Samual by Greg Curtis

did he guessed, he would never know anything about it.
     
    That done he waited, desperately trying not to fidget as his patience was strained. Nor could he stop himself from shaking, as the magic strained to be released. And with all that power literally coursing through his flesh and his steel, who could blame him if he couldn't sit still? For once he forgave himself his poor self-control, though he made sure he didn't let his hands touch.
     
    To keep himself from thinking about it, Sam spent the next little while simply counting the passage of time. Using it as something to concentrate on instead of the magic inside him, demanding to be released. He'd nearly reached a thousand before the first of the steel rats reached the clearing. But then when they finally did, he smiled and let out a sigh of relief. Soon he would be able to release all the fire coursing within him, and it would be glorious. But not yet.
     
    “Alder's balls!” He swore to himself when he saw the first of the rats appear – but not out of shock. The soldier had told him what to expect. Instead for once he meant it as a promise. He was going to rain down all the fury of the twisted god of mischief upon their steel heads, and when he was done none would remain. It seemed fitting somehow to use the god's name. He was said to be twisted; part man, part beast, part male, part female, both hairy and scaled. A jumble of bits and pieces all held together by his divine presence. Soon these steel creatures would be the same. A jumble of parts.
     
    They came from the direction of Shavarra as he'd expected, but only a few dozen at first. Behind them however, he could feel many, many more, spread out in a long column. All would soon be dead. Assuming they were ever truly alive.
     
    For some reason the rats stopped briefly in their advance when they approached the clearing and spotted him. After a moment's thought he even knew why. He could feel it coming from them. Confusion. They had never before seen their prey standing still before them and waiting. Normally they either jumped on their prey while it was unaware of them or they chased it. This was different. They didn't know what to do. So they asked.
     
    Sam couldn't have explained how they asked. Couldn't even have described the manner in which they spoke, or who they spoke to. But he heard them sending their question back to their master so far away, and he heard the response just as clearly. Kill! As if there should ever have been any doubt.
     
    No sooner had they been given their orders then the first dozen or so of the steel rats charged at him like rampaging lions, attempting to cover a distance of a full hundred and fifty or more yards of open land as quickly as possible. It was a mistake.
     
    Sam lowered the sword until it pointed directly at them, and with a simple command a blast of magic streamed from it, like a scythe made out of fire. It hit the first of the rats dead on, slicing them in flaming halves. The golems exploded as though they were filled with gunpowder and the steel fragments fell everywhere. The sight filled him with relief as well as satisfaction. It was a good sign. It meant that as strong as the rats were, they were also vulnerable, something he hadn't truly been sure of until just then. It could only be because they too were imbued with too much magic. Once their form or their function was altered even a little, it became unstable, and they exploded. That was a weakness which could be exploited.
     
    The rats either didn't seem to understand that, or if they did then they didn't care. A second pack of the rats charged directly over the bodies of their former pack mates, only to meet a similar fate. A heartbeat later they were followed by a third. The golems it seemed weren't bright – but they were obedient.
     
    All up at least a hundred steel rats surrendered their insides to the fire scythe spell before somewhere a halt was called. Their master, having sensed something of