Dragon-whelp cloak. Resistant to heat and flame. Minor protection from injuries. Annev pulled the hood of the cloak over his head.
Flame sword. Magically strengthened core and sharpened edge. Annev poured his concentrated anger into the flames, taking the colour from blue-white to near ultraviolet.
A heavily muscled, seven-and-a-half-foot-tall feurog slashed a scythe-like limb at Annev’s head. Annev swung hard and hit the monster’s steel-edged arm with his flamberge. The magic blade burned through flesh and carved through metal, severing the feurog’s arm from its body. The creature halted, caught off balance by the blow, then stared dumbfounded at the missing limb and cauterised stump. The other feurog encircling Annev howled with rage, tearing up handfuls of earth and pounding their fists together in a cacophony of screeching metal and stone.
Annev followed through with the momentum of his first swing, windmilled his arm, and swung his violet-flamed sword up into the crotch of the behemoth, splitting him cleanly in two. The giant’s sundered body peeled apart and plopped to the ground, each half falling to either side.
The feurog fell silent, open-mouthed at the spectacle. A heartbeat passed. Then two.
Then they charged.
Boots of Swiftness. Increased strength and speed.
Annev somersaulted over the top of the charge, making those in front collide with those behind. In the resulting confusion, he twisted in the air, decapitated one, and landed softly among a new clump of screeching feurog. A fanged youth with golden claws raked its hands across Annev’s trousers, yet the fabric did not yield.
Trousers of Protection. Extraordinary durability and resistance to abrasion.
The monster lashed out again, but this time Annev plunged his sword through the youngster’s chest. The adolescent slashed Annev’s sword arm in the exchange, smiled at his tiny victory, then shuddered as he slid lifeless from Annev’s blade.
Annev whirled to face another opponent, only to find that the monsters had retreated beyond the reach of his sword. Instead of engaging, they churned about him, searching for a weakness. Annev felt the warm trickle of blood running down his arm and held his sword out, alert to any surprise attacks as he kept an eye trained on the crimson stain blossoming beneath his white shirt. As the blood seeped into the fabric, Annev felt the garment respond.
Shirt of Regeneration. Increased stamina and rapid healing.
It was only then Annev realised the wounds he had received from Copper-cap had already healed; though stained with dried blood, his shoulders did not ache or hinder him.
Four feurog attacked in unison, reaching out with their crooked metal hands, heavy stone fists, and rusty, broken weapons. Annev spun in a broad circle, arcing out with his sword. He imagined an invisible sphere surrounding him, guiding his attacks and maintaining the momentum of each blow. He danced among the monsters, carrying his dynamic sphere of motion with him, and when a feurog entered that sphere, Annev redirected it with the stub of his left arm, the sweeping blow of his foot, or the fiery blade of his sword. More and more creatures charged, enraged at the ineffectiveness of their group attack.
Annev held his ground at the centre of it all, consciously moving to engage more of them in combat. He felt strong, his senses keen and alert, for though the monsters slashed at his head and back, and Annev’s unprotected limbs grew bruised, battered and bloodied, his years of training carried him through, and his magic boots and shirt kept him fighting when he would otherwise have tired.
As Annev fought, he felt at once alive and disembodied, powerful as he maimed and killed, yet detached from the experience, knowing that these feurog had killed his friends and acquaintances, had attacked their village and destroyed his home.
Annev whirled left and right, decapitating one beast with gnashing razors in place of teeth, then swinging his flamberge up to skewer a leaping feurog who came at him from behind. He caught a third monster’s hooked metal arm with his sword, cutting and cauterising it at the elbow, then spun away again, always moving, maintaining his dynamic sphere of fiery metal and momentum. In his peripheral vision, Annev saw Fyn, Titus and the rest of the villagers making their way towards Sraon and the other avatars.
Good. Now I can focus on finding Sodar. Annev shifted his swirling arc of death towards the south side of the Academy, his attention split between the feurog attacking him and the well. As he moved, Annev saw some of the monsters behind him slow and slink away, unwilling to follow. The crowd of feurog began to thin, and Annev caught a brief glimpse of the well between the burning husks of the homes and shops surrounding the square. He fought like a demon, fervently hoping that he would see Sodar standing beside the well, unnoticed by the monsters and unscathed by battle. The mob of attacking creatures continued to thin, with almost a dozen dropping away to search for easier prey. When a howling feurog with obsidian-edged arms stepped in front of Annev, he decapitated it without a thought, his eyes never leaving his objective. The creature fell and Annev saw the well clearly.
The priest was nowhere in sight.
Annev roared in denial, unwilling to accept what his eyes were telling him. The creatures trailing him hesitated, as though his war cry spoke to them on some feral level. Several fell back and Annev raced for the well.
A fat feurog leapt from the shadows of a building and slammed a chipped axe into his left shoulder. The blade bounced off the dragon-scale cloak, but Annev felt something break beneath the folds of the magic cloth. He screamed in pain and lashed out with his sword, stabbing the monster through its marble-veined belly. The beast fell back and Annev ran on, calling on the magic of his shirt to heal his arm, and of his boots to speed him towards the well. Within moments, he had broken free of the remaining feurog and caught his first glimpse of the battle encompassing the eastern half of Chaenbalu. Standing at the centre of it all, on the opposite side of the deserted well, was Tosan.
The Eldest of Ancients strafed the hellfire wand back and forth, doggedly protecting the broad patch of earth between the stables and the Academy. The melted corpses of men and monsters lay in a wide circle about him, and every twisted creature that came into view was blasted by liquid fire. Cowering behind Tosan’s lean frame were Carbad and the bulk of the Academy’s masters and ancients, all either afraid or unwilling to stand beside their headmaster. The only exception to this was Myjun, who had exchanged her nightdress for reaping clothes.