Chapter Ten: Blood in the Streets

War comes to Gammesia.

“What about this one?” Falyn pointed out the diagram sketched out in one of Kori’s notes. Leogun leaned over the wooden table, craning to see what the selae had pointed out. Kori had been a renowned artist, and one of Ivar’s closest acolytes. They said that Kori’s drawings were taken directly from the visions Ivar had had when he started to preach the Ivarord.
The drawing Falyn had pointed out showed a man with a serpent encircled around himself biting its tail. “Yes!” Leogun exclaimed. “That one, yes. Pass that to me, please.” Falyn handed off the old parchment, and Leogun looked it over. He closed his eyes, trying to remember everything he had seen. Men in black on fire, three suns, and most certainly a man surrounded by a snake. That snake. But what did that mean for him?
“Why do you need it?” Falyn asked, leaning back in his chair.
“One of the monks back at the Monastery was looking for it. I thought that as long as I’m here I might as well check the library here.” Falyn nodded, and Leogun reflected on the lie he’d just told. It had come considerably easier than the ones he’d told at the start of his travels. Not a good thing, he thought. Lies are necessary. Leogun scowled as the voice made itself known, sipping his drink.

“Three kings,” Pychi announced proudly, placing the cards down deliberately in front of Falyn. His opponent scowled, pushing his coin to Pychi’s side of the table. The daronu smiled broadly and scooped the zoryns into his coinpurse.
“Daronu always cheat,” Falyn muttered. Pychi laughed.
“That’s impossible, Aenda. Daronu never play. They never leave the mountains. I’d know.” His smug grin had never abated as he re-dealt the cards across the board. “You in, Asmundvard?” His gruff voice asked. Leogun refused, and Pychi and Leogun took up their cards. They played quietly, neither saying a word except to announce their intentions. The bard the innkeep had hired to play sang quietly in the corner of the room, his voice floating out into the den, high and melodious. Alaire took a seat beside Leogun, looking at the players. They exchanged intense glares, giving away nothing.
“Do you want to see the parade?” Leogun asked quietly, trying as hard as he could not to disrupt the men sitting there. Alaire nodded, and they stood. Leogun retrieved his staff from his room and they left out the front door. The parade was supposed to take place all around the city, but it would start and end in the Joining Square at the center of Arkaius.
People walked the streets constantly. It seemed like a literal sea of people, one pushing against the other and shifting the tides from their point of entry to their point of exit. It was a nice feeling, being part of that tide, even an artificial and metaphorical one, for Leogun. It felt like home, when the monks would drill into his head the importance of the High One’s manifestation in the physical realm- the moon- and how important it was for the world. Alaire pointed out the various costumes of the fools and jesters that walked the streets on stilts, juggling torches or eating swords, and Leogun marvelled at the seeming impossibility of it.

Ragh could feel the earth shaking as he sang at the top of his lungs. His grey fingers were clenched around the leather handle of his dagger as he swung it about like a conductor’s baton. The men sang too, and they, too, held their weapons as tight as they could. The moment was coming. The moment was almost here.
Leogun and Alaire stepped into the Square. “Oh...” Alaire squealed quietly. It would be nearly impossible to pierce the crowds and get to the center of the Square where the parade would actually start. The Spire, famed monument of the Old Days, stuck out of the ground and pushed into the sky, marking the very center of the city. No doubt by now the actors and musicians taking part in the parade would already be coiled around it as close as they could, ready to peel off when the word was said. Leogun stretched as tall as he could. Thankfully, with his great height, he could see past a good number of the people in the crowd.
“Here, come with me.” He took Alaire’s hand and led her away from the Spire and closer to the Brymian section of the city. The Square wasn’t perfectly flat, he’d noticed. The people on the other side of the Square- the Brymian part of the Square in which they now stood- were slightly higher up, allowing for a better vantage point to see the parade.
Suddenly, music filled the air. Alaire smiled widely and clutched to Leogun’s arm. “It’s starting!” She said. Notes from a harp were heard first, starting off slow and mournful and becoming... no different.
“This is a bit depressing, isn’t it?” Leogun asked. Alaire’s smile faded.
“Falyn said the parade is supposed to be happy.” Leogun shrugged.
“Maybe they’re trying something different this year.” The people around them were wondering the same thing, whispering to each other.

