William King: The Queen's assassin

The Talorean mages started to filter away from their conjuring circles and into the bunkers below until only Asea remained standing in her place of power. Rik could not decide whether to go below or not. He wanted to see what happened, and if the bunkers collapsed he would be buried alive. On the other hand, standing in the path of an oncoming dragon did not seem to be the best way of prolonging his life.

Asea glanced around and saw that all the other mages were gone. "Join me, Rik," she said. "Be careful not to step on any lines of the circle. Come in through the approach vector."

Rik took a deep breath and nodded although he was not sure her caution was necessary. A normal person would have disturbed those etched lines focusing her magic by simply passing over them. But he was not a normal person. He was a Shadowblood, descended from a race of magically created assassins. His presence would most likely not even register if he passed over the spell's boundaries. It was one reason why Asea was so interested in his career.

Even so he was careful to enter the circle through the two parallel lines that bisected its rear. He did not want anyone spotting how different he was. He found himself standing beside his patron. She was taller than he, though he was a tall man. The hood of her leather armour flowed into position, covering her head. The silver mask moulded itself to her features and reflected the solemn expression beneath.

"Now comes the test," she said. "Keep your sword ready."

Rik did not know what good it would do against fifty tons of winged reptilian fury but he drew his blade. Runes glowed along its length as they caught the eddy currents of magical energy. She had gifted him this weapon on his return from the Serpent Tower. It was an ancient blade brought from her homeworld, Al'Terra. He presumed it must have some power.

All around them the cannons roared. The dragons dropped lower as they began their long, looping approach sweep. The armoured figures of their riders were clearly visible now.

What must it be like to ride on of those things, Rik wondered?

Fires billowed from the dragons' nostrils. Alchemical eggs dangled from the chains on their chest. The colours of their harness were the green and yellow of Kharadrea, not the red and black of Talorea. On banners fitted to the back of the riders’ saddles, the dragon symbol of Halim fluttered in the wind.

The Skywatchers opened fire with their rifles, aiming at the riders and the explosive fire spheres they controlled. Just one of those things could wipe out their position if it was on target. There was a lot of gunpowder around here. Even locked in brass bound barrels marked with the Elder Sign of ice, it might explode. There had been such failures of warding before and they had turned the course of battles. The stored gunpowder of an entire artillery battery would make a terrible mess if it went up. Whoever had directed those dragons to this position knew exactly what he was doing.

Bullets tore at the dragons' scales, smashed into the metal spheres on their necks. One dragon rider keeled over. His thick sorcerously reinforced plate armour made him all but immune to bullets but it looked like the straps holding him into his saddle had come undone and the force of the impact sent him tumbling out of it to hit the ground a hundred feet below. Not even his armour would let him survive that. His dragon, out of control, lifted skywards, unable to decide what to do next.

The Skywatchers were on form today. Another storm of bullets detonated an alchemical egg hanging from the second dragon's chest. A chain reaction erupted as the second and third eggs went up. Rik bit back a moan of fear. For that to happen he knew the devices must have been armed. Things were getting very close. The second dragon plunged down. The ground shook with the impact as it ploughed into the fortifications. Wooden palisades give way and trenches collapsed as it skidded forward.

The third dragon released its freight of incendiary death. Rik saw three silver spheres tumble towards the ground spinning as they went. On impact they exploded. A wall of acrid, stinking flame roared towards him. He heard the screams of dying Skywatchers, the explosions of loaded muskets and then a curtain of flame obscured his sight.

Sardec rushed forward into the gap between the tumbled walls. Powder-reek and blood-stench filled his nostrils. The whole area was a shell-smashed abattoir. The mangled bodies of men sprawled everywhere, gore bespattered, clammy and missing limbs. Some had been caught beneath falling masonry. Others had been blown apart by cannonball and mortar shell.

Above them a man kicked part of the loose stonework, obviously intending to tumble it onto the fighting beneath. He did not seem to care that he might hit his own fellows as well as any invaders.

Sardec gestured to Weasel and pointed up. The tall, skinny bald-headed Forager grinned, a mad fearless grin, raised his long-barrelled rifle to his shoulder and snapped off a shot. The would-be demolitionist’s head exploded.

Under perfect conditions it would have been a difficult shot, but here amid the screams and howls of battle and the drifting clouds of powder smoke, it was an awesome one. The former poacher deserved his reputation as the best marksman in the company.

The Foragers plunged into the gap. Sardec fought alongside the Barbarian, a huge northerner with a walrus moustache and a head fringed by long blonde hair, his bald crown visible now he had lost his tricorne hat. He grasped a hill-man fighting knife the size of a short-sword in one hand, and bayonet in the other. Moving with a terrifying controlled fury, the Barbarian cut a brutal red swathe through the melee, carving a path for the rest of the Foragers to follow.

Behind them came Sergeant Hef. Beside him Handsome Jan, dapper as ever even in the midst of this howling maelstrom, carried the company flag. The bullet-riddled banner depicting a naked dragon-winged female on a black background fluttered proudly. Sardec moved towards it slashing with the hook that replaced his right hand, keeping his pistol ready in his left.

"Onwards, lads!" he shouted. "Carve up these bastards!"

Two massive elementals fought above the nearby rooftops. A whirlwind locked in a death battle with a column of fire. The winds of the battle sent all manner of trash flashing down the street. Clouds of dust obscured Sardec's vision and brought tears to his eyes.

Suddenly they were out of the breach and into the rubble-filled streets beyond. Sardec felt cobbles beneath his boots. He glared along a narrow alley between tall burning tenements. This was not good. Those building might come down at any time killing Talorean and Kharadrean alike. The alleys could easily become a death trap. They needed to get into the clearer streets beyond. He caught Handsome Jan's attention and pointed forward. The soldier understood and waved the flag.

They raced onwards, flames burning all around.

Rik flinched, expecting to feel the wave of heat pass over him and his new dress tunic ignite. The wall of flame parted, lapping around the circle of protection like tidal water around a rock. The temperature increased but not by as much as he had feared. A halo of light played around Asea's head as she used her magic to protect them.

An enormous shadow passed overhead. It was the third enemy dragon. Was it turning to make another attack run or had its rider decided to return to the city in the face of such determined opposition?

The wall of flame died away, and Rik caught sight of the carnage it had left in its wake. All of the grass on the hillside below was gone save within Asea's circle. Oily black covered the area where it had been. Dozens of Skywatchers lay dead in their trenches, skins scorched by the alchemical fire. Still more sprawled nearby, screaming in agony.