over the water to form a circle. All around them the storm slashed at the lake and ripped furrows through the surface, churning and spinning into ever-tightening spirals. The figures twisted and danced, writhing with frenetic energy as the lake became increasingly choppy.
‘Oh Gods,’ came a distant voice, muted against the howl of the wind through the gaps in the wooden walls. Beyn found Suzerain Etharain beside him, face white with horror as he too realised what was happening.
The artillery barges and their attendant boats were rocking violently; Beyn caught sight of one smaller craft just as it was smashed against a massive catapult platform. A great spinning column of water heaved up from the surface on the furthest part of Lake Apatorn, and a terrible, unnatural shriek pierced the air.
Around the tower’s base danced half a dozen water elementals, the spirits of the lake, whipped into a frenzy of power, while the wind heaved and thrashed around them. Malviebrat were known for their savage, remorseless nature, and now they were being fed power by a grief-stricken white-eye.
The clouds reached down to embrace the huge waterspout, enveloping it with dark, nebulous hands. Thunder continued to crash all around as the storm surged. A sheet of water washed across the narrow window and Beyn and Etharain both flinched back. The King’s Man realised he was digging his fingernails into the wooden sill. With a great groan the waterspout lurched abruptly forward and Etharain moaned with dismay as it started for the barges.
The smaller craft started away from its terrible path, only to be hunted down by the tornado’s savage outriders. Standing tall on the water, twice the height of any man, the water elementals smashed and pummelled at men and boats alike, battering both into broken pieces while the waterspout roared on. With one final lurch it caught the first of the artillery barges and ripped the arm from its catapult.
The great wooden beam was tossed high in the air, discarded like a broken match. The rest of the weapon soon followed, then the entire barge was flipped on its side with careless ease and hurled end-over-end to carve a path of destruction through the remaining scows.
The tornado charged inexorably for the next, driven by a vicious will, and ripped it apart, plank by plank. One, then two, then four, all of them torn apart like the toys of an enraged Godchild, while the Malviebrat danced and worshipped at its base, the shrieking wind a fitting prayer for their monstrous fervour. In seconds the artillery barges had been reduced to kindling, and now the waterspout lurched again, changing direction to rip a path over the stony shore of the causeway. The air filled with dirt and the tornado took on a darker hue as it gathered weapons to smash the remaining flotilla on the Hound Lake, already abandoned by its terrified crews.
‘Summon the troops,’ Beyn whispered hoarsely, his throat suddenly dry. ‘They’re coming up the causeway. Piss and daemons, they’ll punch straight into the city unless we stop them at the wall!’
‘Move you bastards!’ the sergeant roared as wardrums sounded from the back of the legion.
The heavy beat rolled over the thousand soldiers who moved off, spear-points high. Behind them the scarred savages of the Chetse Lion Guard bellowed, axes raised high as they screamed their berserk rage at the distant enemy. The rain continued to beat down, smearing the blue painted symbols adorning their segmented bronze breastplates.
The Chetse warriors wore bronze helms sporting Lord Styrax’s Fanged Skull emblem, with gauntlets and greaves all built to be used as additional weapons. Every other man carried a heavy shield on his back, for when arrows were raining down or they were about to charge a wall of spear-points.
Lord Styrax nudged his wyvern forward and looked down the line of troops. The massive creature huffed and waddled forward, unused to walking with its wings furled but obeying. The flight had temporarily drained its eagerness for battle, he was glad to note, not intending to use the creature further. For the first time his Chetse allies and own heavy infantry would fight side by side. He wanted to be in the midst of them, leading from the front and reminding them all why they followed him.
A bolt of lightning arced down from the heavens with an ear-splitting crash, striking the smoking tower Styrax had already attacked, adding to the ruin. From his position atop the wyvern he could see the wreckage of boats and