PLACEHOLDER FOR SONG OF THE FELL LYRICS

The earth began to tremble softly, the bricks of the Square rattling against each other, making a quiet, constant drum beat. “Is that an earthquake?” Alaire murmured. Leogun’s head began to hurt as the voices grew louder. He pulled Alaire away from the crowd as hard as he could.
“Get back,” he growled. Alaire looked scared as he looked down at her. “Get back to the inn. Get Falyn. Get Pychi. Go to the Brymian embassy. Get Taisa of Kyre. Say it’s Leogun Asmundvard. Please. Go. I have something to do. Please, go!” He yelled.
“Leogun? What’s wrong with your eyes?”
“Go!” Leogun yelled. “Everyone, get back! Get back!” It stirs. “GET BACK!” He roared, trying to overcome the din of the crowd.

PLACEHOLDER FOR LYRICS

It stirs! The Reckoning comes!

Ragh could see fragments of the earth fall away. His heart beat faster than he’d ever felt it beat before. “Otral, take your place. We’re marching in five minutes.” He continued to sing, falling back into place with the men of the Legion. Slepkava seemed to yearn to be used in his hand. “Soon, my friend.” He whispered, running his fingers along the ancient platinum blade, the musician and his instrument. “Soon, Slayer.”

Leogun screamed as people ran, trying to usher them away. He pointed with his staff towards the embassy. They would be safe there. Emperor Abaus might have brought an entire larcha of paladins with him. The voices continued to scream in his head as it pounded. Fight, Son of the North! Fight, Vessel! The suns were setting, tinging the sky blood red. Leogun had a feeling that more than the sky would be blood red by nightfall.

Ragh flicked Slepkava and ran his hand across the three-foot sword blade. It was strong. The ancient sword was from the Old Days, one of the few artifacts to survive whatever had happened. No-one knew.

A small figure stood atop a building overlooking the Square. Shrouded in the color of night, the man turned to his compatriot, whispering orders. “Move. Now. Contact the Veil.”

The Spire jerked, tilting perhaps three degrees. It was falling, Leogun realized. “Get away from the Spire!” People were running as fast as they could, but with the sheer number of them packed into the Square, it was hard going, and slow. Nearly a quarter was probably running down the web of roads that stretched from the Square, but it wouldn’t be enough.
The obelisk standing at Arkaius’ center fell further. It was now tumbling towards the ground. Leogun could hear bloody screams from the people crushed by the enormous monument as the earth shook harder. It felt as if the land was trying to pull itself apart to get away from the oncoming disaster, too. The rumbling grew louder as the earth shook more. Leogun almost fell as the stone bricks lurched. “What in the High One’s name is that?” He whispered.

The thunder of footsteps took up as the Legion marched. Ragh stood at its back, behind even Otral, Galas, Ondrich and Irra. The men advanced slowly, in perfect file. “Draw blades!” Ragh shouted. His lieutenants repeated the cry, and the second-lieutenants did the same. Soon, each black blade was drawn, pointing straight into the air. The soldiers moved out of the growing holes, still chanting the Song, and emerged into the open air.
The moment was here.

Leogun tried to see what was causing the chaos. There was no way the fall of the Spire could have caused this much discord and destruction, not by itself. There had to be something else, that thing that was singing. The thing that was stirring, and the thing that had shifted the ground. Finally, he saw it.  There was a force moving towards him, a never-ending mass of soldiers. Leogun stepped back in horror as he saw them. They had the shape of a man, but twisted. Vile, and aberrant. Their skin was dark grey, like the cobblestone under his feet, and they had light grey hair, or white. By far their most noticeable aspect was the horns growing out of their skulls. Each man’s horns were different, some straight, others curved like a goat’s, some dark and some as light as their hair. When the strange men met the fleeing populace, they attacked, swinging their straight black swords and hacking through bone and flesh. The worst part was the noise. Not the screaming, though that chilled him to the core. No, the singing. Each and every one of the men in black leather was singing.
“By the High One...” Leogun whispered in horror. The people that couldn’t run fast enough were being cut down, one by one, even the children. People raced by the monk, some bumping into him in their escape, but Leogun stayed. He took his weight off his staff, where he’d discovered he’d been leaning, and straightened. You have work to do, Son of the North. Embrace the Fire. Leogun’s lips tightened into a thin line. He clenched his eyes shut.
“Sometimes, you have to do the wrong thing for the right reasons. Sometimes you have to give in.” He whispered to himself. The singing never stopped for a second, and neither did the screaming. “Sometimes you have to choose the lesser evil.” Leogun opened his eyes and lifted his staff, pointing it at one of the men charging towards an elderly woman.
“NO!” He roared. Fire poured out of him. He felt the heat, hot as a smith’s forge, run down his body, from his heart to his fingertips. The blaze ignited in his hand and shot down the staff, not scorching the staff but flying out the tip of the oaken rod. It careened towards the woman’s assailant and the two things- fireball and monster- met as the man lunged. He ignited in an instant, golden fire engulfing his brigandine and spreading across his body. Within seconds, he was flailing around on the ground, howling in pain and trying to pat the fire down. Leogun forced himself to watch as the monster died slowly. He watched as he killed a man.

