me. I remain crouched as I scramble to the side of the building and leap across the street to the next ledge, landing in a roll so that I remain low.

I peer up and into the street, feeling a rush of relief when our army finally appears around the corner, Will at their head. The City dwellers rush headlong into the pile of rubble, swords drawn as they are met with the encroaching Wastelanders. I make my way across and to the platform on the other side of the gap, taking advantage of the distraction below and unleashing a couple more arrows over the Wasteland side of the Wall, cringing a little less each time one of my shots finds its target.

The horses push the Wastelanders back until the battle is no longer on the City side of the Wall. More and more of our citizens flood into the desert, meeting the Wastelander army with their weapons and torches raised. From my vantage point I can see how Will directs his troops to flank the Wasters from all sides, fanning out around them and cutting off their chances to circle around and attack us from behind.

The cool night air rings with the sound of clashing steel, arrows and spears, mingled continuously with the shouts of angry men and women screaming with pain and attacking savagely.

When I run out of arrows I dash to the fallen patrollers, gathering what arrows I can scavenge from where they lie scattered. I leap back and forth above the gap, changing position often and picking off stragglers. I miss more often than not, but even I can see that this battle is over.

Finally, someone calls for retreat and the Wasters scatter away, rotating in perfect synchronicity and disappearing almost instantly into the night, their dark forms swallowed by the desert shadows.

I remain poised on the wall, lowering my bow slowly as I watch them disappear, amazed at the Wastelanders' level of organization. Soon, all that remains on the other side of the Wall are the horses and our troops, circling the area as they gather the wounded and dead.

I search instinctively for Will, spying him leading a group over to the Wastelanders' now-abandoned wheeled contraption. I throw my bow back behind me and lift myself over the wall, picking my way down the facade and landing in the soft sand.

As I rise out of my crouch and stare out across the endless landscape I realize this is the first time I have ever stepped foot outside the City walls. The world suddenly gives off a great impression of infinity, similar to the feeling of staring into the night sky and into the depths of the stars. My stomach flips once and I take a moment to collect myself before I step forward, toward the machine.

It looms over me as I walk closer, the wheels nearly as tall as my shoulder. The great, wooden arm that heaved the boulder at our walls now dangles listlessly over the front of the cart. I run my hand over its rough surface as I pass, wincing when I catch a splinter. Unlike our carriages, this was built entirely for function and not for style.

I catch up with Will near the back wheels. He stands regarding the mechanism, discussing its workings with Marc and a couple of the other soldiers; they all have grim expressions on their faces.

He glances up as I come closer, a mixture of relief and exasperation crossing his features. I offer him a small smile as I join the group, grateful that the gathered crowd offers me a reprieve from his lectures.

"How did they manage it?" someone wonders aloud, marvelling at the underbelly. "It's massive."

"It must have taken twenty of them just to push it," Marc agrees. "How does it work?"

"They loaded a boulder into that arm, over there." I gesture toward the front of the cart. "It was pulled down to where we're standing and loaded."

"You saw them use this?" Will asks, his tone clipped.

I nod. "I didn't see it go off, exactly, but I caught the gist of it."

"I'd say you caught some of it." Marc gestures to my arm and I glance down, noticing for the first time that I've been cut, probably by a piece of rubble during the explosion. I realize that covered in grime and blood I must look like I just came out of a warzone.

Which, I suppose I did.

I shoot Marc a look, annoyed that he should point out my injury to Will. My friend shrugs half-heartedly and turns his attention back to the catapult.

Will's gray eyes flicker down to my arm and back up again. "How did they fire it?"

"They tied it with a rope and wrenched it taut. Over here, look." I lead him back a few paces and point out a stake driven into the ground and tied with a piece of rope. Will stoops to examine the rope, holding the end out to the torchlight.

"It's been cut. They must fire it by striking the rope with an axe." He looks over his shoulder back toward the Wall, at the hole aligning with the path of the contraption. The line is as sure and true as an arrow's. There is no denying that the level of which this machine has wrought is truly devastating. Never had I considered our wall capable of falling.

