up the sheer surface. One of the old magisters bellowed something long and loud and it wasn’t until Waylian squinted through the dark that he saw the old man had been impaled on a spiked branch.
‘At them,’ Crannock croaked, his voice rising above the din.
As the first wave of Khurtas surged forward Waylian felt the atmosphere grow heavy, pressure filling his ears and a metallic tang washing the air as a hundred magisters tapped the Veil in unison.
The first charging Khurta exploded in a shower of sparks and blood, his ribcage splitting open as though torn asunder by white-hot gauntlets. A second simply unfurled in curling ribbons of gore while a third was slammed to the floor and crushed as though by an invisible foot.
The animated branches retaliated in an instant, reaching towards the old men and women who had just repelled the first Khurtic onslaught. Waylian covered his ears against the screams as the venerable magisters, who had lived and taught in the city for decades, were torn apart. The Raven Knights ran forward to aid their masters, hacking at the writhing mass of branches, but they were too few to make much difference. An armoured body was flung past Waylian like so much discarded metal, while another’s head was torn from its shoulders like a doll in the hands of an angry child.
One of Drennan’s apprentices rushed forward, hands contorting to trace magickal sigils in the air, lips moving in some ancient incantation. At first the branches reached out for him, then pulled back as though repulsed by the youth’s presence. They began to wither, shedding bark and foliage, rotting before Waylian’s eyes. Then the young lad screamed. He grabbed his head, blocking his ears as though they had been assailed by a sudden massive pressure. Waylian almost covered his own ears as the scream rang out above the sounds of battle. Then the boy’s head burst into flames.
Waylian could only stare in revulsion before he suddenly girded himself against the horror. He darted forward as the youth fell, still on fire. The heat was intense as Waylian reached his side, but he grabbed the lad’s robe nonetheless, vainly trying to subdue the flames that consumed his head. Fire licked at Waylian’s arms, singeing the hairs as his sleeves began to smoulder. The lad’s screaming had ceased now but he still writhed, half fighting Waylian off, half fighting himself as the intense heat consumed him. Waylian beat at the flames as best he could, barely able to keep his eyes open in the face of the heat. By the time he had beaten the blaze down he realised the youth had stopped moving, his head now nothing more than a blackened stump.
All around was carnage as Waylian stared at the treacherous consequence of tapping the Veil before being fully trained. He almost didn’t see the Khurtas begin to flood over the wall. Almost didn’t look up in time to spot a savage eyeing him hungrily, blade in hand, eager for the kill.
Almost.
In a daze, Waylian spotted him at the last moment and he glanced around in panic, all thought of using his own fledgling powers gone from his head.
Well, you don’t want to end up a burned and blackened mess like our friend here, now do you, Grimm!
It was obvious from the look in his eyes the Khurta wasn’t going to hear any pleas for mercy and he certainly hadn’t come climbing over that wall for a chat about the weather.
He was going to kill Waylian without even breaking a sweat.
The Khurta grinned as Waylian began to move. He bared yellow fangs, sensing his prey begin to panic, feeling his blood pump the faster as Waylian tried to make his escape. But it was not escape Waylian was looking for. As the Khurta dashed towards him, sword raised, Waylian lunged for a spear dropped by a dead Raven Knight. His hands closed around the haft and he hauled it up, stunned at how heavy the spear was. He had seen such weapons wielded in the hands of the knights a score of times but could never have believed it
‘At them,’ Crannock croaked, his voice rising above the din.
As the first wave of Khurtas surged forward Waylian felt the atmosphere grow heavy, pressure filling his ears and a metallic tang washing the air as a hundred magisters tapped the Veil in unison.
The first charging Khurta exploded in a shower of sparks and blood, his ribcage splitting open as though torn asunder by white-hot gauntlets. A second simply unfurled in curling ribbons of gore while a third was slammed to the floor and crushed as though by an invisible foot.
The animated branches retaliated in an instant, reaching towards the old men and women who had just repelled the first Khurtic onslaught. Waylian covered his ears against the screams as the venerable magisters, who had lived and taught in the city for decades, were torn apart. The Raven Knights ran forward to aid their masters, hacking at the writhing mass of branches, but they were too few to make much difference. An armoured body was flung past Waylian like so much discarded metal, while another’s head was torn from its shoulders like a doll in the hands of an angry child.
One of Drennan’s apprentices rushed forward, hands contorting to trace magickal sigils in the air, lips moving in some ancient incantation. At first the branches reached out for him, then pulled back as though repulsed by the youth’s presence. They began to wither, shedding bark and foliage, rotting before Waylian’s eyes. Then the young lad screamed. He grabbed his head, blocking his ears as though they had been assailed by a sudden massive pressure. Waylian almost covered his own ears as the scream rang out above the sounds of battle. Then the boy’s head burst into flames.
Waylian could only stare in revulsion before he suddenly girded himself against the horror. He darted forward as the youth fell, still on fire. The heat was intense as Waylian reached his side, but he grabbed the lad’s robe nonetheless, vainly trying to subdue the flames that consumed his head. Fire licked at Waylian’s arms, singeing the hairs as his sleeves began to smoulder. The lad’s screaming had ceased now but he still writhed, half fighting Waylian off, half fighting himself as the intense heat consumed him. Waylian beat at the flames as best he could, barely able to keep his eyes open in the face of the heat. By the time he had beaten the blaze down he realised the youth had stopped moving, his head now nothing more than a blackened stump.
All around was carnage as Waylian stared at the treacherous consequence of tapping the Veil before being fully trained. He almost didn’t see the Khurtas begin to flood over the wall. Almost didn’t look up in time to spot a savage eyeing him hungrily, blade in hand, eager for the kill.
Almost.
In a daze, Waylian spotted him at the last moment and he glanced around in panic, all thought of using his own fledgling powers gone from his head.
Well, you don’t want to end up a burned and blackened mess like our friend here, now do you, Grimm!
It was obvious from the look in his eyes the Khurta wasn’t going to hear any pleas for mercy and he certainly hadn’t come climbing over that wall for a chat about the weather.
He was going to kill Waylian without even breaking a sweat.
The Khurta grinned as Waylian began to move. He bared yellow fangs, sensing his prey begin to panic, feeling his blood pump the faster as Waylian tried to make his escape. But it was not escape Waylian was looking for. As the Khurta dashed towards him, sword raised, Waylian lunged for a spear dropped by a dead Raven Knight. His hands closed around the haft and he hauled it up, stunned at how heavy the spear was. He had seen such weapons wielded in the hands of the knights a score of times but could never have believed it
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