Iron and Magic (The Iron Covenant #1)(95)

Without a blood edge, he would be fucked.

The blood ward worked. Why not the blood sword?

The pair of golden-shouldered assholes sucked in air. Round two. Fire tore toward him. He threw up another blood ward, let the inferno die trying to break it, and kept moving.

The magic vibrated inside him like a firehose under the full pressure of a hydrant. Blue sparks pierced the darkness rising from him, lighting it from within.

He was only ten yards from the front line.

The commander opened his mouth. His eyes sparked with bright fiery amber. A torrent of fire shot out of his mouth, white-hot, and met the wall of Hugh’s third blood ward. The spell took the full brunt of the impact. The fire raged, pounding on the translucent wall of red. Hairline cracks formed in the ward.

If it shattered, he would never know.

The fire torrent raged.

Now or never. Hugh drew the full length of his blade over the cut, soaking the flat of his sword in his blood. He reached for the power in his blood. For a terrifying half second, nothing was there, and then he found it, a bright spark of hot magic. He fed it and it burst into an inferno. Magic dashed down Hugh’s blade, like fire along a detonation cord. A bright red edge overlaid the sword.

The fire died.

Hugh dismissed the ward with a wave of his hand.

“Is that all? My turn.” His magic saturated him to the brim, threatening to boil over. All he had to do was aim it. “Karsaran.”

Darkness shot out of him, exploding, streaked with blue lightning. It clutched at the two front lines, jerking the armored men off their feet into the air. They hung three feet above the pavement. He moved through the gap he made, as their skeletons snapped, contorting, the staccato of their breaking bones crunching like broken glass under his feet.

An officer spun into his way. Hugh sidestepped, letting the man’s momentum carry him by, and sliced across the officer’s neck. The blood sword cut through solid metal like it was butter. The officer’s head rolled off his shoulders.

Ha. It still worked.

The second officer charged at Hugh. Hugh braced himself and met the charge, driving his shoulder into the man. The officer bounced off, knocked aside.

Hugh kept the momentum and swung. The commander parried, letting the blade slide off his sword, and came back with a devastating strike from the left and down.

Fast asshole. Not fast enough though. That armor had a price.

Hugh shied back, letting the point of the sword whistle by, and cut at the man’s elbow. Sword coated in magic met metal and bit through it. Blood wet the blade. One arm down.

The bigger man reversed the blow, as if the wound never happened, slashing high from the right. Hugh dodged, surged into the opening, and buried his sword in his opponent’s armpit. The blade screeched as it cut through metal and struck home.

The commander staggered back, blood pouring over his armor.

The second officer rammed into Hugh from the left, locking his sword against Hugh’s. Hugh jerked his knife out and stabbed him in the left eye. The man fell as if cut. Behind him the commander opened his mouth. Shit.

Hugh dropped down, scooping up the fallen officer’s shield, and raised it. Fire splashed over him. The shield turned too hot. Pain scoured his arm. His left hand blistered. He sank his magic into it, trying to keep the flesh on the bone, healing it as fast as the shield cooked it. Agony tore at him. Dark stars wavered in his vision. He could barely feel the hand, bathed in blue glow.

The fire ended. Hugh surged to his feet and hurled the shield at the enemy. The big man batted it aside and stomped forward, eyes bulging.

Die, you persistent sonovabitch.

The commander swung, blows coming fast and desperate.

Cut, dodge.

Cut, dodge.

Cut.

Hugh batted the sword aside and thrust. It was a precise, lightning-fast stab. The sword caught the commander in the throat, piercing it through just above the Adam’s apple. The man’s mouth gaped. He struggled on the blade, like an impaled fish. His sword crept up.

Sonovabitch.

“Arhari arsssan tuar.”

Magic tore out of Hugh. The pain bit his gut with molten fangs, letting him know he’d overspent. The commander’s body split, his ribs thrusting up and out, through the armor, like bony blades. Gore sprayed Hugh’s face. The commander gurgled, still alive. How the hell…

Hugh reversed his grip, snarled, and drove the blade with all his weight behind it into the man’s waist. Metal and flesh gave way and the top half of the man’s body slid to the side, hanging by a narrow strip of muscle and gristle. Hugh kicked it, toppling the body, raised his sword like a hangman’s axe, and chopped the commander’s head off.

The three pieces that used to be a human body lay still.

Hugh dragged his hand across his face, trying to clear blood from his nose and mouth, spat, and turned. A dozen mrog warriors stared at him. As one, they raised their weapons.

He swung his blood sword and bared his teeth. “Next.”





14





The woods looked different at night, the dark trunks and braided branches crowding the road. It was well past midnight and the forest was pitch-black. Things shifted in its depths, calling out with eerie voices. Glowing eyes tracked the long column stretching behind Hugh, filling the woods with human military noises: horses snorting, gears clanking, and muffled conversations coming from the back.