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Sagarius
Morning finally came, but outside, the blizzard still raged as fiercely as before. Everything beyond the cave had vanished beneath white. They even had to keep clearing a narrow opening through the snow with a stick so they could see outside and let fresh air in.
Throughout the morning, Lans wore a worried look. Despite careful rationing, their provisions had dwindled to a troubling level. They still had some cheese and several packets of dried salted meat, but there was hardly any flour left for bread. Once those were gone, only the hard biscuits would remain.
“What should we eat today?” Lans asked as he prepared to make gruel in his already blackened helmet, now filled with water melted from snow and brought to a boil.
“Hard biscuits,” Sagarius said.
“An excellent choice,” he replied with forced cheer, doing his best to conceal his worry.
Sagarius snorted. She recognized the false brightness in his voice, yet appreciated the effort.
He crushed the biscuits into the boiling water, then added thin slices of cheese and dried, salted meat. Sagarius took over, stirring the mixture with a wooden spoon she had carved from a branch.
Lans waited calmly beside her.
Hard biscuits were far more useful prepared this way than eaten dry. Crumbled into thin gruel, they softened and thickened the broth. The meal remained plain, but the cheese and salted meat gave it enough flavor, and it would satisfy their hunger.
Once the gruel had simmered, they moved it away from the fire and allowed it to cool just enough before eating it straight from the helmet. They took their time, each deliberately trying to leave more for the other.
“You should eat more,” she said. “Elves do not require as much sustenance. We are naturally more idle than humans.”
“I have been in this world longer than you,” Lans replied. “Hunger is unpleasant, and it makes me weak, but it does not kill me.”
“But this is not your world. You should not rely on that.”
Lans seemed to accept defeat and took a full spoonful of gruel. Afterward, however, he withdrew and left the rest to Sagarius.
She ate several spoonfuls, then scraped what remained from the inside of the helmet. Instead of eating it, she held the spoon toward him and opened her own mouth slightly, urging him to do the same as though feeding a reluctant child.
Lans could not help but stifle a chuckle.
“Quickly, before it gets cold,” she urged.
Lans took the spoon from her and ate the last mouthful.
“I feel bad that the food may not be appetizing to you,” he apologized afterward.
“What do you think I am, some pampered noblewoman?” Sagarius quipped, despite being the daughter of the last Emperor.
Unaware of that, Lans merely gave her a snort.
“The truth is,” she continued, “elves do not concern themselves greatly with food. Even high elves like me, who share the blood of both elves and the Great Progenitors, seldom place much importance on elaborate meals.”
“What sort of food do elves enjoy?” he asked.
“Much the same as humans. We eat roasted meat, though usually with fewer spices and less grease. We also enjoy simpler dishes, such as oats with berries, bread with salt, olives, or honey, and yams baked slowly over hot stones.”
He let out a sigh. “Merely thinking about them makes me hungry.”
Sagarius chuckled.
Afterward, ignoring any protest he might have made, she cleaned the helmet and set more snow to boil. They needed to keep the fire burning for warmth regardless, and having hot water ready would be useful.
Meanwhile, Lans went to tend the horse. The beast had already eaten horse bread again that morning. He had not carried much rye flour in his bag to begin with, so by tomorrow, they would probably have to use some of their remaining white flour to make more bread for her.
That would be an unpleasant decision, as the white flour was also their last means of making bread for themselves. They could eat it, or give it to the horse and risk harming the weakened beast, since horses did not fare well on white bread.
After tending to the horse, Lans returned to Sagarius’ side by the fire.
With so little sunlight reaching them and the blizzard raging, the cave had grown colder. Meanwhile, the large supply of branches they had gathered had dwindled to a small pile, so they no longer dared keep the fire as strong as before.
They simply sat and watched the flames, seemingly mesmerized by the tongues of fire as they slowly consumed the thick branches.
Without a word, Sagarius shifted closer to him. With their backs against the cave wall, she rested her head upon his shoulder.
Lans did not mind.
Midday passed as they spoke of small matters. Eventually, Sagarius told him about her company, including Bald Eagle and Sir Munius, both of whom seemed to be around his age. Lans, however, knew neither of them. That was hardly surprising. The Imperium was vast, and they were small players compared with the powerful lords who ruled its lands.
As the hours passed, she began to grow sleepy.
Before closing her eyes, she said, “I’ll take the first nap. Afterward, promise me that you’ll get some sleep.”
Lans couldn't help but feel amused. It was a subtle trick to make him rest.
