Thomas Harlan - The Dark Lord

"Dusarra's brass teat!" Zoe cursed, scrambling to her feet. Two more ships caught fire in the space of her exclamation, their sails bursting into yellow flame, rolling black clouds surging across the water. The iron monster struggled in the wreckage, tangled, massive claws shredding the hull as it fought free. Steam boiled up with an ear-splitting hiss, obscuring her view. The surf glowed red, catching the light of the inferno roaring around the three ships.

The other two iron drakes had broken away, veering left and right from their unexpectedly fallen brother. Zoe's heart fell as the bat-winged monstrosities shrieked over the fleet, triangular heads dipping down, sending sheets of green flame drifting down over the massed ships. A rippling series of booms echoed across the water, dry cordage and canvas catching alight. Dozens of ships were aflame in moments.

Odenathus, Zoe called, feeling her cousin rising woozily from the sand. Give me your strength!

Her fist clenched in the air, whipping through a tight circle. Giddy power rushed from land and sea and air, coalescing into a shimmering, blood-red cube clasped in her ghostly hand. Grim brown eyes followed the swooping flight of one of the machines as it pulled away from the stricken fleet, wings roaring in the air, clawing for altitude. Odenathus' power joined hers and the cube multiplied fourfold. Now the simple shapes split and re-formed, tearing and extruding new surfaces with dizzying speed.

The iron drake executed a sharp plunging turn and shrieked back across the bay. Zoe canted her arm, then flung the power she'd gathered like a javelin, leading the massive, onrushing metallic shape. The girl staggered, drained by the enormous gradient she'd released, then armored hands caught her from both sides. A spray of brilliant crimson duododecahedrons snapped out in an expanding cone.

The machine slammed into the cloud and the sky lit with a concussive, blinding crack!

Smoke and fire bloomed in the air, a roiling black cloud. Metal screamed and the drake burst free, one wing torn away, the head smashed, white smoke billowing from rents in the scaled flesh. Zoe shouted in triumph, and the men around her cheered wildly. One massive wing still beat the air, and the machine tilted to one side. Zoe turned to find the other drake, catching sight of it sweeping inland, rising on titanic wings.

Look out! Odenathus shouted over the meld. Zoe spun back-just in time to see the crippled drake slam into the shallow water a hundred yards away and crash through a burning barge, sections of iron hull flaking away from the skeleton. Zoe sprinted away, her guardsmen wailing in fear, and the enormous machine bounced-wreathed in flame-onto the beach behind them. A whoomp of flame jetted out and the creature blew apart. Zoe felt something lift her up, then she smashed into a sand dune with a sickening crack . Fire roared around her and she blinked smoke from her eyes. Dazed, she tried to roll over, but her arm failed and groaning metal drowned out her weak cry for help.

Something blotted out the sky, toppling over, and she caught a glimpse of an intricately detailed iron wing rushing towards her before searing pain washed consciousness away.

Dahak leapt into the air, tearing free from the burden of gravity and a thick, scaled tail slapped the ground where he'd stood. Trees shattered, limbs torn away, filling the air with flying splinters. The sorcerer twisted, a crackling blue-black flare leaping from his outstretched hand. The blast seared the drake's head and shoulders, iron plates groaning with the impact and the creature whirled away. Wounded, the machine bounded for the open sky.

Something rose out of the smoke, surrounded by whirling points of white light and Dahak drew back, drifting in the sooty air, eyes narrowed in surprise. His enemy came forth in the flesh at last and the young Roman's aspect was vastly different than he'd seen before.

You have grown strong, the Lord of the Ten Serpents hissed.

Maxian rushed forward, suspended in a shifting sphere of sullen glyphs and whirling, frenetic bright sparks of living flame. His lean face was dark with strain, but the sorcerer could feel power moving to the boy from every direction. The hidden world twisted, contorting around the strength collecting in the Roman. Even Dahak felt the tug, a steadily steepening slope wicking his own mana away.

No! Dahak howled, and mustered his own vigor, sapping the land, sending thousands of his gaatasuun collapsing to the ground, yanking tendrils of guiding thought away from his servants, opening his heart to the power dwelling in the empty spaces behind the moon and the sun. Incandescent with rage, he met the prince's charge with his own blow-a flickering, swift sign bursting new-formed and whole from the air-darkening the afternoon sky.

Jagged patterns clashed, lightning licking along impossible surfaces and a coruscating blast of fire, wind and deafening sound rolled away from the two wizards. The sea heaved, more Persian ships capsized or the flames raging on their decks were snuffed by the overpressure of the blast. Thousands of men threw themselves to the ground in fear, some blinded. The soft bottomland convulsed and heaved, entire orchards and meadows flattened or swallowed by the uneasy earth.

Dahak slashed in, howling unholy words, splintering the prince's wards like eggshells, dispersing glyphs, striking at the power flooding from earth and sky. They grappled, a whirlwind of searing blasts rippling along the edge of their conflict. The prince strove to drive Dahak towards the sea, but the sorcerer did not yield. His reptilian eyes blazed red, curdling beams lashing across Maxian's pattern. Defenses flaked, splintering under the blow and the prince staggered.

The Lord of the Ten Serpents grinned, bearing down, his will closing like a vise.

Maxian slammed back, ultraviolet lightning crashing against Dahak's shields, bleeding through layers of swirling defense. The sorcerer felt his ties to the earth weaken, then a raging inferno enveloped him, hammering with heat and light at his concentration. Gasping, desperate to recover himself, Dahak leapt away, soaring across the empty sky, high above the line of the beach, towards the harbor of Catania itself. He's too strong here, the sorcerer thought wildly, dimly perceiving some enormous pattern building behind the prince's ever-mounting attack. I've been lured into a trap!

The prince gave chase, roaring in pursuit, a roiling cloud stabbing with lightning hot on his heels.

Run, old snake! The prince's grim thought arrowed after the sorcerer. You can't find a hole deep enough to keep me from your throat!

A howling mob stormed against the Roman lines, withered corpses screeching, skeletal hands clawing against shields and grasping at the stabbing spears. Alexandros trotted great Bucephalas behind the third rank, screaming encouragement, ordering men up from the reserves when he saw the line weaken. The dead swarmed up the slope in waves, throwing themselves heedlessly against the Gothic shield wall. Red-bearded men hacked with axes, hewing away brittle arms, throats, hands. The pikemen stabbed overhand, crushing the chests of corpses, yet still the dead surged against the line, trying to break through with main force.

The Gothic line sudden split open, a wedge of waxy faced legionaries crashing through, swords slashing wildly around them.

"Hold! Hold!" Alexandros waded into the fray, slashing down with his cavalry spatha , splitting open the skull of a desiccated Roman. The creature's hands scrabbled against the blade, trying to wrench the sword from his hands, but the Macedonian kicked out, shoving the corpse away. The dead man was immediately trampled underfoot by a wave of his fellows, oily yellow guts squishing under hobnailed boots. A noisome stench rolled before the gaatasuun , choking the air and making living men faint with nausea. "Reserves! Reserves here!"