Inconvenient Magic 01 - Potatoes, Come Forth! by H. Jonas Rhynedahll

Author:H. Jonas Rhynedahll [Rhynedahll, H. Jonas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rhynedahll Software
Published: 2011-08-26T14:00:00+00:00

NINETEEN

The tremendous explosions bolted the horses and the wagon bed began to bounce and swerve, tossing Serheighmon, arms and legs flailing and his rifle arcing away, off the rear end. Clay cursed a streak as she fought to bring the team under control.

As the jouncing intensified, Sarah began to stir, moaning. Everett braced himself against the side of the wagon and took hold of her shoulders to keep the gyrations from throwing her about. Her eyes opened and blinked as she sought to focus on his face.

“Everett … what’s happening?” She demanded, trying to sit up.

“I don’t know. Just lie still.”

She looked passed him to take in the open sky above. “Where are we?”

“In Alarsaria.”

“Where’s the air carriage?”

“I’ll explain later. Right now we have other problems.”

“I’m all right.” She pushed his hands away. “Let me up.”

The wagon slowed and came to an abrupt stop as Clay, feet braced and back arched, strained against the horse leads. The Alarsarian soldier hurriedly tied off the leather straps, set the brakes, and stood to turn about. Everett leaned away from Sarah and she sat up, not quite steadily, swiveling her head to examine her surroundings. When both women sucked in sharp breaths almost at the same instant, he whipped about to look back along the road.

The outpost was simply gone. Nothing could be seen of the quarter mile distant fortified compound save for billowing surges of towering smoke and the occasional shrouded flash of roiling fire. Small secondary detonations shook the ground as ammunition stores cooked off.

Fifty yards behind the wagon, Serheighmon, silhouetted against the black and gray clouds, rose slowly from the dust of the road, holding his left forearm with his right hand, and began walking unsteadily toward them.

Clay, perhaps unnecessarily, said in a dead calm tone, “It’s the Zheries.”

“We’d better get out of here,” Everett recommended with some force.

As if to punctuate his suggestion, another salvo fell upon the former farm, sending up globes of fire and debris a hundred feet high. Blasts of sound and scorched wind again buffeted them. Spooked once more, the horses dragged the wagon a good dozen yards, throwing Clay back into her seat, before the friction of the locked wheels forced the animals to halt, wild-eyed, shivering, and dancing in fright.

As they righted themselves, Serheighmon trotted up, still holding his arm and now clearly grimacing in pain. “I think I broke my arm when I fell.”

Everett hopped down to help the injured soldier into the wagon. “We need to get going,” he urged. “The next barrage might land right on top of us.”

The soldiers did not immediately react to his suggestion, and he began to consider transporting Sarah and himself far ahead out of danger.

Somewhat confusedly, Serheighmon wondered, “Maybe we should go back?”

Her face expressionless, Clay shook her head. “Shells that big only come from six-inch guns. Our deepest bunker was only three feet and that’s not enough to survive six inchers dropped right on top o’ them. The Zheries had the compound zeroed. Everyone there is dead.

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