“Asmundvard!” Leogun heard Pychi cry. The monsters were racing towards the tilted stone he stood on, and he struck down each one with a fireball, or a finger of fire. The selae and the daronu rushed to his sides.
“Men.” Leogun said coldly as they drew their blades.
“What in the name of the gods is this?” Pychi asked. Leogun spread his hands, and a cone of fire engulfed the rushing aberrations.
“This is a battle, Longwalker, and these are our enemies. I need you and Falyn to cover the entry into the Deharlean sector. I’ll cover the Sempetian street. We need to funnel them towards the Brymian embassy. It’s the closest, and if we can engage the paladins, we might be able to stop these things in theirs steps.” As he gave the orders, he hadn’t stopped hurling fire for a second.
“I didn’t know you were a Flameweaver, Leogun.” Falyn said. He had two sword sheaths handing from his sword belt on his left hip, and he had drawn the blades from both, while Pychi held a claymore in both hands.
“I’m not, Falyn. I don’t know what I am.” His friend stood beside him for a second, and then he and Pychi raced off towards their positions.

Now at least five of the men raced towards him. Can I do this? He asked the voices. No reply, as always. Instead, he felt the smoldering heat in his chest grow, and he clenched his fists and got to work.

Even when Taisa arrived, the Square hadn’t yet drained of civilians. They still ran from the monsters, trying to escape their swords. Innumerable corpses littered the battlefield, almost all rylial or selae. Leogun didn’t stop to explain the situation to the magi as she approached. Rather, he pointed his staff where Falyn and Pychi were fighting. She shrieked orders to the squads, sending the silver-armored knights to help the selae and the daronu, but she stayed at Leogun’s side.
“Where’s Alaire?” Leogun grunted. Taisa slipped her blue ring onto her finger as Leogun ignited yet another of his enemies.
“She wanted to fight. I had one of the men lock her in my chambers. She’s not ready for battle, I think.” Leogun nodded. Then she joined him in his assault. The Stormfire woman blasted bolts of white lightning at the waves of attackers, vaporizing the men Leogun missed.

