Etherwalker by Cameron Dayton

swords, the dull thump of bodies colliding, and an undercurrent of wet inhuman chattering—the strange percussive dialect of these coldmen . Master Gershom had pushed the fight into the trees, seeking to gain advantage amidst the shadowed trunks. Another clicking snarl trailed into moist gasping and went quiet as the straight blade found its mark. But his master was horribly outnumbered, and Enoch caught a glimpse of three more shadowy forms swiftly approaching through the trees to his left, led by a pair of spider-hounds.
    Master doesn’t know their number. He’ll be overwhelmed! Get down there, damn you! Move!
    Still, fear rooted him in place. He tried to grasp at afilia nubla , mumbling the litania eteria over and over again. Below, a pair of coldmen had spied him and began to move toward his tree. Enoch shut his eyes and let the words of the incantation wash over his mind.
    The mind is a world, the consciousness its light. As day turns to night, so shall my mind; afila lumin setting as the nubla rises, and my mindworld revolves.
    Something inside of him gave, and he felt his mind turn over. The darkness around him was now clear, each sound from below as distinct as a pearl. With the powerful focus of afilia nubla , Enoch sent the commands.
    Descend. Distract. Divide.
    Releasing the limb, he fell ten feet before landing nimbly on a lower branch. It bent almost to the snapping point before whipping him upwards in time with his leap. Lancing through the air, he curled into a ball. The air was a cold whistle against his skin.
    With a crunch, his knees smashed into the face of an approaching raider. It toppled backwards into its comrade, and the hounds hissed as they were yanked short on their leashes.
    Rolling free, Enoch bent and scooped a handful of rocks from the ground as the coldmen scrambled to their feet in a skein of jointed legs, spears, and axes. The hounds strained against their bindings, snapping at their masters in frustration.
    They are armored, but move quickly. Six seconds until they regain footing .
    Distract. Divide. Defeat.
    Thin muscles rippled with a taut accuracy as the sling hummed through the air once, twice, in two fluid arcs. The hounds crumpled to the ground, each bleeding from a small dent in the middle of its head.
    Enoch dropped and rolled to his right as a spear whistled over his shoulder. One of the raiders was up, an oily silhouette in the shadows of the forest.
    They move like insects. Adjust timing patterns.
    Still moving, Enoch found himself in front of a large fern bush. The other two coldmen had regained their feet now, and they circled around each side of the bush while the spear wielder collected his weapon and stalked closer.
    Enoch stood and slipped another stone into the sling. The spear wielder stopped, tilting its head in a monstrous parody of amusement. It lowered the spear to the level of Enoch’s gut and took a step forward. Out of the corner of his eye, Enoch could see the raider to his right raise its axe. This was going to happen fast. Spinning around, Enoch found himself trapped by a third—it raised a strange, tube-like device to its shoulder.
    The unexpected route.
    Instead of dodging, Enoch leapt forwards towards the spear. Too late to raise its point, the spear wielder had only time to see the boy run up the grounded shaft and deliver a sharp kick to its head. Moments too late, the axe slammed down on the spear shaft, snapping it in two as a loud blast of fire erupted from the third creature’s weapon. The metal tube spat a swarm of molten steel balls and electricity that stripped the bush of leaves and ripped an arm from the axe wielder. With frustrated clicks, the grounded spear wielder struggled to stand, but the death throes of his bleeding companion knocked him back.
    Enoch ran, the calm of pensa spada leaving him as worry for Master Gershom welled up in his throat. The sounds of battle had ceased, and only the thrashing of the wounded creature behind him was