Jon Sprunk - Shadow's master

With a jerk of his arms, Lord Malphas looped his tentacles around Caim in an iron embrace. Caim shouted aloud as the ebon cords sliced through his protective layer of shadows and into his flesh. Blood poured down his legs.

A rapturous hiss echoed from Malphas's open mouth. Caim watched, horrified, as the skin peeled away from the noble's face and neck, revealing a rippling blackness underneath.

A curtain of smoke swept over Josey, making her eyes water and filling her lungs when she tried to breathe. Coughing into her sleeve, she tried to find her battle standards. Harsh shouts and pain-filled cries echoed from all directions. A wobbling arrow flew perilously close as she looked around, reminding her that she wore no armor or helm.

This is foolish. I can't make any difference here. True, she had no weapons save for a pair of knives, and she wasn't likely to turn the tide with her skill at arms. But she had a voice.

“Nimea!” she shouted. “To me!”

Her voice was swallowed by the raucous din and the smoke, but Josey stood up in her stirrups. “Nimea to your empress! Nimea to me!”

There was no answering call. But then a soldier in Nimean livery limped toward her through the mists. Another pikeman stumbled after him, followed by a trio of crossbowmen in scale-mail hauberks. As more soldiers appeared, they formed a ring around her. One of her bodyguards emerged from the smoke, holding the side of his head where blood leaked down in a steady trickle. Josey leaned down as he clutched her stirrup strap. His ear had been torn away, along with a goodly portion of the skin along that side of his head.

Josey looked to the nearest men. “Help him!”

“Majesty,” the bodyguard said. He was having trouble catching his breath. “Captain…Drathan. Must get you…away!”

“No. My place is here with you. We'll fight.”

Lightning reared up as an explosion rocked the ground. Josey couldn't see where it landed, but chunks of sod rained down on her little squad. She started to tell the bodyguard to seek assistance for his ear when a horn sounded nearby. Foreign voices rose beyond the veil of smoke. As Josey pulled her steed under control, there was a sound like a stick striking a tree. Then a flood of enemies emerged from the haze, screaming like demons.

Josey fought to keep her seat as her ring of defenders was driven back. A volley of arrows peppered the front rank of pikemen, and Josey almost swallowed her tongue. Alone atop her steed, dressed in a sky-blue riding jacket, she couldn't have made a more obvious target. Yet she rejected the urge to hug Lightning's neck. Her soldiers fought like heroes. Invaders fell around them, their bodies piling up in the bloody mire. When one of her men collapsed, another stepped into the gap. They suffered horrible wounds and kept battling, returning blow for blow. Josey forced herself to watch the carnage while she shouted orders. The pikemen stayed at the front. Her crossbowmen fired point-blank into the sea of enemies, cocking and loading their heavy weapons as fast as they were able. Stenches of death and blood swirled above the battlefield. They crept into Josey's throat and brought tears to her eyes, but she clutched to the hope that they could hold out, that the invaders would exhaust themselves and draw back. She was turning to her right flank when a turbulent wave of air crashed over her. She spun around in the saddle as Lightning floundered. Josey clung to the stallion's mane with both hands as he righted himself.

The world had fallen silent. Men opened their mouths, apparently shouting as they fought and died, but she heard nothing. Through the haze and Lightning's flying mane, a huge warrior in black armor strode into view. His greatsword sliced into the side of a pikeman and almost cut the man in half. More black-armored fighters charged from out of the mist. Her soldiers struggled, but they were too few. And the northerners were too fierce, battering her soldiers with massive hammers, swords, and axes. Josey looked around for reinforcements to fill the gap, but her voice failed her as the enemy commander emerged from the horde on his tall black horse.

Talus. Keegan had called him the Thunder Lord. He looked even more fearsome up close. His crimson armor made him look like a primal god of war bathed in blood. Trails of shadowy smoke rose from his eyes, which burned like smoldering coals in their cavernous sockets. Her soldiers fell back as he crashed into their faltering lines. Some turned and tried to flee, but there was nowhere to go. They were cut down from behind as the warlord's steed trampled over their bodies.

Josey didn't know what to do. All of a sudden the will to resist seemed too much effort. Where were her defenders? Where was Captain Drathan? Where was Brian? I wanted him to be my savior. But he's gone, just like Caim.

The Thunder Lord drew a sword from a scabbard by his side. The blade was black as midnight. Etched designs ran up its sides like tongues of fire. Josey drew Brian's dagger and held it close to her breast as she imagined her head tumbling to the ground. Would it hurt much?

A Word resonated from the warlord's mouth. Josey felt Lightning thrash like he was trying to run in four different directions. Then she was falling. A sharp pain impaled her hip as she struck the ground. She had landed on a shield half-submerged in the mud. Its metal boss was wedged under her side. Josey found it hard to take a deep breath as agony like she'd never felt rippled through her pelvis. Lightning had bolted off, and she'd lost Brian's dagger. With one hand clutching her stomach, she looked up.

The Thunder Lord had cut a swathe through her soldiers. The iron-bound hooves of his warhorse pawed at the ground as if it wanted to crush her into the earth. His black sword rose up, blocking out the hazy sunlight. This was it. Her final moment. Josey tried to swallow, but her throat would not work. She braced herself to receive the blow, but then a flood of scintillating light burst before her eyes. She blinked through the radiance to see a man on a white horse plunge between her and the warlord. Josey almost choked on a joyful sob as Hirsch pushed the Thunder Lord back with beams of blazing light flung from his hands.

The adept's sudden appearance reminded Josey of what he had given her before the battle. She reached into her jacket pocket, but couldn't find it. Frantic, she tore off her cloak and the jacket and searched it again. Her fingers found a hard edge in a different pocket. Josey ripped the fabric open, and the box fell out. She opened it with trembling fingers. Her signet ring was nestled inside on a bed of white muslin. The carbuncle jewel shone like a miniature sun, too bright to look at directly. Hirsch had required a gemstone to fashion his magic, and the signet was the largest one she had. Josey reached for the ring, expecting it to be hot, but the smooth metal was cool to the touch.

Josey stood up on wobbly legs as Hirsch's hands flashed again. Maybe I won't have to use it if Master Hirsch can-

The earth shook, and a harsh wind crashed over her. Through squinting eyelids Josey saw Hirsch slumped over, holding up his right arm. It took her a moment to realize his hand was gone, severed below the elbow, with a river of blood streaming from the raw stump. The adept swayed in his saddle. The Thunder Lord's sword smoked as it rose again. Josey bit her tongue and threw.

The glowing signet sailed like a leaf. Josey's chest was clenched too tight to breathe. Hirsch pitched forward as the black sword started to fall. Then the ring struck the Thunder Lord in his armored shoulder. An instant later, Josey was lifted off the ground and thrown back. Her hip shrieked at the rough treatment, and various hard surfaces battered her head, neck, and elbows as the world spun over and over. Tremendous heat surged over her and filled her nose with a choking, acrid stench.