shred the Void magic that held together the Vrykylâs existence.
Pain that burned like hot, molten metal seared through Jedash, as theBlood-knife weapon severed the dark threads spun of death that bound the Vrykyl to this existence.
Screaming in fury, he whipped around to face his new attacker.
Jessan tried to recover the Blood-knife, but his sweat-wet fingers slipped off the handle. The bone blade remained embedded in the Vrykylâs black armor.
The Vrykyl thrust his hand through the black armor of his breastplate. He groped about inside his own cadaver and, with a howl of agony, seized hold of the Blood-knife embedded in his decaying flesh and ripped it out.
The Vrykyl had what heâd come for. He had the knapsack, and he was certain that inside was the Sovereign Stone. He crushed the Blood-knife in his black-taloned hand and hurled the remnants at Jessan. His prize in hand, the Vrykyl headed for the door.
The shards of the bone knife struck Jessan. Those that hit flesh drew blood, but Jessan paid them scant attention. Bashae lay in a crumpled and bloody heap on the floor. The Grandmother knelt over him, her face wet with tears and with blood, speaking the ancient pecwae magical spells of healing, her words broken by her sobs.
Fury, white-hot, exploded in Jessanâs brain, burning away all instinct for self-preservation. He had one goal, and that was to retrieve the knapsack his friend had fought with such uncharacteristic valor to keep.
Jessan caught hold of the leather strap that dangled from the Vrykylâs hand. With a strength born of rage and anguish, Jessan wrenched it loose. Astonished, the Vrykyl tried to recover his prize. Jessan jumped backward, to escape the Vrykylâs furious swiping hand, and fell over a chair. He crashed to the floor.
Clutching the knapsack to his breast, protecting it with his body, Jessan tried to stand, but he was starting to grow dizzy. The floor began to tilt and twist underneath him. His bare arms and legs burned with pain, and he was horrified to see that wherever the remnants of the bone knife had struck him, the bits had turned into hideous black leeches that were devouring his flesh.
âJessan!â Ulaf shouted and his voice seemed to come from a great distance.
Knowing he was trapped, guessing he was about to die, Jessan flung the knapsack as far from him and the Vrykyl as he could manage, flung it in the direction of Ulafâs voice.
The Vrykyl roared in anger and made a desperate grab for the knapsack, but it flew far beyond his reach. The Vrykyl struck at Jessan. The sharp talons of the Vrykylâs gauntlets raked across Jessanâs back.
The pain struck to the young manâs very soul. His body jerked, he cried out in agony, and collapsed onto the floor at the Vrykylâs feet.
The leather sack landed with a dull plop on the floor in front of Ulaf, who made a diving grab for it. He thrust the sack with its precious contents inside the folds of his loose-fitting shirt.
By now, most of the patrons had exited the tavern, leaping through windows or battling each in an effort to escape out the front door. Those left behind were Shadamehrâs people and the tavernâs owner, trying gamely to assist in the battle.
The battle magi had arrived, but they didnât immediately storm the tavern. A voice outside the window could be heard calling out commands. The leader of the battle magi deployed his troops to the front and the rear, posting his people at all the exits with orders to keep the Vrykyl inside the tavern, prevent him from escaping. Heavy booted footsteps thundered overhead. Magi with Air magic skills had flown up onto the roof. They were on the second level, and theyâd be coming down the stairs at any moment, prepared to attack the Vrykyl from the rear, while others fought him from the front.
The Tubby Tabby was about to become a swirling storm of magic. Vrykyl were known to be the most powerful and most heinous of
Pain that burned like hot, molten metal seared through Jedash, as theBlood-knife weapon severed the dark threads spun of death that bound the Vrykyl to this existence.
Screaming in fury, he whipped around to face his new attacker.
Jessan tried to recover the Blood-knife, but his sweat-wet fingers slipped off the handle. The bone blade remained embedded in the Vrykylâs black armor.
The Vrykyl thrust his hand through the black armor of his breastplate. He groped about inside his own cadaver and, with a howl of agony, seized hold of the Blood-knife embedded in his decaying flesh and ripped it out.
The Vrykyl had what heâd come for. He had the knapsack, and he was certain that inside was the Sovereign Stone. He crushed the Blood-knife in his black-taloned hand and hurled the remnants at Jessan. His prize in hand, the Vrykyl headed for the door.
The shards of the bone knife struck Jessan. Those that hit flesh drew blood, but Jessan paid them scant attention. Bashae lay in a crumpled and bloody heap on the floor. The Grandmother knelt over him, her face wet with tears and with blood, speaking the ancient pecwae magical spells of healing, her words broken by her sobs.
Fury, white-hot, exploded in Jessanâs brain, burning away all instinct for self-preservation. He had one goal, and that was to retrieve the knapsack his friend had fought with such uncharacteristic valor to keep.
Jessan caught hold of the leather strap that dangled from the Vrykylâs hand. With a strength born of rage and anguish, Jessan wrenched it loose. Astonished, the Vrykyl tried to recover his prize. Jessan jumped backward, to escape the Vrykylâs furious swiping hand, and fell over a chair. He crashed to the floor.
Clutching the knapsack to his breast, protecting it with his body, Jessan tried to stand, but he was starting to grow dizzy. The floor began to tilt and twist underneath him. His bare arms and legs burned with pain, and he was horrified to see that wherever the remnants of the bone knife had struck him, the bits had turned into hideous black leeches that were devouring his flesh.
âJessan!â Ulaf shouted and his voice seemed to come from a great distance.
Knowing he was trapped, guessing he was about to die, Jessan flung the knapsack as far from him and the Vrykyl as he could manage, flung it in the direction of Ulafâs voice.
The Vrykyl roared in anger and made a desperate grab for the knapsack, but it flew far beyond his reach. The Vrykyl struck at Jessan. The sharp talons of the Vrykylâs gauntlets raked across Jessanâs back.
The pain struck to the young manâs very soul. His body jerked, he cried out in agony, and collapsed onto the floor at the Vrykylâs feet.
The leather sack landed with a dull plop on the floor in front of Ulaf, who made a diving grab for it. He thrust the sack with its precious contents inside the folds of his loose-fitting shirt.
By now, most of the patrons had exited the tavern, leaping through windows or battling each in an effort to escape out the front door. Those left behind were Shadamehrâs people and the tavernâs owner, trying gamely to assist in the battle.
The battle magi had arrived, but they didnât immediately storm the tavern. A voice outside the window could be heard calling out commands. The leader of the battle magi deployed his troops to the front and the rear, posting his people at all the exits with orders to keep the Vrykyl inside the tavern, prevent him from escaping. Heavy booted footsteps thundered overhead. Magi with Air magic skills had flown up onto the roof. They were on the second level, and theyâd be coming down the stairs at any moment, prepared to attack the Vrykyl from the rear, while others fought him from the front.
The Tubby Tabby was about to become a swirling storm of magic. Vrykyl were known to be the most powerful and most heinous of
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