Leogun leaned on his staff, exhausted. The waves of attackers never stopped, not even for a moment. Where he and Taisa slew one, two more replaced them, new men, unfatigued and ready for combat.
This is hell. The thought rang through his mind as Taisa pushed her palm towards another one of the vile things, sending him flying back, dead, his chest smoking from the bolt of energy. I have sinned, and I’ve been sent to the infernal realm to die. Again and again and again and again and againandagainandagain-
“I can’t do this any longer, Asmundvard,” Taisa coughed. Leogun nodded.
“What do we do?” He asked.
“Retreat. To the embassy. Abaus is getting ready for battle, and I need to make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid. We can’t lose another emperor.” Leogun nodded. “I need you to hold them off for a while. There are signals Stormfires use to say when to retreat.” Leogun nodded again.
“I know. Do it.” She began to punch the air, sending complex combinations of fire and lightning into the air. Leogun heard the paladins on the other side of the Square shout the orders. Move back! They said. The Stormbringer says to retreat! Back to the embassy! He scanned the battlefield, realizing that there were fifteen men coming closer now.
“By the High One, we’re not going to make it.” He moaned. Taisa cracked her knuckles.
“I’ve got this one.” She began to move, her arms sliding through the air like the wind. As she moved, mist condensed in the air, forming shifting white shields to block the attackers. “Move back.” She ordered. Leogun did as he was told, stepping back slowly as she raised more and more white barriers of mist. Finally, the two broke into a run, meeting the paladins as they raced to the embassy. Leogun ran to Falyn and Pychi.
“Are you alright?” He asked. They nodded.
“Where’s Alaire?” Falyn asked in return.
“She’s safe, Taisa says.” The selae clenched his jaw and gulped. “It’s all right, I’m sure she’s alright.” Falyn nodded.
The Brymian embassy was an enormous construction of alabaster, with white pillars rising from the steps to the triangular roof. Taisa ushered the paladins in, and then she entered with Leogun, Falyn and Pychi.
It looked bigger on the inside, with paladins standing around and magi tending to the hurt. Some of the people who had escaped the massacre in the Square had fled here, not all without wounds. A tall man with dark skin and a well-formed bald head adorned with a simple circlet in a full set of gold armor- likely mage-forged- leaned on the rail of the balcony atop the stairs. Abaus of Brym. Leogun thought. Shining Emperor.
The monk felt ready to collapse on the spot. He was drenched with sweat, but thankfully, none of the attackers had reached him. He had suffered no wounds. Falyn and Pychi, however, were not so lucky. The Longwalker’s chest had a thin slash across it, cutting through his leather coat, as well as a number of other, more minor wounds. Falyn’s side bled, staining his white tunic red. It looked deep.
“Magi!” Pychi cried, supporting Falyn on his shoulders as best he could. It was difficult, with the height difference; even if they were shorter than most rylial, the selae still usually stood about a foot taller than daronu. Several of the magi had turned to look when Pychi had called, but they’d all turned away when they saw who he was carrying.
“It never changes,” Falyn grumbled. Leogun scowled. Perhaps the prejudice he’d seen in the North wasn’t a local thing, as he’d thought. “Leogun, I need to find Alaire.” He looked the monk in the eyes, and reached out to grab him by the shoulders. “Please.”
Leogun led the two to Taisa, who was standing at Abaus’ side. “Your Majesty, this is Leogun Asmundvard, the man who sent the Ntirian woman to warn us.” The emperor stood, clasping his hands together behind his back.
“Thank you, Northerner. Not all of your people would try to help us.” He said. He had high, sharp cheekbones and a handsome face, with piercing blue eyes.
“Falyn wants to see Alaire.” Leogun explained. Taisa nodded.
“Your Majesty, if you’ll excuse me...?” She asked.
“Yes, yes, show them the prisoner.” Falyn looked up, trying to stand on his own and instead falling. Pychi ducked to keep him standing. His icy blue eyes were locked on the emperor.
“Prisoner?” The emperor turned.
“You said she was Ntirian, Taisa?” Abaus asked. She indicated as such. “Then she is a prisoner, I’d assume?” This time, she shook her head.
“Your Majesty, by her very presence, we know she is a refugee. She did us a great service. There is no reason to imprison her.” Abaus scoffed, resting his hand on the khopesh at his side.
“She could just as easily be a spy. Sagah keeps a tight rein on his people,” he retorted. Taisa sighed, her shoulders sagging.
“It is too soon to cast judgement, Your Majesty. At least let them see her.” Abaus said nothing, glaring at her. “Your Majesty, I’d have died without Brother Asmundvard here. Grant him this favor.” The emperor sighed and waved them away. Leogun bowed and took Falyn off of Pychi’s shoulders as Taisa led them through the door behind them, into a hallway. The walls, too, were carved stone, with blue velvet carpet on the floor. They inched along. Falyn breathed raggedly into Leogun’s ear, his warm breath against the Northerner’s cheek.
“How do you know the Emperor, Taisa?” Leogun finally asked, breaking the silence.
“His father and my father were best friends when his uncle was still emperor. We grew up together. Here, it’s this door.” She pushed it open, revealing the room. It was well-furnished, with a tall wooden bed sitting in the corner. Alaire lay on it, her arms crossed over her chest and her hair splayed out around her. As they entered, she sat up suddenly.
“You!” She shouted, pointing at Taisa.
“Alaire, calm down. She was right. It was awful, you wouldn’t want to be there.” Leogun assured her. She stood, running her hands through her hair to straighten it and tying it back into a ponytail.
“That’s not true! Falyn’s been training me-” Her words stopped as soon as she looked at Falyn, and at the wound in his side. His slender fingers were trying to hide it as best they could, but they couldn’t conceal the blood dripping from it. “By the High One, what happened?”
“Asmundvard’s right, Alaire. I’d forgotten how bad a real battle can get, and I got hit.” She inspected the wound, moving his hand away to take a look at it. “I’m dying, Alaire. It’s bad, and I’m losing blood fast. Please, just let me talk to you. For a little while.” She nodded, and Pychi and Leogun lay him down on the bed. They pulled off his tunic. The wound was bad. It was wide and deep, and blood was spilling from it.
“Alaire, when I met you, I swear I thought you were Rya. You’ve got her eyes, her hair, her skin... it’s like you’re her, come back to life.” Leogun looked over the wound, sitting beside the bed. There must be something. Can I cauterize it? He thought. No, his organs were wounded too... “We could never have children, you know. We always wanted them, but she was sterile. We tried for so long...” Hello? Leogun closed his eyes, trying to get a response. Can you help me, please? “But then I found you. She’s gone, but you’re here. I think I tried to save you from that blasted place because you reminded me of her so much... you’re like my daughter, Alaire. Or at least, I wish you were.” Falyn lay back, closing his eyes and grimacing. “It’s getting worse. Pychi, grab my dagger. It’s in my boot. Just end it. Please.” You can save him. The Fire is both life, and death. Leogun sat up. How? He asked.
“Wait!” He cried, stopping Pychi as he approached. “Wait. Just a second, please.” He pleaded. The daronu stepped back, his eyes meeting Falyn’s. Put your hands over the wound, the voice ordered. Leogun did so. Let it flow through you. The Fire will save him. Once again, the forge ignited in his chest, causing searing pain. Leogun spasmed, but kept his eyes open and his hands in place. The heat flowed down his arms and out of his hands.
“What are you doing?” Taisa whispered. Leogun’s hands shone with gold light, light that seeped into Falyn’s wound. “By the gods...” Darkness encroached on the monk’s vision as the wound closed up.
“It- I’m fine.” Falyn mumured in astonishment. Leogun smiled weakly and promptly fell out of his chair.

