Quarrel-Karn couldn’t see the ground. Too many bodies covered it.
His arm was sore from swinging his sword. His fingers were numb. The fires in his hair were sputtering instead of blazing. He kept hacking at Harenans.
The battle had started at dusk. It was almost dawn. What had started as two separate armies with neat little rows of soldiers had degenerated into a single mass of writhing, dying bodies. The air stank of copper blood. Quarrel-Karn couldn’t breathe. He threw another fireball.
The catapults had been pummeling the city non-stop with their necrotic blasts. But instead of turning stone to ash in seconds, their targets decayed over the course of hours, long enough for the mages to enact counter spells and the builders to throw together some secondary supports. It wasn’t pretty...
Please subscribe to keep reading.