Darkness Rising 1: Chained

  ***

  Arrows hissed past Marthir as she thundered across the uneven surface of the square, her hooves tearing apart the small shrubs. Two knights staggered back with shafts embedded in their necks. She saw Ygris at the door, his red and black robes swirling like smoke. Twin torrents of flame poured from his hands. They shot past Marthir’s right side, making her horse hair steam, and exploded into the knights. Their screams echoed in the square as the magical fire turned them into flailing bonfires, their armour glowing a searing orange.

  Marthir’s equine form blurred and metamorphosed into her naked human guise, still running at a pace. She gestured frantically to Kervin but it was too late.

  The black-hawk landed behind Ebfir, who was in mid-transformation into a bear, his robe unravelling. The ebony bird had entered through the open door to the roof terrace. In a crack of black smoke it transformed into Xirik.

  Ebfir whirled, fur erupting from his face as he grew to the size of a brown bear. Xirik’s hands darted forwards and grasped his face, his nails sinking into the flesh as if it were butter. Ebfir wailed, shuddering and twitching as his life force drained from him. His skin, half covered in fur, dried like a leaf in autumn. Within seconds he had shrivelled to a husk and his crumbling corpse crumpled to the floor of the inn.

  A roar rang out as Iogar vaulted the bar and charged across the large common room of the inn towards Xirik, closely followed by Ograk wielding his warhammer.

  Marthir almost collided with Kervin at the door. She was panting and caked in sweat. The tracker fired another two arrows in quick succession as the four remaining Knights of Ebony Heart ran for cover at the edges of the square. A crackle of fire swirled around Ygris as he stepped aside to allow Marthir past. In the square a fifteen feet wall of flame erupted, sending dark smoke billowing into the spring air.

  Xirik laughed as Iogar bellowed and thrust his longsword through the purple robed mage’s chest. The sword entered to the hilt then emerged from his back with a shred of cloth. The huge warrior gaped in astonishment as Xirik still stood; it was like the blow had done nothing more than ruin a good outfit. Xirik grasped the hilt of the sword and a green flame erupted from his hand, flashing up the pommel and engulfing Iogar. The Artorian warrior staggered back screaming and collapsed to the floor before a stunned Ograk.

  “He’s a ghast, Kervin, he’s undead” Marthir wheezed. “We’ve got… to get... out of here.”

  Ygris swore and whirled, sweat springing on his shiny bald head. He pushed to the front of the three at the inn entrance and began to mutter incantations to battle the undead sorcerer.

  Ograk, too distant from Marthir to hear her warning, charged at the smirking wizard. His huge warhammer swung down with a crippling momentum and struck the side of the pale mage’s head. With a horrible crunch the entire head imploded, as if made of nothing more than dust. Ograk wrenched the hammer back from the stump of the neck, readying for another blow.

  The headless body of the wizard lunged forward as Ograk swung back. His bony hands grasped the warrior’s ring mail vest. The fingers penetrated the metal like it was paper. With no more effort than swatting a fly, the headless figure lifted and threw the two hundred pound man across the length of the inn. Ograk smashed into the shelf of bottles behind the bar with an explosion of glass and liquid.

  Marthir grabbed Kervin’s arm in panic and yelled for him to get hold of Ygris, but the mage had entered the fray. Kervin flinched as quarrels hissed through the open door from the knights in the square.

  Marthir’s world exploded as she began to turn to run. She staggered forwards, a crossbow bolt having ripped through her shoulder. A wave of intense pain flooded her mind, warm blood splashed across her tattooed breasts and she stumbled and fell through a rotten wood table.

  The inn blurred for a second then came jolting back into focus as she scrambled to gain her feet. Shards of glass from the window had slid unnoticed into her bare feet. Her arm was numb and useless and the pain threatened to drag her into unconsciousness. Every part of her fought the urge to just lie down and surrender. She cursed her own frailty as she tried desperately to concentrate on a transformation, but her thoughts were scattered like pollen in the wind.

  The inn was a haze of noise and motion; she felt the warmth on her face as Ygris unleashed his fire magic, heard the yells of Kervin as he fired his bow at charging black knights. Was that Ograk, bleeding from a dozen cuts running towards her? Green flames met golden fire, darkness met light and the night met the day. She rolled in exhaustion amongst the splinters of the table, the wood of the shattered furniture now oddly on top of her, feeling the sharp spikes of the barbed quarrel in her flesh.

  The flames hit the gallons of spirits flowing like blood from the wounded bar.

  Marthir’s instinct was to curl in a ball as the explosion ripped apart the side of the inn. Through her pain-wracked brain she was dimly aware of an eruption of dust and a crushing weight that slammed down around her like a giant’s foot. In a burst of adrenaline she wrenched magical power from deep within her, drawing the energy from the ancient soil, calling on the sparse earth magic for one last spell.

  Then all was dark and warm.