Ragh stepped out from the chasm to meet Otral, Ondrich, Irra and Galas. “Any trouble?” He asked. They were lounging about, with Galas scrubbing his axe blade free of blood. Otral shook his head. His two swords were already sheathed, and he looked out over the square they’d emerged into. “Any idea where we are?” He asked. Once again, Otral shook his head.
“We didn’t encounter any resistance at all until a Stormfire man in blue showed up. He took down a sizeable number of men, at least fifty or sixty, and then some rylial soldiers showed up. We managed to rout them, though. They fled down that way.” He pointed towards the third exit street, at the end of which a tall building stood.
“The men have mostly spread through the city, but about two hundred or so are waiting for further orders.” Ondrich explained. Ragh nodded.
“Then let’s take it down. How many rylial were there?” He asked, squinting to see if he could tell what the building was.
“I’d guess around sixty. We probably killed around forty of them before they ran. They had a Stormfire woman with them, a Southerner, I’d say. She put on a pretty impressive display before they ran, too.” Ragh nodded again. He turned over the body of the nearest mazak. Whoever had killed him had done it quickly, cleaving him almost in two from his head to his groin. Blood had been spilled across the stones everywhere, to the point that there were few places where he could see the normal grey of the cobblestone street.
“Let’s go for their base down there.” He said, nodding towards the building at the end of the street. “I’d guess it’s the biggest threat.” Otral nodded and told the others to give their orders to the men. “How’d they react?” He asked gleefully. Otral frowned.
“Poorly. Almost none of them stood to fight, even the families. They just ran and screamed, like they never even knew.” Ragh scowled, his moment of sadistic joy soured. Ondrich and the others returned a moment later.
“We’re ready to move, my lord.” Ondrich bowed.
“Then let’s move.”

