S̆ams̆ādur had never considered himself afraid of fire. Sure, he’d had a healthy respect for it, a respect that had only deepened when he saw the spells Jasper used with devastating effect, but he had never been on the wrong side of those spells before. But as the giant fireball veered straight toward him, fear flushed through his system. “Get down!” He ordered the men around him, as he ducked behind his tower shield and braced for the blow.
He rocked on his feet as the explosion hit his shield dead center, and would have fallen if not for the other shields interlaced with his own. Fortunately, the solid metal withstood the blow, but it also transferred the searing heat of the spell almost instantaneously. With a hiss of pain, he released the handle, wringing his hands as he felt the flesh bubble and pop.
The de-horsed cavalryman in front of him seized the advantage and thrust his long, hooked glaive forward. With a quick flip of the blade, the hook latched onto S̆ams̆ādur’s shield and tugged.
“Kruvas̆!” He grabbed hold of his shield just before the man yanked it free, wincing as his fault his flesh continued to burn, and pulled backward with all his might. With the glaive still hooked on the shield, the man was yanked forward, and as he stumbled into range of S̆ams̆ādur’s axe, the prince struck down. It was a hasty blow and poorly aimed, catching the man in the jaw and shearing it clean off. The man dropped the glaive, screaming incoherently as his brain tried to make sense of what had just happened, and S̆ams̆ādur struck again, putting him out of his misery.
But as the man fell, he saw another bloom of rosy red approaching. The mage summoning the spell showed no regard for his comrades, as he sent a writhing, spiraling column of fire toward S̆ams̆ādur’s position, scorching foe and friend alike as it passed. “Brace yourselves!” S̆ams̆ādur barely got the warning out before it struck, exploding in a wave of fire that scorched the top of his head and set his shield aglow. “Fall back!”
Abandoning the white-hot metal, he stepped back quickly and fumbled in his bag of holding for his backup shield. He got it in place just before a second fireball hit, sending his previous shield spinning through the ranks and taking out a man to his left. The shield wall was in disarray. We’re going to fall.
Without a second thought, S̆ams̆ādur dug into the last of essence, grunting in pain as he bottomed out. S̆adād, he hissed.
The foe froze, giving his men time to regain their balance and lock their shields in place, but the pyromancer remained out of reach. “Archers! The mage!” He screamed above the fray, trying to get the attention of Marīltu’s men but no bolts came flying overhead. They were either out of ammo or dead. “Kruvas̆!” He screamed in frustration as he watched the man break free of his spell, as he watched the mage’s fingers. Time slowed as another column of fire began to flow from his hand, advancing through the chaotic crowd like a ravenous serpent. They couldn’t survive another blow.
“Fall-” The cry for retreat died on his lips as he saw a trio of black shadows flit above the gate. He saw a flash of black wings, wreathed in white hot flames, and a long glaive from whose tip an icy vapor emanated as the shadow descended on the mage. The Styrn pyromancer never saw it coming, a victorious grin still on his lips as the glaive entered his skull and, driven by the force of momentum, continued straight through his torso. The fiery serpent disintegrated as the man’s body was split in two, his wounds caked with frost.
Jasper. Relief flooded S̆ams̆ādur’s veins as he spied the missing mage. In their absence, he’d assumed they’d fled, abandoning the city and him to his fate, but with their help… “About time!” He roared in greeting, and the man just shrugged.
Then, with a twist of his fingers, he surged forward in a flurry of wings, ripping through the gathered mob of soldiers and spreading the burning flames in his passing. We might just make it.
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The sounds of conflict waxed as Jasper zipped across the moat and angled above the fallen towers of the gate and, as he crested their spires, he caught his first glimpse of the grisly scene in the marketplace.
The ground was hidden from view by hundreds, if not thousands, of corpses, the bodies of men and horses mangled so thoroughly he could not tell where one began and another ended, with many scorched so badly they could barely even be recognized as flesh. Bile choked Jasper's mouth as he descended, and he spat it out, frantically scanning the market for his allies.
A momentary wave of relief washed over him as he spotted the line of durgū defending the earthen rampart. Their once gleaming shields were smeared with blood, and their axes seemed almost sluggish as they hacked at the oncoming foes, but the line still held.
But that was about to change. As he watched, a river of fire erupted from the hands of a mage below. Without care for friend or foe, it surged back and forth through the ranks, charting a course toward the center of the durgū line. He’s going to bake them alive.
Without thinking, Jasper dove, pulling the glaive out of his bag as he plummeted toward the mage, and casting Flame Charge mere seconds before he landed. A parachute of flames billowed around him, spread by every beat of the spectral wing as he neared the mage.
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He held the glaive out, willing whatever essence remained in its glyphs to flare to life and aimed it at the mage’s skull. Bits of brain splattered his face as it sliced through the man, though Jasper had no time to revel in his victory as he slammed into the ground with enough force to shatter his leg.