“I promise," he replied.
With that, Sagarius closed her eyes. Soon, her breathing grew slow and even.
...
“Lady Sagaria,” a voice called, drawing a faint murmur from her as she stirred.
As she fought back a yawn, Lans was already explaining, “There’s a lull in the blizzard. The storm is passing.”
He sounded too excited.
“That’s good to hear,” she replied groggily, her voice slightly hoarse from sleep. Resting beside him had given her a comfort she had not felt in a long time. A small part of her even resented the blizzard for ending while she was still enjoying her rest.
“Come on,” he urged.
That surprised her. “Where are we going?”
“Outside. We may not get another chance.”
Sagarius glanced toward the cave entrance. “But the sun is already waning.”
“I don’t care,” he said lightly. “Besides, you can see in the dark, so we won’t need torches that might draw the fell beast.”
“But you can’t,” she pointed out.
“I have this.” Lans reached into an inner pocket, drew something out, and dangled it before her.
It was a silvery necklace set with a modest gemstone. Sagarius’ eyes widened. “A gemstone of strength.” She met his gaze. “Meister Lans, you are full of secrets.”
He chuckled, then gave her a courtly bow and offered his hand. “My lady, would you kindly accompany me on an evening stroll?”
Sagarius stifled a chuckle and answered with a curtsy. “It would be my pleasure, Meister Lans.”
They managed to rouse the horse and led it outside. Once it began moving again and found itself in the open, some of its spirit seemed to return. Despite the fading light, they brought it to the stream he had found several days ago. The surface had frozen over, but Lans used the back of his axe to break through the ice so the horse could drink.
Nearby, they gathered what dry grass and reeds still remained above the snow, intending to dry them further beside the fire.
Next, they began gathering dead branches.
While Lans could easily have felled one of the smaller trees, he feared that creatures such as manticores might find the marks. More importantly, freshly cut wood burned poorly. The living timber was still heavy with moisture and would produce far too much smoke inside the cave. Dead branches burned far better.
Food proved far more difficult to find. Beneath a thicket half-buried in snow, Sagarius discovered a handful of frozen berries still clinging to their stems. She was even luckier when she unearthed several thin roots from a plant she recognized. They were hardly enough to make a meal, but at least they were edible.
After two hours, they returned to the cave with what they had gathered.
The first trip had not satisfied them. With the weather still holding, the two set out again together, this time without the horse, which had difficulty seeing in the dark.
With only the two of them, they ventured farther into the woods in search of food.
***
Sagarius
Their supposedly short venture turned into a four-hour trek through the dead of night, and they were forced to turn back when the wind began to rise and the storm gathered strength once more. Yet despite venturing far through deep snow and treacherous terrain, they found almost nothing. This world seemed to hold only endless woodland and towering mountains.
They had tried to locate the nearby city of Vindebona, which should have existed according to her memories, but there was no sign of it anywhere.
Worse, they found no food apart from a few edible roots. They saw no deer, nor even a hare or any other small game.
“At least we don’t have to worry about leaving tracks,” Lans said as they trudged back through the bitter wind, still wary of the fell beast that might pick up their scent.
Sagarius merely nodded. Even with strengthening magic coursing through her body, she could feel the cold biting deep into her bones.
“If only I could use wind magic,” she muttered.
“Indeed. I could use some warmth myself,” Lans replied sympathetically. He quickened his pace, then positioned his larger body between her and the wind.
Sagarius was too cold and battered by the gale for her to object his protective gesture.
“Your gemstone of strength. Is it still working?” she asked from behind him.
“I’m quite accustomed to using it, so it still has plenty of power left. We’re only walking, after all.”
“Let me recharge it when we return,” she offered as another gesture of thanks.
“Then I’ll count on you,” he replied warmly.
The two braced themselves against the wind and struggled to keep their footing as they slowly retraced their path through the gathering storm. The return was far from easy. Even with their night vision, they missed several landmarks and lost their way for a time before finally finding their bearings again.
The mistake cost them another hour in near-blizzard conditions.
By the time they reached the cave, both were nearly frozen. The horse greeted them with a low snort, looking far stronger than it had the day before. Several armfuls of grass and reeds were drying near the fire, filling the cave with a faint grassy smell.
Lans rolled the boulder back across the entrance while Sagarius hurried to the fire. Only a few embers remained beneath the ash, still giving off faint wisps of smoke. She uncovered them, added dry kindling, and coaxed them back to life before feeding in more branches. They needed the heat.