They fell on the base quickly, the men flooding the doors and pushing inside. Some smashed the doorway apart, opening it wider, and others simply killed. Not easily, though. The people inside were real soldiers, meeting Ragh’s force with their own. Even then, their silver armor was soon painted red.
Then the lightning started. White shards of energy fell from the back of the room, smashing into clusters of the Fell and sending them flying everywhere.
“By the gods...” Ragh whispered. It was chaos. “Sing!” He howled. “Sing!” He took up the Song as he fought. “Die! You said! And he lost his head! That fateful king of old!” The Song began to fill the air as the men regained composure. “Scatter! Don’t stay together!” Ragh ordered. Otral relayed the message to the others, who passed it on again.
“Ragh, they’re pushing us back on the left!” Otral growled as he fought side-by-side with his commander. Ragh nodded, stabbing through one of the armored knights and pushing him off Slepkava’s blade with a firm kick to the chest. He ducked under a swing of a curved blade for Otral to parry. The shorter Fell shoved both swords under Ragh’s attacker’s, and he pushed it back up towards the man. Ragh leaped towards him, piercing through his armor and stabbing his sword into the knight’s neck. He fell to the ground, gargling blood as he died. Ragh spun away from the next attacker, flicking Slepkava into a dagger once more and ripping out one of the beige robed men’s throats before jabbing it into another knight’s neck.
“Otral! This way!” He shouted. The lieutenant slammed his elbow into his opponent’s nose before gutting him and running after the commander.
“Watch out!” Otral dove, pushing Ragh to the ground as another white bolt shot over their backs. Ragh nodded his thanks as they stood and they moved towards the staircase where the storm of death fell from. He kicked aside the corpses littering the staircase as they ascended towards the man in golden armor defending it.
“Take him down. I’ll get the Stormfire.” The man swung towards Ragh as he slid by, pressing himself against the rail of the staircase. The curved sword was just short of his brigandine, the tip slicing only open air. If it had been straightened, it might have impaled him then and there. But it wasn’t, so he slipped past, surprised at the man’s speed. By now, Otral had engaged him, black swords meeting silver steel in a shower of sparks. Fell metal always sparked on contact, a deliberate distractionary tactic.
Ragh turned to the Stormfire woman, who hadn’t yet noticed him. She still alternated between quick blasts of lightning and spraying white fire down at the floor; she seemed far more proficient at the former, striking down her enemies with every bolt.
He lunged towards her, intending to strike her down, but found himself met with a flurry of steel. A selae man with a pair of swords blocked his way. He twisted and spun constantly, confusing Ragh’s eyes. Ragh stepped back from the tornado of metal, dodging to the side when he came near again. He muttered the Song carefully as he watched the man attack and attack and attack. He took care to dodge and parry every strike, keeping the blades at bay. They separated momentarily, meeting each other’s eyes. The selae had cold blue eyes.  
“Who are you?” Ragh whispered. “You’re not like the others. The others died.” His opponent breathed heavily, his swords crossed as the tips pointed towards the ground. “And why do you hate me? I can see it in your eyes.”
“You’re killing innocents.”
“You’re obviously not a novice. You’re a soldier. You know that war kills innocents.” The soldier-man nodded.
“You do it on purpose. You’re trying to slaughter. You’re trying to murder. That’s the difference.” Ragh smiled and laughed.
“Well, selae, don’t you think it’s appropriate?” Ragh stopped smiling after a moment. “Don’t you?” The man spat. There was blood in his saliva, but Ragh had yet to touch him. He shook his head. Ragh gulped back his anger, trying to speak without his voice quivering. “You really don’t think so, do you? You don’t see it?” The man looked confused. “Do you even know who I am?”
“You’re the enemy.”
“I’m the Prince of the Fell, selae. And I’m here to kill you. To kill all of you!” He snarled. The man rolled his shoulders, cracking his back, and sheathed one of his swords. Ragh shook his head.
“Then let’s get to work.” The man said. “I’d prefer to know the names of the people I kill. It makes it... more honorable.” Ragh snorted, and he laughed for a second. He’d heard of the selae’s honor.
“I am Ragh Zel, and I don’t care who you are.” He hummed to himself then, first quietly, but then louder. Then the Song began, mixing with the sounds of death and chaos. They clashed again, Ragh slamming his sword into the flat of his opponent’s blade. The man wove under the attack, rolling under the sword and kicking out Ragh’s legs with one smooth movement. Ragh grabbed the man by the hem of his tunic, dragging him down to the ground. He flicked Slepkava as he brought the sword up, swinging it down as a dagger. A fist slammed into his face as the selae moved his head away from the tip. Ragh’s head snapped back, and he drooled blood as he staggered away. Then they were standing again, each holding their swords.
“It’s coming down!” Ragh heard from the floor. They both stopped to see two of Ragh’s soldiers slamming their hammers into the crumbling remains of the building’s columns.
“Otral! Run!” Ragh howled, vaulting over the rail of the balcony and landing defly on the floor. He pushed through the battlefield, avoiding blades as best he could as he ran. The roof pitched, and parts of the ceiling began to fall. All around, barriers of white blocked the falling stone as people evacuated. Finally, it fell, and the front of the building collapsed in on itself as Ragh dove out of the way, into the street.
He rose, coughing the dust out of his lungs. As he looked around, he realized that most of his men hadn’t been so fortunate. They were mostly trapped inside or crushed by the rubble. Only were outside now, and some of those still lying on the ground could be dead or dying. “Where’s Otral?” He muttered. The men looked around for his second-in-command.
“I’m here,” a weak voice said from behind. Ragh spun to see Otral pull himself free from a rock.
“Are you all right?” He asked. The man nodded, scrubbing his face with his hands.
“I’m fine. I may have twisted my foot, but I’m fine.” Ragh sighed in relief and turned to the survivors.
“We can’t stop now, men. The battle’s still going and there’s work to be done.”