seymoure

The Phrang’s Gambit

The eruption of violence was stunning in its reverberations.

For the ears of Antac, Bizjon said, “Marauding fighters. At least a dozen armed with the weapons, but different.”

Nothing else could be heard above the thunder of firing blasts from one side of the area and the chilling, thrilling roar of Grath’s voice and the clash of his sword crashing into metal breastplates that ripped asunder.

That was soon joined with the screams of men falling beneath Antac’s sword Vanock and pierced by arrows flying from Bizjon’s bow (which, he had told them time and time again he had christened “Bow.”).

Meri-am caused the two soldiers nearest to her to forget how to breath until the passed out. She did not kill until she was given no other option.

Nine of their opponents had fallen before they were able to do any damage.

But it was awful in its effect.

Bizjon was suddenly struck by four balls from a single cannonette. The metal ripped flesh from a line that extended from his left shoulder through his left upper ribcage, right lower ribcage and just above his right hip.

The power of the blasts threw the small man against the wall which was slammed against the wall, which was then itself bathed in the acrobat’s blood. He slid, barely conscious, to the floor. In agony he raised his bow and sent an arrow through the heart of the man who had shot him. He was an instant before Grath who, blind with a bezerker fury, split the man from skull to waist with a single swing of Fang.

The bow fell from Bizjon’s hands as his head fell forward into repose on his chest.

His eyes bitterly closed.

The last of the attackers fell but the fact was slight its importance to any but his mother.

Bizjon’s friends encircled the small man who was crumpled like a wet piece of parchment, thrown carelessly on the ground. Blood flowed out of him like a plum being juiced, or a blood orange thrown against stones.

Grath and Antac showed the faces of distress and confusion to Meri-am. She was pulling whim from the bag at the fasted rate they had ever seen her perform a spell.

She was healing a single wound at a time. She knew the Sorcerous Stones would not save Bizjon’s life, but they would heal an injury. The important part was to fix one thing at a time and hope she could save his life a piece at a time.

She didn’t see the tears in Grath’s eyes. He looked like a boy who’s most loved pet has been run over by a wagon. Antac couldn’t see him, but he could hear the breathing of the big man and he knew what was happening in the giant’s giant heart. When he hugged the quivering hero in his arms he was almost crushed as his friend nearly collapsed into them.

Holding up his comrade and trying to comfort him was all that allowed Antac to hold himself together.

The last of the gashes were finally healed and Meri-am fell back from her labor.

“Will he live?” Antac asked.

“It is up to a power beyond me now,” the female Mage admitted. Then she wrapped her arms around Bizjon and thought, “Do not leave us, dear one, we cannot live without you.”

Now everyone in the Capitol Plaza was frozen in time.