With their clothes soaked through by the snow, Lans sat in his usual place near the entrance. “Let me keep watch for a while. You should change into something dry.”
“I’ll be quick,” she said, grateful for the considerate gesture.
Neither of them had spare clothes, but the canvas and wool they left in the cave could serve as makeshift blankets while their garments dried.
Sagarius did just that, then came over to him. “Your turn.”
“I won’t be long,” Lans replied.
He changed as quickly as he could near the fire, then called her back over. He boiled water and prepared gruel from the last of their hard biscuits. They needed something hot in their bellies to drive back the cold. Neither could afford to fall ill.
Afterward, with some warmth in their bellies, they sat beside one another, exhausted.
Sagarius was almost asleep when Lans gently rose.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“It would be improper for me to sleep beside you, lady,” he said with a kind smile.
“You’ll get cold if you sleep in that corner.”
“I’ll sleep beside the horse. She has eaten well enough, so she should be warm,” he managed a jest.
Sagarius clicked her tongue. Too tired to argue, she caught his hand and pulled him back down beside her. Her strengthened body moved with more force than he expected, wrenching him off balance.
Lans stumbled, dropped heavily onto the bedding, and nearly collided with her shoulder.
“You’ll lose more heat sleeping alone,” she said. “Stay near.”
Lans hesitated, and repeated, “It would be improper—”
“It would be foolish to freeze over propriety,” she replied firmly. “We’re only sharing a blanket, and I’m hundreds of years older than you.”
That left him with little room to object. He settled beside her beneath the canvas and wool, keeping a respectful distance at first.
The cold soon made such restraint pointless. Sagarius shifted closer, pressing her back against his chest, while Lans drew the blankets more tightly around them. Neither spoke of it. They simply shared what warmth they had and listened to the fire crackle in the dim cave.
It had been centuries since Sagarius had slept so close to another person. That night, with the blizzard raging beyond the cave and the manticore still waiting somewhere ahead, the closeness brought her a comfort she had almost forgotten.
...
When Lans awoke, Sagarius was already dressed in her usual clothes, now dry from the fire. “Morning,” she said as she prepared breakfast nearby.
“Morning,” he replied, drawing a deep breath as the smell of the cooking reached him.
He gathered his clothes, which had also dried during the night. Only his brigandine remained damp, though he had no intention of wearing it inside the cave when there was no immediate need. The metal plates beneath the fabric made it unpleasantly cold against his skin.
Sagarius brought their meal over in the blackened helmet.
They sat together in the dimly lit cave and ate. Thin slices of the roots were mixed into the gruel, chewy and earthy, with a taste much like burdock.
“I hate to bring you bad news, but even with the roots we found, we likely have enough food for only three more meals,” Sagarius said between spoonfuls.
Lans nodded. He was aware how desperate their situation had become.
“And there is no guarantee that slaying the manticore will return us to our own worlds," she added.
“I’m not worried,” he said. “You'll likely return to yours. As for me, I can always go back to that beach and spear some fish.”
“I cannot let that happen. A dependable man like you should return, not remain trapped in this forsaken place.”
Lans smiled stiffly. “If I return, there will only be more wars. More innocent people will die.”
Sagarius paused. His answer was not what she had expected. “Don't think like that. Such thoughts may keep you from escaping this place.”
“My apologies. It's just something I said without thinking."
The day passed in idleness while the blizzard continued to rage outside. It was not as fierce as before, but after their failure the previous night, neither of them was eager to venture out again so soon.
Lans tended to the horse and inspected his gear.
Sagarius did the same with her boots. Not even magic could mend worn footwear. Lans had a heavy needle nearly as thick as a nail, which she borrowed to repair the fraying stitches as best as she could.
“This is supposed to be a dream. Why is it so detailed?” she muttered as she worked.
“It means you were worried about your boots, and that concern manifested here,” he replied.
“But I cannot manifest a bottle of wine.”
“Because there is no chance of finding a flask of wine inside a cave like this.”
“I could imagine it as a bandit hideout, with plenty of food and drink stored away.”
Lans chuckled. “Unfortunately, only what your subconscious believes matters.”
She sighed. Not even elves had conquered their own subconscious.
Midday gave way to evening. Without either of them needing to say it aloud, their situation had grown increasingly grim.
The two sat watching the fire. There was no supper, only what remained from breakfast, reheated to put some warmth into their bellies. They kept the last of their flour for another time.
“We could...” Lans said, glancing toward the horse.
