The Fall of Kyrace by Jonathan Moeller Page A

soldiers in their gray-green cloaks lay piled upon the ground. Rykon saw the Legionaries close upon the Archon's personal guard, but then the Archon's voice rolled in thunderous song. Lightning flashed from the dark sky, smashing the Legionaries like broken toys, yet more attacked. If Rykon could just reach the Archon, he could get the old man to safety...
    Two dark shapes dropped from the sky, blocking Rykon's path. Men in ornate crimson armor, black swords ready in their hands, black-trimmed red cloaks thrown back from their shoulders in preparation for battle. Arcane power flowed from them like heat from a candle. 
    Battle magi of the Imperial Magisterium, trained to use their arcane sciences to enhance their martial prowess. 
    "A stormdancer," said one of the magi. "Surrender your blade, and you shall be permitted to live in slavery."
    "If you desire my blade," said Rykon, lifting his sword, "come and claim it." 
    "Easily done," said the second magus.
    They came at him in a rush, their swords black blurs. Their sorcery unleashed the power of their minds, psychokinetic force making their blows faster and stronger. Rykon's sword leapt to meet them as he drew upon his own power to lend his limbs the speed of the gale and the strength of the storm. He held his ground against the magi, his storm-forged blade blocking every thrust and swing of the black swords.  
    One of the magi stepped back and thrust out his armored palm. A blast of invisible force lashed out and caught Rykon in the chest. It flung him from the ground, hurling him towards the wall of a burning warehouse. But he drew upon his own power, using the sorcery of water to strengthen his limbs, and kicked off the wall, swooping upon the battle magi. 
    His sword came down like a thunderbolt, cleaving through the first magus's helm and skull. The man fell dead to the street, blood and brains pooling around him. But the second magus came at Rykon, and he was stronger than the first, both physically and in the arcane sciences, and his swings felt like the blows of a mighty hammer. Rykon struck back, but his sword skidded off the magus’s armor, green sparks flying from the edges. Earth sorcery, then, infusing the armor with the solidity and strength of a granite wall. The magi of the Magisterium could not match a stormdancer’s command of air and water, but possessed far greater power over earth. 
    The magus took the offensive against Rykon, earth sorcery lending his blows the power of an avalanche. 
    Rykon fell back, dodging and parrying the mighty blows, drawing upon the power of air sorcery until his mind crackled with it. The magus whipped his sword up, raising it back for a final blow. Rykon caught the descending blade on the flat of his sword, and they strained against each other, sword locked against sword.
    And Rykon released the power.
    Fingers of blue-white lightning erupted along the length of his sword, clawing down the magus’s blade and shooting into the crimson armor. The magus arched back as the lightning crackled into him, arms and legs flailing.
    It gave Rykon all the opportunity he needed to take the battle magus’s head off. Blood sprayed in an arc, staining the crimson armor a darker shade of red, and the magus crumpled besides his slain comrade. Rykon sagged for a moment, breathing hard, exhausted by the effort of summoning lightning. He was a stormdancer, not a stormsinger, and his arcane abilities lay in enhancing his battle prowess, not summoning storm and wind to strike down his foes. 
    But he had no time to rest. He raced through the burning docks, towards the ramp that led to the next circle of the city. Corpses in the armor and cloaks of the Archon’s guard lay among the dead, and at last Rykon found the Archon below the gate to the inner city.
    He was almost too late. 
    The Archon, Lord Tyndaros, sat atop his horse, his robes bloodstained and torn, his sword dripping blood, his personal guard slain about him. Even as Rykon