Bloodwalk - James P. Davis [49]
The swordsman's powerful stroke fell short as crimson arrows of acid pierced his armor and buried themselves in his chest and side. The force of the missiles spun him around like a child. A wet gasp escaped him, and Morgynn could feel the flooding hole in his right lung, feel the impact of each arrow as it ate at tissue and muscle. His veins and arteries became inflamed, showing starkly against the skin on his neck and face. Her heart responded to his pounding pulse.
The bittersweet flavor of adrenaline danced ghostlike across her tongue, and her eyes rolled back. She moaned as he staggered backward, dropping his sword. His heartbeat slowed, and, pulse by pulse, she felt drawn into his death.
Gaping oblivion yawned in his mind and tempted her. That moment between life and final rest, the twilight of existence where she'd been the past decade called to her, but death would not have her. Buried once in soil that would not keep her, she had risen to a power bound only by her skin.
"Toys and playthings," she whispered. "They barely know they're alive."
Rage replaced her ecstasy as the man fell lifeless. She turned, furious, on the archers.
Rhaeme fired one last arrow in frustration, but again it was reflected just inches from Morgynn's breast. He rolled forward to grab his sword, abandoning his bow.
"Run! We can't win here!" he yelled to his fellow hunters, who gave no argument. They turned to escape, but in the dim glow of the light stone, they could see the edges of the path closing behind them. The tortured sound of another spell being cast hummed behind them, scratching at their ears and clawing at their spines.
One of the men turned back. Morgynn could see the fire of youth and anger in his eyes. Rhaeme attempted to stop the boy, grabbing at his cloak but missing. The boy drew his ready sword, still protruding from the ground where he'd first drawn his bow. His voice, raised above spell and storm, was full of the early pitch and tone of manhood.
"As Savras sees, so shall I see you fall!"
Morgynn finished her spell in a crescendo of sound, drowning the boy's voice and opening her mouth wide beyond its natural ability. Her scream became a buzz of noise as red-eyed insects flew in a mass from between her thin lips. Each locust was the color of dark wine and onyx. Their eyes glowed, giving the swarm a hellish light as it streamed forward to meet the charging hunter.
The boy met the mass head on, swinging his blade valiantly, but the locusts were too many and quickly found small openings in his armor and clothing, landing inside his hood and hungrily feasting on his scalp and neck. Morgynn sighed as her jaw popped and resumed its natural shape.
The boy's companions sprinted forward to retrieve their swords, determined to make their ends proud and honorable. Morgynn wondered what thoughts crawled through their minds as the dawning realization came that they would likely die here.
Ahead of their grim charge, the boy's writhing body was lifted into the air. His boots scraped the ground for a moment before the momentum of the swarm bore him down, stripping his flesh to the bone. The locusts' buzz drowned the young hunter's muffled screams.
Morgynn watched as the warriors advanced. She saw death in their eyes and hated them for their acceptance of it. Righteousness fueled their spirits, and the sight of it sickened her. Whispering a drone of grating syllables, she pulled the threads of the Weave to her will, determined to teach them the true nature of death and their foolish choice born of courage.
With a single word, the lead hunter's sword flashed and steamed as cold flames enveloped its length. He screamed as his fingers