“It would feed us for many days, no doubt,” she said, “but the end would remain the same. We would still be trapped here, watching our food dwindle, only now without a horse.”
“We might outlast the blizzard that way,” he pointed out.
“But not the winter. We are too far from anywhere. Even if we slay the manticore, there is no guarantee it will return us to the real world. If it does not, we will not get far without the horse, especially if one of us is injured.”
Lans did not argue. The possibility was real. And if Sagarius truly believed that, then the chance that the manticore was not the key to escaping this realm seemed greater than before.
“Then we shall face the manticore,” he said with quiet resolve.
Sagarius saw the determination in his eyes.
“Tell me more about it," he said. "I barely escaped its wrath the last time. Those tails were a menace.”
Sagarius told him everything she knew about the fell beast, including how she had slain one in the real world with the help of her band of men.
“So bolts and lances can pierce its scales,” Lans pondered aloud.
“Can you make lances from trees?” she asked. “I spotted young ash trees not far from here. They looked straight enough.”
He narrowed his eyes, considering it. “I think I could try,” he replied. “The lances would be poorly balanced and cumbersome, and the wood would still be green, but I think I could make them work. The problem is giving them sharp metal points.”
“I can make them," she replied calmly.
“You can?” he asked in disbelief.
“I have used magic to melt iron before, and we have enough sand to prepare casting molds for the lance points,” Sagarius explained. “When you have lived as long as I have, you learn things. However, using that kind of magic would attract the fell beast, just as you said.”
“Once you begin, the manticore may know where we are. From that moment, we’ll be racing against time.” Lans drew a sharp breath. “But we’re nearly out of food anyway.”
“Then shall we make a plan?” she asked.
Lans nodded.
Though they had never worked together, the two planned remarkably well as a pair. Both readily pointed out weaknesses in each other’s ideas and filled the gaps with what they knew of weapons and the beast’s behavior. Each objection improved the plan, forcing it to evolve and adapt.
Their planning eventually turned to the subject of magic, and Sagarius explained it with authority.
There were hundreds of spells, but only the most versatile remained widely taught. Of them all, body strengthening, wind magic, and healing were considered the most useful because of the countless ways they could be applied. After those came static charge, which marked an accomplished mage. Beyond that was Empyrean Fire, a raw form of magic, which only those with extraordinary talent could contain and wield.
“There are also more specialized enhancements, such as Mind Lock,” she continued. “A mage may use it when they fear losing concentration or being overwhelmed by pain. However, it places a continuous burden on the source, so few studied it.”
“I saw something far stronger than static charge while I was searching for you,” Lans said. “What was it? It looked like a lightning strike.”
“That was Thunder,” she explained. “When static charge is gathered on a far greater scale and pushed to its limit, even the sky answers. But it takes a long time to prepare, and nature does not always behave predictably.”
With that explained, they finally settled on a plan and began their preparations. Sagarius worked with the sand they had, shaping a series of narrow molds for the iron points. The material was far from ideal, but she managed to form them with long, sharp tips. Meanwhile, Lans resharpened his axe, his claymore, and every other tool they might need. There was always a chance the manticore was already nearby, and if it found them too soon, they would have no choice but to fight.
As soon as the blizzard subsided, the two hurried outside to work.
They selected a young ash tree, felled it, and cut the trunk into lengths suitable for lances. The work progressed quickly because Sagarius had taught Lans a useful trick. By inscribing runes upon a wet rope and keeping hold of one end, she could channel strengthening magic directly into him through it. The effect was weaker than drawing power from a source, but as a high elf, she compensated with her enormous reserves of mana.
The strengthening proved so powerful that after felling another tree, Lans set down his axe and drew his claymore.
“What are you doing?” Sagarius asked, still holding the rope.
“Trying something,” he replied. He began with several slow, restrained turns of the blade, testing how the strength flowed through his body while making certain the rope would not become tangled around him.
Once he was confident it would work, Lans approached a young ash tree with a trunk no thicker than his thigh and committed to a full sweeping strike with the massive sword.
Sagarius watched as the blade tore clean through the trunk in a single flash.
“Ha!” Lans exclaimed, his breath misting in the cold air as the two severed trees groaned, toppled together, and crashed into the snow. “Now I understand what it feels like. What incredible power.”
“I don’t want to interrupt, but we don’t need that much wood,” Sagarius said.
“No,” Lans replied. “With this much wood, we can attempt a different plan.”
Sagarius tilted her head slightly. “What do you have in mind?”
...