With a muttered snarl, he cast Circle of Forgiveness and as he looked up, he met eyes with one of the nearest dwarves. “About time!”
He nearly laughed as he recognized S̆ams̆ādur’s voice, offering the man a guilty shrug, before jumping back into the sky. As he rose, he angled himself toward a mob of soldiers pressing the left flank of the defenders and cast Seraph Burst.
The spectral wings dissolved as the black, metallic wings of the spell burst from his back, twisting him to a whirlwind of metal and fire that destroyed all in its path. He landed in a tangle of bodies as the spell’s momentum handed and as he rolled to his feet, cast Punishing Hand. The others froze as the pale hand danced before them, unable to move as he swept the glaive over him.
Not caring to see his handiwork, he looked up searching for the other mages he knew must be there. He felt them, rather than saw them, as a cloud of heat approached from behind. He half-turned as the fireball collided with him, exploding with a bang that sent him flying to the ground, although the fire washed over him harmlessly.
He bounced across the ground, coming to an abrupt stop as he hit the base of the earthworks. He rolled to his right as a soldier thrust his spear toward him, and hitting his knees, cast Punishing Hand again. The enemies froze as he staggered to his feet, but he didn’t have time to deal with him. His eyes focused on the pair of mages approaching, their hands clasped above their head as they did something he hadn’t seen before - cast a spell together.
A thin beam of fire so concentrated he could only describe it as a laser shot out from their hands and, crossing the distance between them in a flash, caught him square in the chest. It hit with a physical force tossing him up and over the ramparts, whose sharpened stakes carved canyons in his back.
The air was knocked out of his lungs as he landed on the far side of the durgū line. He flailed, struggling to get back to his feet as he gasped for air, and the ground in front of him lit up with brilliant light as the mages attacked the durgū.
The dwarves stumbled back, their feet digging into the ground as they fought to stand against the beam’s kinetic force, but the spell overpowered them. With a flare of brightness, the beam sliced through their shields and into the men behind them, coring out their hearts. There was a moment of stillness as the light retreated and four or five of the durgū swayed on their feet, their brains not quite cognizant yet that they were dead. Then they collapsed, opening a hole in the shield wall.
Time ticked slowly as Jasper lurched to his feet, locked in a race with the two mages. He reached the breach first, thrusting his glaive in front of him as, with the other hand, he cast Fiery Shackles. The mages stumbled as the manacles clasped around them, but he knew what was coming as their hands joined, rising up above their ahead. With a curse, he bolted towards them, praying he could close the gap before they could release the spell. Come on, come on.
Someone else got there first. His foot slowed as an arrow blossomed in the neck of the mage on the left, and its red, glowing tip rapidly expanded into a blade that finished the job. The spell misfired as the mage died, blowing off the hand of the surviving one. The Styrn warrior fell to his knees, screaming in pain as the charred stump spurted blood, but Jasper reached him a moment later and, with a quick thrust of the glaive, put him out of his misery.
The change in momentum as the mages fell was palpable. For the first time that night, the soldiers of Styrn faltered and S̆ams̆ādur, sensing the advantage, charged forward. “Ana Birināti!”
The durgū followed him down the mound, catching the stunned soldiers by surprise, and the Stryn lines crumpled. Some still fought on, but others turned and fled, casting their weapons aside as they sought bridge.
“Cut ‘em off! Cut ‘em off!” Dimly above the crowd, Jasper heard Marīltu’s screams, and he swept his gaze across the battlefield to the bridge. Could cut them off there.
His hands twisted with Spectral Wings one more time and as he shot into the air, he followed it up with Flame Charge. In a matter of seconds, he flew over the head of the panicked crowd, leaving a trail of flames in his wake as he shot through the ruined gates. He landed on the bridge in a pillar of fire and spun to face the fleeing soldiers.
“Surrender!”
The soldiers of Stryn were too panicked to listen to his command, and his fingers twisted with Scourge of Despair. The spectral whip sliced through the oncoming ranks, tangling them up as it drew the drops of blood it needed. With angry howls, the specters manifested beside him, but Jasper reached out to them with his mind. Wait, he pleaded, unsure if they would listen. Stand beside me.
They hesitated for only a moment before the ghosts turned to flank him, cutting off the soldier’s route across the bridge. “Surrender,” he roared one more time, his voice breaking as he strained to be heard over the din, “Surrender and your lives will be spared.”
The fleeing mob didn’t stop and he dipped into his failing essence reserves again, casting at the feet of the front row. Punishing Hand.
They froze, and their cries of pain filled the night as the spell ate away at their health. “Surrender,” he commanded again, willing them to heed him and when the pale, wriggling hand faded away, the remaining soldiers dropped to their knees, hands held up above their heads. They had won.