himself wielding nothing more that a stick. The head of the fork shot across the stable, clattering against the side of the stall, narrowly missing Dino.
Golia grinned. The advantage his, he hefted his blade up for one of his characteristic hammer blows. Only a brute like Golia could reduce the art of sword fighting to such crude strikes. Lucien feared for the professore , waiting for the blow that would surely cleave him from collarbone to sternum. Virmyre could only watch, frustrated at his lack of a weapon.
Golia’s blade reached its apex and connected with a lantern high overhead. The glass shattered with a crack and the whole device pitched backwards, tumbling down, igniting like a comet.
It landed on the shoulders of the Allatamento boy, still lurking in Golia’s shadow. The boy released an inhuman howl as the burning oil splashed over him. Golia looked aghast, confusion creasing his slab-like features. The stable was filled with the scent of burning hair. Then, inevitably, the smell of scorched flesh. The novice, screaming like the damned, fled across the courtyard, pitching himself down the well in frantic desperation. For a moment his agonised howl intensified. There was a muffled splash as he finally reached the bottom of the shaft, then silence.
Everyone in the stable stared after the young noble in shock, then Golia turned, still blocking the door.
‘You’ll pay for that, Sinistro,’ he grunted, not noticing the flames licking around his boots. Virmyre called out as the fire took hold. Lucien beat his heels against Fabien’s sides and the horse shot forward, then stalled as Golia blocked the way. The roan, finding his hooves surrounded by fire, reared up and lashed out. Forelegs smashed into Golia’s bulky shoulder, almost lifting him from his feet. The strega staggered back into the courtyard, losing his footing and crumpling to the ground, sprawled across the cobbles. His sword skittered from his hand, far from reach.
Virmyre was doing his best to escort Camelia from the infernal scene. They emerged into the cool air of the courtyard clutching each other, wide-eyed with shock and struggling with lungfuls of acrid smoke. Virmyre’s sleeve was smouldering.
Inside, Dino ran from stall to stall, unfastening the catches and urging the now terrified horses out of the blazing stable, now far beyond redemption. Dino coughed and retched, the fire threatening to overtake him at any point, smoke making his eyes smart.
Lucien urged the panicking Fabien into the courtyard, where the horse wheeled and stamped. He’d never been much of a horseman so could do little but cling on, bending down close over the horse’s neck. He prayed he wouldn’t be thrown onto the cobbles and stamped on by metal-shod hooves. Golia crawled away, keen to be spared a similar fate.
Into this devastation came a full unit of guards, spilling from doorways brandishing halberds, the officers shouting with swords drawn. They were a cacophony of blind obedience, caught up in the fervour of hunting a hated s trega. Virmyre and Camelia found themselves surrounded by surcoats, breastplates and helms.
Viscount Contadino’s perfect black stallion erupted into the courtyard, the jet horse looking newly arrived from hell itself, wreathed in yellow and orange flames and shrieking. The doomed creature raced across the yard and out through the gates, into the dark, quiet countryside, where it receded from sight like a lantern growing small in the distance. Everyone looked on, shocked into immobility. Lucien felt his blood turn icy.
‘The madness is upon us all,’ grated Virmyre. The spell broke and the guards rejoined their purpose, but less sure of themselves now. Virmyre shouted and harangued them. The stable roared and spat with great sheets of flames, falling in on itself with a dreadful groan. People were appearing at the windows overlooking the courtyard, calling out in dismay. Presiding over everything from a balcony high above was
Golia grinned. The advantage his, he hefted his blade up for one of his characteristic hammer blows. Only a brute like Golia could reduce the art of sword fighting to such crude strikes. Lucien feared for the professore , waiting for the blow that would surely cleave him from collarbone to sternum. Virmyre could only watch, frustrated at his lack of a weapon.
Golia’s blade reached its apex and connected with a lantern high overhead. The glass shattered with a crack and the whole device pitched backwards, tumbling down, igniting like a comet.
It landed on the shoulders of the Allatamento boy, still lurking in Golia’s shadow. The boy released an inhuman howl as the burning oil splashed over him. Golia looked aghast, confusion creasing his slab-like features. The stable was filled with the scent of burning hair. Then, inevitably, the smell of scorched flesh. The novice, screaming like the damned, fled across the courtyard, pitching himself down the well in frantic desperation. For a moment his agonised howl intensified. There was a muffled splash as he finally reached the bottom of the shaft, then silence.
Everyone in the stable stared after the young noble in shock, then Golia turned, still blocking the door.
‘You’ll pay for that, Sinistro,’ he grunted, not noticing the flames licking around his boots. Virmyre called out as the fire took hold. Lucien beat his heels against Fabien’s sides and the horse shot forward, then stalled as Golia blocked the way. The roan, finding his hooves surrounded by fire, reared up and lashed out. Forelegs smashed into Golia’s bulky shoulder, almost lifting him from his feet. The strega staggered back into the courtyard, losing his footing and crumpling to the ground, sprawled across the cobbles. His sword skittered from his hand, far from reach.
Virmyre was doing his best to escort Camelia from the infernal scene. They emerged into the cool air of the courtyard clutching each other, wide-eyed with shock and struggling with lungfuls of acrid smoke. Virmyre’s sleeve was smouldering.
Inside, Dino ran from stall to stall, unfastening the catches and urging the now terrified horses out of the blazing stable, now far beyond redemption. Dino coughed and retched, the fire threatening to overtake him at any point, smoke making his eyes smart.
Lucien urged the panicking Fabien into the courtyard, where the horse wheeled and stamped. He’d never been much of a horseman so could do little but cling on, bending down close over the horse’s neck. He prayed he wouldn’t be thrown onto the cobbles and stamped on by metal-shod hooves. Golia crawled away, keen to be spared a similar fate.
Into this devastation came a full unit of guards, spilling from doorways brandishing halberds, the officers shouting with swords drawn. They were a cacophony of blind obedience, caught up in the fervour of hunting a hated s trega. Virmyre and Camelia found themselves surrounded by surcoats, breastplates and helms.
Viscount Contadino’s perfect black stallion erupted into the courtyard, the jet horse looking newly arrived from hell itself, wreathed in yellow and orange flames and shrieking. The doomed creature raced across the yard and out through the gates, into the dark, quiet countryside, where it receded from sight like a lantern growing small in the distance. Everyone looked on, shocked into immobility. Lucien felt his blood turn icy.
‘The madness is upon us all,’ grated Virmyre. The spell broke and the guards rejoined their purpose, but less sure of themselves now. Virmyre shouted and harangued them. The stable roared and spat with great sheets of flames, falling in on itself with a dreadful groan. People were appearing at the windows overlooking the courtyard, calling out in dismay. Presiding over everything from a balcony high above was
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