outlying Shaman forces by surprised.
Kurnos, the Huntmaster, riding the rumbling wheels of his chariot. His Hounds. Riding in an attempt to outflank them, to spread carnage and confusion. Just as he had suspected they would.
He turned his attention back to the centre of the battle, noting the erupting bursts of orange and grey as the hand-cannons wrought havoc amidst the ranks of enemy infantry, clods of earth, limbs and sprays of red filling the sky as the shrapnel flew out in unstoppable hails of piercing death. Yet something was wrong. Something wasn’t going according to plan.
With a caw of confusion, he registered; the Shamans weren’t aiding the Guards – no lightning lashed out, no bolts of fire or gale-force winds. What was wrong? Why were they not unleashing their powers? The Guardsman, despite their firepower, would be overwhelmed…
Wrynn clasped his wings to his sides, plummeting, beak-first, towards the ground, picking up speed like a lightning bolt from the blue as he dropped towards the hill whereupon stood the Shamans. At the moment of impact, he opened his wings, the spread feathers filling with air to slow him down, before calling upon the twisting, changing power of the elements to bring forth his true form.
He blinked quickly, for a second, as he adjusted to the poor vision of his human form, stamping, wringing his hands, as he sought to regain the use of his new limbs, before turning to the red-haired girl to his side who gazed at him, wracked with concern.
“Gwenna – what happens? Why do your shamans not aid the Guard?”
She pointed outward, towards the encroaching Legions of the Damned, eyes flashing green as she unleashed a bolt of lightning to smite them; but the crackling, searing finger of energy dissipated as it lashed out, licking across the ranks of soldiers but failing to harm them.
“Something is protecting them, Master Wrynn. A dark power covers them, rendering them immune to the power of the elements.”
The fearful eyes of all the impotent shamans were on him as Gwenna continued.
“Unless the source of that dampening effect is killed, we cannot aid our army…”
Wrynn looked out upon the Guards, hundreds of yards away, the vast tide of Barbarians threatening to enclose them now, on all sides.
“We cannot lose the Tulador Guard – their firepower will be crucial in the battles to come.” He wringed his hands, aged joints cracking in protest, before calling out. “Enree?”
The leader of the Plainsmen of Pen-Argyle came to his side.
“Yes, Master Wrynn?”
“Tell your warriors that the time is nigh. The honour of the Plains People is theirs for the taking.”
“Yes, honourable shaman. But what of the Guards? The Barbarians approach too quickly. Without the powers of the shamans to hold them off, we will not get there in time to save them…”
Wrynn nodded, eyes narrow and jaw set grim.
“Leave that to me.”
***
Arbistrath roared his indignation as he ducked yet another scimitar. The shamans had failed them; he always knew they would. All he had lost; his rank, his comfortable life, his people – all because he’d listened to them. And now, at the crux, they had betrayed him.
The Barbarians were all about now, hacking and slashing. Every now and then, the cracking report of cannon-fire, a cone of empty air suddenly clearing as a crowd of Damned were laid low, but the battle was too close, too packed. No meaningful, disciplined fire now.
Kurnos, the Huntmaster, riding the rumbling wheels of his chariot. His Hounds. Riding in an attempt to outflank them, to spread carnage and confusion. Just as he had suspected they would.
He turned his attention back to the centre of the battle, noting the erupting bursts of orange and grey as the hand-cannons wrought havoc amidst the ranks of enemy infantry, clods of earth, limbs and sprays of red filling the sky as the shrapnel flew out in unstoppable hails of piercing death. Yet something was wrong. Something wasn’t going according to plan.
With a caw of confusion, he registered; the Shamans weren’t aiding the Guards – no lightning lashed out, no bolts of fire or gale-force winds. What was wrong? Why were they not unleashing their powers? The Guardsman, despite their firepower, would be overwhelmed…
Wrynn clasped his wings to his sides, plummeting, beak-first, towards the ground, picking up speed like a lightning bolt from the blue as he dropped towards the hill whereupon stood the Shamans. At the moment of impact, he opened his wings, the spread feathers filling with air to slow him down, before calling upon the twisting, changing power of the elements to bring forth his true form.
He blinked quickly, for a second, as he adjusted to the poor vision of his human form, stamping, wringing his hands, as he sought to regain the use of his new limbs, before turning to the red-haired girl to his side who gazed at him, wracked with concern.
“Gwenna – what happens? Why do your shamans not aid the Guard?”
She pointed outward, towards the encroaching Legions of the Damned, eyes flashing green as she unleashed a bolt of lightning to smite them; but the crackling, searing finger of energy dissipated as it lashed out, licking across the ranks of soldiers but failing to harm them.
“Something is protecting them, Master Wrynn. A dark power covers them, rendering them immune to the power of the elements.”
The fearful eyes of all the impotent shamans were on him as Gwenna continued.
“Unless the source of that dampening effect is killed, we cannot aid our army…”
Wrynn looked out upon the Guards, hundreds of yards away, the vast tide of Barbarians threatening to enclose them now, on all sides.
“We cannot lose the Tulador Guard – their firepower will be crucial in the battles to come.” He wringed his hands, aged joints cracking in protest, before calling out. “Enree?”
The leader of the Plainsmen of Pen-Argyle came to his side.
“Yes, Master Wrynn?”
“Tell your warriors that the time is nigh. The honour of the Plains People is theirs for the taking.”
“Yes, honourable shaman. But what of the Guards? The Barbarians approach too quickly. Without the powers of the shamans to hold them off, we will not get there in time to save them…”
Wrynn nodded, eyes narrow and jaw set grim.
“Leave that to me.”
***
Arbistrath roared his indignation as he ducked yet another scimitar. The shamans had failed them; he always knew they would. All he had lost; his rank, his comfortable life, his people – all because he’d listened to them. And now, at the crux, they had betrayed him.
The Barbarians were all about now, hacking and slashing. Every now and then, the cracking report of cannon-fire, a cone of empty air suddenly clearing as a crowd of Damned were laid low, but the battle was too close, too packed. No meaningful, disciplined fire now.
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