The Steward and the Sorcerer James Peart (read my book .TXT) 📖

wave, its broken contrails rippling harmlessly to either side of him.  The Druid dropped to a crouch, his hands weaving quickly, the strands of his magic threading and interlacing to form an impassable wall between himself and the Tochried.  Christopher and the Legionnaires gasped and drew back from the wall of flame.  Only Longfellow held his ground, issuing instructions to the Tochried to destroy the barrier.  Christopher tended to Simon, who lay still on the ground, apparently unconscious, the Drey torch sticks held in his hands, the image of the temple that had lain between them gone from view.

The demon brought its hands together in an almighty smack...and the wall exploded, sending fantails of yellow flame everywhere.  It walked into the core of the breach, searching for the Druid.  Demon magic streamed through the rent, catching Daaynan unaware, lifting his tall form high into the air, sweeping him east toward the Steward’s tower.  Up into the firmament it carried him, its shrill piercing cry shattering his ears, throwing him off balance.  It sent him at speed toward the tower wall, the demon meaning to smash his body against the stone.  Yet Daaynan fought back, summoning Druid magic, pink in colour, to surround and protect his form.  From his great height, he sent Druid fire- yellow this time- ripping into the monstrous creature below, igniting it in a sudden blazing rush, torching it again and again until smoke traced from its blackened body in smouldering whirls and eddies.  An instant later Daaynan crashed against the tower wall, his back and shoulder taking the brunt of the impact.  Roaring in pain, his vision suddenly darkening, he dropped to the ground and lay there unmoving.  The Tochried, charred and blackened, also lay motionless, weakened by the Druid’s previous attack.  Moments passed while the company looked on helpless, wondering which of the two would be the first to stumble to his feet.  Then, abruptly deciding it unimportant, the Exile Commander ordered his men to charge at the stricken demon.  Pulling together as one, they sprinted forward, swords and axe-blades in hand, striking and cutting at the Tochried.  The creature lunged at them with a sweep of its paw, knocking the first few of them right and left like ninepins.  Yet wave after wave of them came at it and the demon was soon overwhelmed.  Christopher watched them as they swarmed all over the Tochried, understanding and admiring the brave Legionnaires and respecting their Commander beyond measure.  They couldn’t hope to subdue the demon with their limited strength and conventional weapons.  They were merely trying to buy Daaynan time.  The fact that they were willing to give their lives in the attempt showed him what kind of men they were and how the one that led them could act against orders in the name of what was right and just.  He stared at the Commander and in that moment Dechs chose to look round and catch the expression of admiration on his face.  He smiled at Christopher then, the look on his face suggesting that they were equals in this struggle.  The Englishman blushed, thinking of his own, earlier act of bravery, then looked down quickly at Simon and repeated his attempts to revive his friend.  As if picking up on his thoughts, in an act of counter-intuitive bravery, a number of the Legionnaires began to surround their Steward, pinning Longfellow to the ground, placing their hands over his mouth to disguise any attempt at further speech.  The Steward lashed out with every means available to him but it did no good.  Together, they carried him from the battleground.

Daaynan lifted himself off the stone surface of the compound just as the demon swept to its feet, brushing aside the latest onslaught of Legionnaires with an almost careless swipe of its hand, sending them flying like ragdolls.  The Druid’s robes were covered in dust and dirt, his upper body sore from its impact against the tower wall.  Yet his face was grimly determined, his eyes sinister and menacing, a ferocious rage welling inside him.  They approached each other and resumed battle, the demon offering the sorcerer a chilling smile that matched the other’s passionate fury.

The combat wore on, a frightening contest that sent the opponents back and forth across the smouldering surface of the compound, twisting and winding, circling each other, each trying to outdo the other.  At times it looked as if the Druid had gained the upper hand, the yellow fire he summoned boring through the attacking waves that sought to lift him off his feet, striking the Tochried’s body a number of times with its burning flames.  The Tochried was heavy, cumbersome on its feet and an easy target yet it had strength beyond measure and the Druid fire seemed to cause few lasting injuries.  It had more success in warding off the demon’s attack, the Druid’s pink flame rendering him immune to the piercing swell the other sent his way.  However, as the moments passed into minutes and still the battle continued, Daaynan began to grow weary again.  For weeks now, he had been fighting what the Steward had sent his way, journeying to distant lands before finally travelling here on foot, tiring of the Naveen King’s presence in him, wanting this to be over yet always knowing there was more to be done.  Now the moment had arrived when he could confront Longfellow in person and he needed to do battle with yet another of his creatures.  He met the Tochried’s gaze and he knew what it was thinking: sooner or later he would falter and when that happened the demon would finally put an end to him.

As if in response to this, a wave of sound thrashed out at him, not at his head or chest this time but at the level of his feet, skirting beneath the pink fire that warded his being, catching him unawares.  He felt a sudden tightening around his ankles as if the bones and