Dust of Dreams

ice shards. Cursing, he twisted, lashing out even as he plunged into the maelstrom of reptilian limbs and iron weapons. And then taloned feet, slashing, stamping down. A blow to the face stunned him. White, and then blessed darkness.
     
    Twelve paces. The surviving marines rose as one from the foremost trench. Crossbows thudded. Sharpers cracked and burners ignited. Directly before Fiddler, he saw his bolt glance off a node and then explode immediately behind the lizard’s head. The helm went spinning, whipping fragments of brain and bone in a wild cavorting tail of gore. The node blackened, and then exploded.
    The concussion threw Fiddler back, down into the trench. Pieces of hide and meat rained down.
    Half-winded, he struggled to reload his lobber. One last cusser—
gotta get rid of it, before it goes up like those sharpers down the line—gods, we’ve been chewed up—
    Shadows swept over the trench.
    He looked up.
    The Nah’ruk had arrived.
     
    Corabb had managed to reload. Lifting his head, he saw a giant lizard rising above the berm, maw tilting down as if grinning at him.
    His quarrel vanished into its soft throat, punched out through the back of its skull. The creature wobbled. Flinging away the crossbow, Corabb drew his swordand scrambled to his feet. He swung at the nearest shin. The impact nearly broke his wrist and the weapon’s edge bit deep into bone and jammed there.
    Still the creature stood, twitches rippling through its massive body.
    Corabb struggled to pull loose his sword.
    To either side, Nah’ruk clambered over the berm, leapt down into the trench.
     
    The backswing lifted Sergeant Primly into the air, and he rode the iron blade, his blood spilling down as if from a bucket. Shrieking, Neller flung himself on to the lizard’s left arm, pulled himself higher and then forced the sharper down between the enamel chest-plate and the greasy hide. Jaws snapped, closed on his face. Phlegm like acid splashed his eyes and skin. Howling, Neller tightened his grip on the sharper and then drove the fist of his other hand against the armour, directly opposite the munition.
    Mulvan Dreader, driving a spear into the lizard’s belly, caught the blast as the creature’s chest exploded. Ceramic shrapnel shredded Mulvan’s neck, punching red gore into the air behind him. Neller was flung back, his right arm gone, his face a slashed, melting horror.
    Primly’s corpse landed five paces away, a flopping thing painted crimson.
    The lizard toppled.
    Two more appeared behind it, falchions lifting.
    Stumbling, Drawfirst set her shield and readied her sword. As Skulldeath leapt past her, landing in between the two Nah’ruk.
     
    A bolt sizzled close to her horse’s head. Its muzzle and mane burst into flame. Skin peeled and cracked from mouth to shoulders. The animal collapsed. Lostara Yil managed to roll clear. The heat had flashed against her face and she could smell the stench of scorched hair. Staggering to her feet, she looked over to see a dozen staff riders down, roasted in their armour. The Adjunct was lifting herself from the carnage, her otataral sword in one hand.
    ‘Get me Keneb—’
    ‘Keneb’s dead, Adjunct,’ Lostara replied, staggering over. The world spun and then steadied.
    Tavore straightened. ‘Where—’
    Lostara reached the woman, pulled her down to the ground. ‘You shouldn’t even be alive, Tavore. Stay here—you’re in shock. Stay here—I’ll find help—’
    ‘Quick Ben—the High Mage—’
    ‘Aye.’ Lostara stood over the Adjunct, who was sitting as would a child. The captain looked over to where she’d last seen Quick Ben.
    He’d annihilated an entire phalanx, and where it had been the fires of superheated flesh, hide and bone still raged in an inferno. She saw him marching towards another phalanx, above him the sky convulsing, blackening like a bruise.
    Sorcery erupted from the High Mage, struck the phalanx. Burning corpses lifted into the air.
    ‘I see him. Adjunct—I can’t—’
    From the darkness in the sky a sudden glow, blinding, and then an enormous spear of lightning descended. She saw the High Mage look up, saw him raise his arms—and then the bolt struck. The explosion could have levelled a tenement block. Even the Nah’ruk in the phalanx thirty or more paces away were flattened like sheaves of wheat. Flanking units buckled on the facing sides.
    The shock wave staggered Lostara, stole her breath, deafened her. Hands to her face, she slumped