With everything prepared, Sagarius finally released a small measure of her Empyrean Fire into a small earthen jar they had fashioned from clay from the stream. She then used it to melt down scraps of ringmail Lans carried with him, along with horseshoes. They did not have much metal between them. Once the iron had liquefied, she carefully poured it into baked-clay channels set within sand molds outside the cave, where the heat and fumes would not endanger them.
The moment she used such powerful magic, time began ticking. The fell beast would sense them.
The two hurried to complete the final part of their plan.
Lans worked on four lances, shorter and thicker than traditional lances and shaped more like oversized javelins. Alongside them, he prepared nearly a dozen enormous wooden stakes, each made from most of the trunk of a young ash tree. He sharpened them all with his axe. Once the iron castings had cooled, he hammered iron points onto several of the lances and stakes with the flat of his axe, then dragged the finished stakes one by one to their positions farther from the cave.
With magic no longer forbidden, Sagarius had cast ethereal shields over herself and Lans, protecting them from the worst of the cold. Then she practiced with one of the untipped wooden stakes. After marking it with runes, she lifted it from the ground with wind magic and guided it through the air again and again. The broad, flared base Lans had carved made the unwieldy weapon much easier for her to control, while the runes allowed her to sense its position.
Time seemed to vanish as they rushed through the remaining preparations. The two returned to the cave to eat. They had hot flat bread and salted meat, knowing they would soon face the manticore and would need all the strength they could muster.
After eating, Lans put on his gear. Sagarius tried to help, but he managed most of it well enough on his own.
With some time still to spare, Sagarius went to the horse and laid a hand against its side, channeling warmth and healing magic into its body. The horse seemed to welcome her touch, and its breathing gradually grew stronger beneath her palm. She glanced toward the entrance and around the cave before conjuring a sphere of wind to better control the flow of air.
Slowly, the cave grew warmer as the bitter drafts stopped slipping through the gaps.
Next, with her other hand, she delicately shaped an ethereal shield into a small translucent orb, then filled it with a light drawn from her Empyrean Fire. It flared blue, radiating warmth and light like a captured flame.
Lans watched her magic in awe. “You can do that?” he muttered, clearly impressed. Then, with a trace of regret, he added, “I feel foolish for stopping you from using magic. Enduring all that hardship must have been difficult.”
Still channeling warmth into the horse, Sagarius guided the orb above the fire. “You did the right thing,” she said. “We cannot let the manticore find us before we are prepared.”
Lans gave her the usual gentle but slightly stiff smile. “Then I’ll go first.”
“I’ll join you soon,” she replied.
Lans stepped outside with his freshly sharpened claymore strapped across his back, the mace-like scepter tucked at his waist, and his sturdy axe in hand. Before leaving, he rested a hand against the stone beside the cave entrance, silently thanking it for sheltering them, as though he did not expect to return.
***
Manticore
Far away in the forest, the second manticore stopped. Its foremost claws sank through the snow and struck frozen earth beneath. For several breaths, the immense creature remained motionless, its six legs planted among the trees, while its ruined head slowly turned toward the mountain.
It had found the trace of magic that had eluded it for days.
Dark blood still coated its jaws from where it had fed upon the other fell beast. One side of its mouth had been torn back almost to the hinge, leaving broken fangs exposed beneath strips of mangled flesh. Several scales had been ripped away from its neck and shoulders, and deep wounds from horns and claws crossed its hide.
Yet those injuries no longer weakened it. The flesh beneath them had thickened, and its monstrous frame had swollen with the strength it had consumed.
It was more complete now. A little closer to the blood it had inherited from the Ancients.
Another pair of eyes opened upon its face. Four ember-bright pupils searched the woodland independently. Behind it, the numerous tails stirred like a nest of serpents. Their smaller false eyes remained unblinking as they sensed the forest for movement and magic.
The manticore stepped forward.
Its weight drove one leg deep into the drift, compressing the snow until frozen roots cracked beneath it. Then another leg followed. The shoulders rolled beneath its scales, each movement passing through its enormous body before reaching the tails dragging behind it. Snow fell from nearby branches with every step.
It continued toward the mountain with dreadful patience, knowing that it possessed the speed and endurance to overtake nearly any living creature. As the scent strengthened, its pace increased. Saliva and dark blood swung from its ruined jaws and spattered the snow, while all four eyes swept across the woodland.
For several hours, it drove through the forest faster than a galloping horse despite the deep snow and dense trees. Its six massive limbs powered through the snow, snapping saplings beneath its weight and shouldering aside larger trunks. Broken branches, gouged earth, and fallen trees marked the path behind it.
