axes and swords above their heads. Everybody jumped to their feet, screaming as the giant creatures galloped towards them, and panic and chaos erupted. Everybody scattered... the dancers around Aya gasped in shock and started to run in terror, and Aya suddenly felt something warm and wet drench her back...
Above the screams she could hear an odd, choking noise behind her. She whipped round, and the dancer dressed in blue robes fell slowly to her knees, her small hands scrabbling at her throat as blood gushed from her mouth. A long, rusty dagger was half-buried in her neck, her skin was turning white as blood covered her mouth and ran down her neck into her robes, her eyes wide in terror and pain. She tried to say something, and her hands found Aya’s robes; blood poured onto the floor as she tried to speak, but coughed and spluttered, the ground around her a puddle of crimson.
“Neecrid,” Aya whispered, terror rising in her chest. Her best friend...
She knelt beside the dying Elf girl, horrified tears prickling her eyes. Neecrid coughed and blood spurted from her lips, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she slumped lifelessly to the ground.
Aya felt as if her heart was ripping in two as she stared into Neecrid’s lifeless eyes. There was blood everywhere, blurred figures swarmed past her and the screams around her seemed to be blocked out by her own terrified cries. “Neecrid,” she whispered again, staring numbly at her best friend’s lifeless face, her scarlet lips parted, her eyes wide with panic, and Aya’s screams joined the panicked crowd around her...
“Aya!” a voice bellowed, and someone’s hand grabbed hers and pulled her to her feet; it was Flint, her brother, dragging her off the stage and pushing roughly through the crowds of Elves, who were scrambling to escape the attackers.
“Don’t you dare look back!” he shouted. Aya tightened her grip on Flint’s hand, terror ripping at her heart, blinded by tears. She could hear choking screams behind her and the thump of bodies hitting the floor as the warriors swarmed them, merciless, unforgiving.
As Villid slammed into Shade, the Tyran warriors emerged from their hiding places and pounced on the unsuspecting E lves. They charged in their glinting armour, their faces dirty, their eyes cold, their mouths wide open in triumphant battle cries, each one of them hungry for blood. Shade slowly drew his long, curved swords from their sheaths behind his back, sprung to his feet and threw his head back, as if savouring the moment of glory. Shooting Villid a nasty grin, he galloped down the hill towards the square, where panicked Elves were scrambling up from the tables and scattering in all directions, desperate, panicking screams echoing through the night.
Villid’s heart felt heavy as he drew his axe and his sword. Some of his fellow warriors had caught up to the fleeing Elves effortlessly, piercing them with their long weapons, laughing cruelly as the helpless fell to the ground, limbs sliced from their bodies...
The Tyrans slashed at them viciously, cutting the E lves to pieces as they tried to run away. Blood spattered everywhere; the warriors were merciless, covered in blood, huge weapons raised high above their heads, armour shining in the light of the lanterns. Someone had set fire to some of the Elf houses, and choking black smoke rose into the air once again. Elves ran deeper into the village in a huge crowd. The elderly were left behind, the ones who had fallen were being trampled, as the Tyrans cut through them with strong sweeps of swords and axes...
The girl in the green robes had been swept into the crowd of fleeing E lves and had disappeared from sight. Small groups of Elven men suddenly started coming back, pushing through the throng, clutching small daggers and bows.
“Ha!” Shade laughed. “Now they want to fight!” he ran towards them, swords in his hands, roaring at the terrified Elves.
The smell of burning wood stung
Above the screams she could hear an odd, choking noise behind her. She whipped round, and the dancer dressed in blue robes fell slowly to her knees, her small hands scrabbling at her throat as blood gushed from her mouth. A long, rusty dagger was half-buried in her neck, her skin was turning white as blood covered her mouth and ran down her neck into her robes, her eyes wide in terror and pain. She tried to say something, and her hands found Aya’s robes; blood poured onto the floor as she tried to speak, but coughed and spluttered, the ground around her a puddle of crimson.
“Neecrid,” Aya whispered, terror rising in her chest. Her best friend...
She knelt beside the dying Elf girl, horrified tears prickling her eyes. Neecrid coughed and blood spurted from her lips, and her eyes rolled to the back of her head as she slumped lifelessly to the ground.
Aya felt as if her heart was ripping in two as she stared into Neecrid’s lifeless eyes. There was blood everywhere, blurred figures swarmed past her and the screams around her seemed to be blocked out by her own terrified cries. “Neecrid,” she whispered again, staring numbly at her best friend’s lifeless face, her scarlet lips parted, her eyes wide with panic, and Aya’s screams joined the panicked crowd around her...
“Aya!” a voice bellowed, and someone’s hand grabbed hers and pulled her to her feet; it was Flint, her brother, dragging her off the stage and pushing roughly through the crowds of Elves, who were scrambling to escape the attackers.
“Don’t you dare look back!” he shouted. Aya tightened her grip on Flint’s hand, terror ripping at her heart, blinded by tears. She could hear choking screams behind her and the thump of bodies hitting the floor as the warriors swarmed them, merciless, unforgiving.
As Villid slammed into Shade, the Tyran warriors emerged from their hiding places and pounced on the unsuspecting E lves. They charged in their glinting armour, their faces dirty, their eyes cold, their mouths wide open in triumphant battle cries, each one of them hungry for blood. Shade slowly drew his long, curved swords from their sheaths behind his back, sprung to his feet and threw his head back, as if savouring the moment of glory. Shooting Villid a nasty grin, he galloped down the hill towards the square, where panicked Elves were scrambling up from the tables and scattering in all directions, desperate, panicking screams echoing through the night.
Villid’s heart felt heavy as he drew his axe and his sword. Some of his fellow warriors had caught up to the fleeing Elves effortlessly, piercing them with their long weapons, laughing cruelly as the helpless fell to the ground, limbs sliced from their bodies...
The Tyrans slashed at them viciously, cutting the E lves to pieces as they tried to run away. Blood spattered everywhere; the warriors were merciless, covered in blood, huge weapons raised high above their heads, armour shining in the light of the lanterns. Someone had set fire to some of the Elf houses, and choking black smoke rose into the air once again. Elves ran deeper into the village in a huge crowd. The elderly were left behind, the ones who had fallen were being trampled, as the Tyrans cut through them with strong sweeps of swords and axes...
The girl in the green robes had been swept into the crowd of fleeing E lves and had disappeared from sight. Small groups of Elven men suddenly started coming back, pushing through the throng, clutching small daggers and bows.
“Ha!” Shade laughed. “Now they want to fight!” he ran towards them, swords in his hands, roaring at the terrified Elves.
The smell of burning wood stung
Similar Books