Until tonight.

Will mutters a curse under his breath, running a hand across his shorn hair before straightening and signalling to Marc. "They'll be coming back for this weapon. Find a way to get this inside our walls and if it cannot be done, I want engineers out here to take whatever notes and schematics they need as quickly as possible, then I want it burned. Can you take care of that?"

"Yes, Commander." Marc salutes and scurries to comply.

Will turns and strides back toward the Wall. I follow, stumbling slightly on the uneven terrain.

I help to lead the injured men and women back over the rubble and load them into the Palace carriages Meg supplied for transportation back to the infirmary. Working quickly and efficiently with the rest of the gathered citizens I can't help but feel a sense of camaraderie despite the tragedy of the situation. Here around me, helping one another, are people I can no longer distinguish as either Common or Courtier.

The destruction of the Wall and the victims it left behind did not distinguish between classes. Neither do we.

As I scramble back and forth over the rubble and down the streets I regard Will in his element. He orders the guardianship of the Wall and the collection of the dead and injured with a calm efficiency, answering questions and directing people who have been left homeless back to the Palace for shelter.

I feel my heart swell with pride as I watch him. He was born for this role. The City is lucky to have him. I am lucky to have him.

Eventually, we manage to get everyone off the streets. I slump down against the side of a damaged building, leaning my head back as I become fully aware of just how tired and sore I am.

I sense Will crouching down next to me before I crack my eyes open and regard him. Wordlessly, he offers me a hand and pulls me to my feet.

"You should probably get that arm checked out at the infirmary," he says.

I shrug. "The cut isn't deep. I'll just clean it myself and wrap it."

"If you say so." He cocks his head down the street. "Are you going to ride with me? Or will you be taking your own route again?" The way he says it holds no trace of humour and I feel myself bristle.

I follow him toward the horses, too tired to argue. We swing up onto our saddles and ride back uphill in the direction of the Palace. I glance over my shoulder once before we turn the corner and note the large number of soldiers Will has left behind. I wonder if the abundance of soldiers guarding the gap is because Will thinks the Wastelanders will return, or if they have been left for the peace of mind of the citizens.

Knowing Will and that his decisions carry multiple agendas, I am guessing he is protecting us from a combination of afflictions.

The sky has turned from black to gray by the time we make it back to the Palace gates. I stifle a yawn as I hand over the reins of my horse to the groom. Meg is standing at the open door, wearing the same dress as the night before, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

"Thank gods you're all right." She pulls me into a hug as I walk up to her and I wince, less from the pain than regret that my grubby and blood-stained clothes will leave a mark on her beautiful dress.

Will joins us and she grips his hand. "Tell me, how bad is it?"

"It's bad." Will doesn't mince words. "They blew a hole in our Wall, large enough to climb through. We held them back but most of them have run off—they're probably regrouping as we speak."

"Will they attack again?"

"Undoubtedly," he answers and I flinch despite myself. "We have recovered the weapon they used to damage the wall but who knows how many more they have."

Meg closes her eyes for a moment, visibly drawing a breath. "How much time do we have?"

"I can't say. I doubt they will attack again tonight. We did some damage to their numbers and many are injured; they will need some time to recover."

"As do we," Meg says, a little sadly. "You should rest now, my friends. Tomorrow we will discuss how to reconcile tonight's tragedy." She turns to walk down the hall into the Palace, Will and I falling into step behind her.

"Meg, we must consider sending our troops outside the walls." Will drops the formalities and speaks urgently as we walk. "It is no longer enough that we simply defend ourselves."

"We will discuss tomorrow, Will." We reach the stairs and Meg turns to face us. "Rest assured that I do not plan on sitting passively behind our walls. You say that the Wastelanders will return." She raises one perfectly arched eyebrow. "I intend to go out and meet them."