The Chains of War: Book Three of The Children of Telm by Dean F. Wilson

Author:Dean F. Wilson [Wilson, Dean F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781909356061
Publisher: Dioscuri Press
Published: 2014-08-12T00:00:00+00:00

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The evil Taarí that crashed down on Herr’Don’s armies were fierce beyond measure, and though they were crafted of water, it seemed to some that they were made of fire. Many drowned beneath the wave of attackers, but Herr’Don worked himself into a frenzy that showed them what real fire was like. He slashed his way through the waters, attacking everything in sight, and many of his own soldiers cleared the way as he approached, for he seemed like he would strike out at anything or anyone in sight. He was pushed to and fro, like a man bobbing amidst the waves, but this only propelled him from one dead foe to another for whom death was imminent.

And so Geldirana joined him on the field of battle, but where Herr’Don stumbled to and fro, cleaving and cutting, Geldirana’s movements were like a dance. She waded through the foes, turning this way and that, striking and continuing forth as if there were no obstacles before her, just the choreography of battle.

Elithéa too entered the battlefield, and though she did not have the grace of Geldirana, she had something of the ferocity, and her enemies were not thankful that she carried a staff instead of a mace, for it struck them dead just the same.

Thalla joined the other Magi with attacks made from range, trapping and killing reinforcements that flooded down to join their comrades.

But Ifferon and Délin left the Taarí to their companions, for an even bigger threat was soon upon them. The knights braced themselves as the darkness they could not see flooded down towards them, and Ifferon waited for that brief moment before he could say that they were here. And then it came.

The shadows seemed all of one type, mingled together so that bits of one seemed to merge into another, and what seemed like a wisp that blew from one became a smaller thing of darkness that moved on its own. Some of these were Spectres, and they hounded all around them with the flails of fear and the daggers of dread, while others were Meddlers, and they hunted all around them with very different weapons: claws made of shadow, which struck like sickles.

Yet the knights did not fall like their Bororian brethren might have, for their armour was thick, and their training was another shield. They swung and struck at the darkness they felt around them, and Délin cut his way through the assailants, showing them the feel of the sickle-edge of his two-handed sword.

Ifferon stabbed at a few shadows that formed around him, and they wailed like the cries of the dying, and the more haunting cries of the dead in the bitter watches of the night. He began to feel things crawling around him and upon him, and even when he turned to them, ready to fight, he found nothing there to greet him, and he began to feel the same kind of fear he knew the knights without the clearsight must feel.

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