Masters of Magic by Chris Wraight - (ebook by Undead)

Author:Chris Wraight - (ebook by Undead) [Wraight, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Warhammer
Published: 2011-08-28T22:23:54+00:00

* * *

“Let fly!” cried the castellan and the archers released their bowstrings in a single, disciplined volley. The arrows spun over the battlements and into the morass of forms beneath them. Wails and screams of anger and pain signalled that many had found their mark. Karsten peered through the gap in the stone, watching as the charge towards the gates faltered. Several huge greenskins tumbled to the ground clutching arrows at their throats and torsos.

“Second rank!” bellowed Karsten above the noise, and the front row of archers stepped back from the battlements. They were instantly replaced by a fresh line, who released their missiles with similar deadly force into the tide of greenskins crashing against the stone beneath them. More staggered and fell to the ground, but plenty of slavering forms leapt forwards to fill the gaps.

“First rank!” he cried once more, and the process repeated. Fresh arrows streaked towards their targets.

Karsten was pleased. Many of the men on the ramparts were from his garrison, and they knew their business. Even some of the newcomers were learning, and their pale faces and grim, determined looks were a far cry from their earlier carefree enthusiasm. The hail of arrows was constant, and was keeping the vanguard of the orc host from overwhelming the gates.

“Repeat!” he urged, striding up and down the narrow parapet, exhorting his men against fear. It was not easy. The roar of the horde was nearly overwhelming, as was the stench. “Don’t lose heart! There are many of them, but we are men! Children of Sigmar, inheritors of his realm! Keep your discipline! Second rank!”

Below, the orcs were beginning to respond to the steady hail of arrows. Crude black-feathered shafts rose up against the walls, clattering and skidding across the stone. More massive orcs, wading their way to the front of the slaughter, were able to hurl rocks at the defenders from crude slings, some of which found their target, crushing skulls and breaking bones where they landed amid the battlements. Karsten strode fearlessly through it all, his voice hoarse and cracking, sweat beginning to pool on his brow. His body ached, his mind worked hard. How long had they got before the assault reached the gates and broke them? It was so hard to tell, so hard to judge correctly.

He looked across the battlements, over to the narrow rampart surmounting the gatehouse. From the summit, Marius was hurling some strange, glowing substance at the orcs below. Whatever it was, it was generating whoops and shrieks of panic and agony. Karsten smiled grimly, and made his way to the wizard’s side, holding his battered shield high to guard against the rain of arrows, rocks and other debris looping up from the field.

“Good hunting?” he yelled over the ever-present roar of battle.

“Aye, castellan,” laughed Marius, his eyes bright, his cloak and staff swirling as he worked the Amber Wind, apparently without effort. “Forgive my wishing to leave you earlier. I’m beginning to enjoy myself up here.”

His staff shivered from root to tip, and the earth beneath the orcs’ feet began to heave and buckle.

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