Asgoleth the Warrior - By Bill Kirkwood Page 0,56
hovering at his shoulder and he glared at the Calthian with murder in his heart.
‘You will not escape me, you dog!’ he cried and returned to his task with the strength of a madman.
He slowly forced the Deathbringers ugly snout around until at last it was pointed straight at his enemy’s heart. Gasping and giggling and with a froth of spittle upon his writhing lips he concentrated his mind upon it until once more it glowed a deep and menacing red.
Asgoleth chopped downward with his blood smeared blade, splitting the skull of the Akonite who had tried to unhorse him with a spear thrust. He tore his blade free and lashed out with his boot sending the man hurtling to the ground to be smashed to red ruin beneath the flashing steel shod hooves of his warhorse. As the powerful beast crashed back to Earth Asgoleth’s gaze met that of Demos.
He saw the hatred and insanity there saw the red glow of the Deathbringer that was pointing right at him and he snarled a savage curse. Death was about to reach out for him but he would not give the tyrant the satisfaction of seeing a Calthian warrior trying to flee for his life. With his blood chilling war cry on his lips he kicked his steed into a gallop and charged straight towards his madly grinning foe.
He knew that he would never reach Demos before he was struck down but, determined to die striking out at his foe, he drew back his powerful arm and with all the strength he possessed, he threw the great blade at his enemy. As the glittering sword flew from his grasp the Deathbringer pulsed brightly and spat forth a surge of deadly energy. Searing red agony filled him and wrenched him from the saddle sending him crashing to the ground.
He lay there, gritting his teeth against the waves of pain that ate at his flesh. Behind him he heard the ghastly shrieks and cries of horror as that terrible beam ripped through the battling warriors in its path. Above their death cries he could hear the insane voice of Demos laughing and cackling at the carnage he had wrought; laughing at all the death and destruction, laughing at him.
Fury gripped him then, a fury more intense than any he had ever felt before. How he had survived that hellish blast he did not know but he would not waste his luck. Somehow he would continue to live until this mad sorcerer lay dead at his feet.
Suddenly the tyrant’s laughter stopped and was replaced by a shriek of despair. Agoleth shook his head and looked over at his enemy and a grin touched his lips as he saw the hilt of his sword jutting out of the glittering entrails of the Deathbringer. Demos cried and shrieked with mad fury as he tugged at the sword but Asgoleth could see that his efforts were in vain. A flickering red aura enveloped the Deathbringer and jagged bolts of energy crackled and spat from it until, with a deafening concussion and a searing, bright flash, the Deathbringer blew itself into a million glittering fragments.
The blast of the explosion almost deafened the young barbarian as he hugged the ground with his hands over his head. The Earth trembled and shook beneath him and the air was filled with thousands of fragments of whistling death. The noise went on for a long, long time but at last the rumbling echoes of the detonation died slowly away to be replaced by a deep silence. Asgoleth rose slowly to his feet and stared in awe at the destruction that had been wrought.
Where the Deathbringer had stood there was now only a deep crater of charred, fused Earth. Dead men and horses lay all around and then the silence was dispelled by the pain wracked cries of the wounded. Ignoring his own pain, Agoleth drew his long Torran knife and started to walk towards the crater holding the weapon lightly in his hand ready for use.
His eye fell upon a burned and blackened heap lying limply at the craters edge and he spat as he realised it was Demos. It looked as if the tyrant had escaped his blade after all. The horribly burned and lacerated body gave a sudden harsh gasp and rolled over and Asgoleth watched in horror as this thing that should by all rights be dead, climbed slowly and painfully to its feet.
The flesh upon the tyrant’s skull