Horsemen's War (The Rebellion Chronicles #3) - Steve McHugh Page 0,50

made of paper. Bodies hit the ground; others were screaming as they were engulfed by flames.

Layla tried to break Sir Lamorak’s arm, but he rolled over, lifting her off the ground with brute strength, and threw her across the pathway.

She reached out with her power to take control of the tiny pieces of metal inside Sir Lamorak, and for a moment he froze in place, before he gave a smug grin. Purple glyphs lit up over Sir Lamorak’s arms and hands, and he took a step forward.

Layla’s eyes opened wide in shock.

“Surprise . . . ,” Sir Lamorak said gleefully. “Matter magic. It’s different for every sorcerer, but for me . . . well, it means your power has no effect on me.”

“It also means you can’t use your elemental magic,” Layla said.

“There is give-and-take with every power,” Sir Lamorak said. “I do not need my elemental power to kill you. I’ll be happy to beat you to death.”

He raised his fists in a boxer’s stance and moved toward Layla, who spat blood onto the ground and raised her own hands, her metal one making a satisfying click as it formed a fist.

Layla noticed Sir Lamorak’s continued smug expression. She was pretty sure he had some sort of trick up his sleeve.

Gunfire broke out from the top floor of the building, and Layla forced herself to not look.

“My people are murdering everyone here,” he said. “Any survivors will learn to bow to Avalon, as you all will.”

“Are we fighting or chatting?” Layla asked.

Sir Lamorak snapped forward with a jab, which Layla easily deflected. She dodged his powerful cross as she stepped around him and smashed her metal fist into his exposed ribs. The fingers of her hand fell to the grass at her feet, and a second later her entire arm was falling apart. She stared at it for a second too long and received a kick to her chest that sent her crashing over a nearby piece of fencing and landing in a small flower bed.

“Were you not listening?” Sir Lamorak asked with a chuckle.

Layla used her good arm to push herself back up to her feet as one of the windows on the top floor of the building behind her exploded, raining glass and pieces of burning paper around the courtyard behind her.

“Your friends are losing,” Sir Lamorak said.

Layla put herself in a fighting stance and used the fingers of her good hand to motion for Sir Lamorak to come fight. Something he did happily.

Sir Lamorak was powerful, but he wasn’t particularly fast or technical. One more kick to her chest, though, and she was sent sprawling once again.

The humans around them were panicking and fell away from the wall they’d made, revealing Judgement standing over the body of the empath, a bloody sword in her hand. She nodded to Layla, dropped the sword on the corpse, and sprinted toward Sir Lamorak as many of the Avalon supporters felt every emotion that had been suppressed by the empath come flooding back at once. They either collapsed sobbing or fled into the city.

The look of fury on Sir Lamorak’s face was easy to see, and he ran toward Judgement. That was a mistake.

Judgement dodged a punch and drove a blade of light into his chest, then moved past him, tearing the blade out as she did. The armor he’d been so proud of provided no protection against someone as powerful as Judgement. She drove another dagger into his back, twisted it, and detonated the magic inside him as he spun to face her.

Sir Lamorak was slow now, barely able to keep up with the number of times the twin blades of light pierced his body, each one leaving his shining armor drenched with more and more of his own blood. He dropped down to one knee as Layla pulled herself back to her feet. She wasn’t about to get involved; Sir Lamorak had brought this on himself.

“Damn it,” Layla said to herself, cursing the thought as it passed into her head. “What if he knows something important?” she shouted to Judgement.

Judgement drove a blade of light into Sir Lamorak’s head and detonated the magic inside his skull. “He doesn’t,” she said casually as Sir Lamorak’s body dropped to the ground. “He was always just a thug with delusions of grandeur.”

Layla dropped back to the ground, exhausted.

“You did well against him,” Judgement said, placing a hand on Layla’s shoulder. “Sorry I missed the rest of the fight. He was a