being Raheen, of knowing the bond, seeing his horse-friend
vent all the long frustration of her being abandoned and left in the care of
others while he had gone alone into danger.
Hooves, steel-shod in Callodon, slammed down upon the
Grimmand, pounding, mashing, smashing, yet still the creature aquamire-made
survived the trampling. Gawain cared not.
“Vex!” he screamed, and Gwyn danced clear, head bobbing,
blue eyes wide.
The Grimmand pushed itself to its feet, and stared with
aquamire-infused eyes at Gawain’s advance, perhaps seeing the great black
blade, perhaps not, perhaps seeing only Gawain’s life-light.
But that blade slammed into its chest, ripping it open, the
coating of rock-crystal which had protected it from Allazar’s white fire
powdered and rendered utterly useless during Gwyn’s pounding attack.
“Vex!” Gawain screamed again, this time in disgust, whipping
the blade backhanded, laying open the creature’s head, seeing nothing but
grey-black ooze within before the wound closed, the gaping gash in the torso
already sealed and healed.
“Allazar!” Gawain shouted again, bringing the longsword down
upon the Grimmand’s head in a blow that might have cut an ordinary man clean in
two from crown to crotch, but merely laid the thing open. Exactly as Gawain had
intended, dancing away to the right and leaving a clear field of fire open to
the wizard.
Instantly, a searing bolt of white fire lanced forward, tore
into that gaping wound and the substance within, and blew clean through it.
Gawain glimpsed purple before he turned to continue running with Gwyn away from
the Grimmand, and both had gone no more than three or four yards when the
welcome and familiar whoosh of an aquamire conflagration brought news of
great cheer to their ears.
Greasy smoke drifted skyward, a large stain on the cobbles
marking the passing of the Grimmand. Gawain stood looking at it with Allazar
and Venderrian.
“It was covered in fine rock-crystal…” Allazar sighed. “It
must be the work of the Viell. There is nothing of the kind in the Pangoricon!”
“I’ll tell you something else that isn’t in your book too,
wizard,” Gawain heaved a breath, sheathing the blade.
“Longsword?”
“Like those luvly big tomarters, you don’t get many Grimmands
to the pound either.”
oOo
5. News
“Word must be sent to Last Ridings, Serre Mayor,” Gawain
declared, gazing out of the window in the spacious but rather plain office in
the town hall.
Below, people were quietly going about the business of
clearing up in the aftermath of pandemonium. From the vantage of height on the
upper floor of the hall, it looked as though the marketplace had been struck by
a whirlwind, the centre ruined, and damage and debris spreading outward.
“We’re at your service milord,” the familiar and portly
official replied. “We do have horses and riders?”
“Quickest by boat, I think, though it needs to be fast.”
“We have such vessels milord. I have pen and ink here milord
at my desk, and paper too should you wish to write a note for Last Ridings?”
“Good idea. Allazar, if you please? Advise my lady of our
continued good health, apprise her of the threat we faced. Describe it in
detail for the benefit of Corax and Wex, and have Ranger Nuriyan despatched at
once here to the town. Suggest that he keeps watch as best he can around the
docks for anything attempting to sneak in from the west by way of the river.”
“We could return to Last Ridings, Longsword?”
Gawain shook his head. “No. Our friends can only bear so
many farewells in a day. Be sure to tell all, in the letter. Our people must be
forewarned and prepared for this new threat.”
“I shall.”
Allazar sat at the mayor’s desk, took up pen and paper, and
began to write.
“Was it black or rather more grey to your Sight, Ven?”
“It was not black, miThal. It was the same shade as the
Graken of Eastbinding.”
“Viell grey, then.”
“Yes,
vent all the long frustration of her being abandoned and left in the care of
others while he had gone alone into danger.
Hooves, steel-shod in Callodon, slammed down upon the
Grimmand, pounding, mashing, smashing, yet still the creature aquamire-made
survived the trampling. Gawain cared not.
“Vex!” he screamed, and Gwyn danced clear, head bobbing,
blue eyes wide.
The Grimmand pushed itself to its feet, and stared with
aquamire-infused eyes at Gawain’s advance, perhaps seeing the great black
blade, perhaps not, perhaps seeing only Gawain’s life-light.
But that blade slammed into its chest, ripping it open, the
coating of rock-crystal which had protected it from Allazar’s white fire
powdered and rendered utterly useless during Gwyn’s pounding attack.
“Vex!” Gawain screamed again, this time in disgust, whipping
the blade backhanded, laying open the creature’s head, seeing nothing but
grey-black ooze within before the wound closed, the gaping gash in the torso
already sealed and healed.
“Allazar!” Gawain shouted again, bringing the longsword down
upon the Grimmand’s head in a blow that might have cut an ordinary man clean in
two from crown to crotch, but merely laid the thing open. Exactly as Gawain had
intended, dancing away to the right and leaving a clear field of fire open to
the wizard.
Instantly, a searing bolt of white fire lanced forward, tore
into that gaping wound and the substance within, and blew clean through it.
Gawain glimpsed purple before he turned to continue running with Gwyn away from
the Grimmand, and both had gone no more than three or four yards when the
welcome and familiar whoosh of an aquamire conflagration brought news of
great cheer to their ears.
Greasy smoke drifted skyward, a large stain on the cobbles
marking the passing of the Grimmand. Gawain stood looking at it with Allazar
and Venderrian.
“It was covered in fine rock-crystal…” Allazar sighed. “It
must be the work of the Viell. There is nothing of the kind in the Pangoricon!”
“I’ll tell you something else that isn’t in your book too,
wizard,” Gawain heaved a breath, sheathing the blade.
“Longsword?”
“Like those luvly big tomarters, you don’t get many Grimmands
to the pound either.”
oOo
5. News
“Word must be sent to Last Ridings, Serre Mayor,” Gawain
declared, gazing out of the window in the spacious but rather plain office in
the town hall.
Below, people were quietly going about the business of
clearing up in the aftermath of pandemonium. From the vantage of height on the
upper floor of the hall, it looked as though the marketplace had been struck by
a whirlwind, the centre ruined, and damage and debris spreading outward.
“We’re at your service milord,” the familiar and portly
official replied. “We do have horses and riders?”
“Quickest by boat, I think, though it needs to be fast.”
“We have such vessels milord. I have pen and ink here milord
at my desk, and paper too should you wish to write a note for Last Ridings?”
“Good idea. Allazar, if you please? Advise my lady of our
continued good health, apprise her of the threat we faced. Describe it in
detail for the benefit of Corax and Wex, and have Ranger Nuriyan despatched at
once here to the town. Suggest that he keeps watch as best he can around the
docks for anything attempting to sneak in from the west by way of the river.”
“We could return to Last Ridings, Longsword?”
Gawain shook his head. “No. Our friends can only bear so
many farewells in a day. Be sure to tell all, in the letter. Our people must be
forewarned and prepared for this new threat.”
“I shall.”
Allazar sat at the mayor’s desk, took up pen and paper, and
began to write.
“Was it black or rather more grey to your Sight, Ven?”
“It was not black, miThal. It was the same shade as the
Graken of Eastbinding.”
“Viell grey, then.”
“Yes,
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