Bloodwalk - James P. Davis [135]
"And he will need rulers to leave here in his stead," he mused aloud, admiring the graceful dive of a malebranche as it roared to rend another foe. Talmen blinked and the devil was gone. Something had happened to the beast, and an impact shook the ground and silenced the malebranche's horrendous roar.
Peering through the rain and darkness, he caught a glimpse of a torn wing, thrashing against some strange beast in the sodden grass. A second impact thumped the earth, closer this time, and he froze, searching for the source of the sound and reaching for his mace as a spell came to mind. He became aware of a hissing noise in the rain. Looking to his left, he saw the thing's shadow, prowling around the line of trees less than thirty paces away.
Every measure of the beast's dark brown hide-what seemed to be vines and wood-was covered in thorns as long as swords and spears. The creature's head was small in comparison to its body. As broad as it was tall, it had no visible mouth. Only the hissing of its bristling spines and its colossal mass had given any warning as to its approach.
He abandoned the thought of wielding a mace against the beast and loosed his spell, uttering the incantation breathlessly in sudden fear. A glowing globe of green energy flew from his hand and splashed against the battlebriar's chest, sizzling and destroying several thorny spikes, but otherwise having no effect on the beast.
Talmen ran for the deeper forest, a safer place from which to conjure means of defeating these new arrivals. Relieved, he did not hear the beast pursue. He detected only the thrashing of its whiplike tail of barbs outside the tree line.
His relief disappeared as several blows landed across his back and legs. Puzzled at the sudden pain, he stumbled to a stop within sight of the Qurth's impenetrable darker depths. Looking down, he saw the tips of the spikes and thorns that had impaled him. Falling to his knees and coughing up blood, his last thoughts were to wonder how they'd gotten there.
* * * * *
Morgynn felt the death of Malefactor Talmen. The magic in the scar she'd placed on his arm unraveled in her mind and fell silent. She barely blinked at the news, nor was she concerned with Khaemil's likely death at the hands of the aasimar who faced her. They were unessential, replaceable, fodder for her ambitions.
She cocked her head to one side, considering the lone warrior. He wore confidence like a pair of comfortable shoes, standing before her with nothing but a sword and shield against her magic.
"You're a ghost here, Hoarite," she said, blood swirling in her eyes. "You serve no purpose except to die, to show these shivering witches what fools I've made of them. This battle is lost. This town is finished. I do not see a man who cares about these things in you."
"Curious," he replied, "that you would think I cared about what you saw in me."
She raised an eyebrow at his response, flexing her long fingers in anticipation, spells hovering in her mind and flowing through her blood.
"As I said, a ghost that thinks it is a man," she answered, eying the tip of his sword as he raised it slightly, observing the forward shift in his balance. "Come and see, then. I will show this wayward spirit to you."
Choosing a spell as they circled one another, Morgynn envisioned violet flames consuming the aasimar, and wondered if he would scream.
* * * * *
Quinsareth's shoulder pained him and the ancient shield on his arm vibrated in the presence of the sorceress. Bedlam hissed with the rain outside and growled with the thunder, but changed its tune to the subtler tones of Morgynn's