Then its many eyes turned toward the distant mountainside, toward the places where clusters of trees had been felled, and traces of magic still lingered.
One of them suddenly shifted toward a figure standing in the snow some distance away, a human warrior wielding a great sword.
It had never seen him before.
Its eye found no trace of magic upon the man. He was no threat. Even so, his flesh would help fill the emptiness in its stomach.
The warrior settled into a fighting stance, but the manticore spared him only one eye. The other three, along with the countless false eyes upon its tails, continued searching for the mage, the true prize.
Traces of her magic lingered nearby, yet it could not find her. Suddenly, the manticore surged forward. Its six limbs drove its massive body across the snow, gathering speed with every stride before launching it into the air.
Even the warrior seemed startled to see such a massive creature hurl itself toward him. Its sheer weight would easily crush him.
The man threw himself aside and rolled through the snow. He escaped the pounce just before the manticore struck the ground with enough force to shake the nearby trees and send snow cascading from their branches.
It turned its horn-crowned head toward the warrior, then advanced with calm certainty. As it drew closer, his great sword looked pitifully small. Each of the manticore's tails was far longer and thicker than the blade.
Its goatlike lips drew back into a terrifying grin, like a great cat finding a mouse to torment.
With all its attention fixed upon the warrior, it failed to notice five enormous wooden stakes descending from the sky.
...
Lans
Like bolts hurled from the sky, five wooden stakes, each nearly the size of a young tree, plunged toward the manticore’s back, the one blind spot left by its many eyes and senses. The impact was so violent that Lans was forced several steps backward, raising his left arm to shield his face from the storm of splinters, wood chips, and falling snow.
The fell beast released a deafening howl of shock and fury.
Two of the stakes bore iron points. The other three had been sharpened to fine points.
Sagaria’s attack had struck true.
The manticore began to thrash. One of the iron-tipped stakes had punched clean through its body and buried itself deep in the frozen ground, pinning the monstrous creature in place. Its six limbs kicked and clawed through the snow with nearly enough strength to tear itself free, but every movement drove fresh pain through its impaled body and forced it back down.
Lans sprinted toward the place where he had hidden the lances. He no longer had any reason to conceal his strength.
He seized the first lance and planted his feet. Drawing everything he could from the fully charged gemstone, he hurled it with all the strength in his body. Pain tore through his shoulder and arm beneath the strain, but the long weapon shot from his hand like a bolt from a great ballista. It struck the manticore’s side, punched through its scales, and buried itself deep in the flesh.
The manticore jerked from the impact and slammed one massive foot into the ground in his direction, lashing out in anger.
Lans smirked. He had already snatched up the second one and hurled it before the beast could recover. The oversized javelin struck at the base of its neck, close to the heavy mane. Ignoring the manticore’s deep, hideous groan, he seized the third and threw again despite the pain tearing through his arm.
The weapon flew true, but the beast’s enormous foreleg swept across its path and smashed it aside.
The manticore growled. Two of its ember-bright eyes fixed upon him with murderous intensity, its broken fangs bared beneath its ruined lips.
Corrupted magic struck through that gaze and seized Lans for an instant, making his heart skip a beat as cold pressure closed around his mind. It would have frozen a warrior where he stood. But Lans had died hundreds of times fighting undead, wraiths, and liches. Even the manticore’s deadliest glare held little power over him.
Instead, it reminded him of a pair of dangerous hazel eyes.
“My wife’s stare is a lot more painful.” He gritted his teeth and broke the curse’s hold over his mind.
Lans took up the final lance, marked by a lock of horsehair tied beneath its iron point, and charged straight toward the beast. There was no point seeking a blind spot. The creature would see him no matter which way he came. He ran with everything he had, the gemstone of strength blazing against his chest. Snow burst beneath every stride as he lowered the lance and gathered great momentum. Then he drove the butt of the weapon into the frozen ground.
The young ash shaft bent beneath his weight before hurling him upward. He had done this before against liches and wraiths. His body knew the movement.
Lans soared above the manticore’s horn-crowned head, higher than any man had a right to leap, both hands locked around the iron-tipped lance.
“Die, you lizard!” he roared as he drove the lance down with all his strength.
***
PS: This chapter is 5.6K words, which I think makes it the longest one this year!
I hope you enjoyed the fight.🔥
Till next time.
As always, gratitude for supporting Horizon of War! 💎💖🦆