They came on so fast, bounding across the fields as the soldiers unleashed another volley at them.

  Mathias leaned forward on the parapet; eyes fixed on the strange creatures as they ran. He was fascinated.

  That they were unnatural, was clear to him. How they had come to be, he could not tell, but he desperately longed to know. To understand. Who had made them. How had they come to be? Something inside of him pushed at him with that insatiable need to know.

  Another volley, more of the creatures stumbled or fell as the musket balls tore through them. A soldier knelt next to him, reloading as the cursed powder smoke filled the air around them.

  “Cast your spells, wizard!” the soldier spat angrily.

  Mathias merely glanced at him and then away, back to watching the creatures. He had neither the time nor the patience to explain his magics to someone as incapable of understanding as a chicken could understand the musket.

  He sneered at the soldier’s dark glare, and he waved his hand before his face, wafting away the smoke.

  Those creatures were getting closer, and he had no desire to face them up close. Mathias turned and headed for the rough, wooden ladder.

  “Hey there,” the soldier called. “Back here and fight, coward!”

  Mathias ignored him and climbed down the ladder, dropping that last couple of feet to the muddy ground. His boots squelched as he moved away. Another thunderous volley sounded, and he smirked as the men worked to reload.

  Any fool could be a soldier. Not him, though. No. He had far greater plans for his talents and dying on some lonely battlefield was not part of his plan. Besides, he reasoned, without him the island would soon be lost beneath the Black, so it made little sense for him to risk his life.

  Not when those more foolish were willing to do it in his place.

  The settlement was well lit, and he had no trouble making his way through the deserted streets. Shutters and doors on the houses were closed and locked, the populace hiding away like any sane and reasonable person would.

  Someone screamed, back on the palisade and he paused, turning to look back the way he had come. The creatures were amongst them now, claws slashing as they fought. He watched for a moment longer, keen eyes hoping to discern some secret to their creation in their movements.

  But there was little he could make out.

  He was about to turn back when the screech of a gryphon filled the air.

  Then she was there, swooping down towards the monstrous creatures, sword raised, and face filled with a mix of fear and sublime joy.

  The large talons on the ends of the gryphon’s toes made short work of the first creature and its bloodied carcass was tossed to land in the mud beyond the wall.

  Common sense was almost forgotten as Mathias itched to see the creature up close, but with more still climbing onto the parapet, he realised that to be a foolish notion. Instead, he held back, turning his head to trace the gryphon’s flight with his eyes.

  It swooped down again, aiming at another of the creatures, one twice the size of the largest hound Mathias had seen in the settlement. It didn’t wait for the gryphon’s talons and instead, leapt straight at them.

  The wizard’s breath caught and, before he realised it, he stepped forward as it collided with the gryphon. Hind legs scrabbling for purchase as the girl screamed! Its claws dug deep into her thigh, tearing bloody furrows much as its hind legs did to the gryphon’s side.

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  She reached back, hand searching for a weapon as her sword was lost. The creature pulled back its head as it sank its hind claws into the gryphon’s side, gaining purchase to launch itself up and at the rider.

  Crack!

  Blood burst from the back of the creature’s head as the pistol went off, and it went limp, then fell to land in the mud and blood below.

  Mathias tracked her flight, the gryphon’s wings flapping weakly as it dropped lower, barely skimming the top of the houses and then down, below his sight. A loud crash sounded, and Mathias cursed, shaking his head.

  Foolish girl.

  He turned away from the wall and stopped as a flash of shadow caught his eye.

  He froze. There!

  A Shadowbeast had dropped to the ground and was headed off through the mud-choked streets towards where the gryphon had crashed down.

  Fear caught at him.

  It was not his concern. Just another fool dying for no reason. There was no purpose to risking his own life, and besides, he was no combat mage. He bore no spells of war or violence. He was an engineer. A maker of machines, and shaper of spells.

  What would be gained for risking his life for the girl?

  With a curse, he set off running.

  ****

  Mud. Pain. Darkness.

  Erin awoke.

  As consciousness returned, with it came the pain. A throbbing, pulsing pain in her leg that took away her breath and all reason.

  She lay on her back in the mud, unable to move, the weight of the still gryphon pressing down on her wounded leg. There was no feeling from it but the pain, and she shifted and moaned.

  Around her the houses were still, their inhabitants hiding as the sounds of battle drifted over the settlement on the wind. Men crying out their mournful cries, the occasional crack of a musket being fired.

  “Bright…” Her mouth was dry, her throat sore from screaming.

  She tried to rise but couldn’t, and the attempt sent fresh wave of pain through her. She fell back into the mud with a soft squelch, exhausted by even that small attempt.

  “B-Bright,” she called again.

  He lay on his side, wing crushed beneath him on one side, and flopping limply on the other. His eyes were closed, and blood leaked from a dozen cuts and gouges on his side. If not for the slight rise and fall of his chest, she would have thought him dead.

  Tears filled her eyes.

  “H-Help!” she cried. “Someone, please. God’s above, help him!”

  There was movement in the house beside her, a brief flash of light as curtains opened. But the shutters remained closed, and the door did not open.

  “Please…” she whispered, reaching out a hand, but still, no one came.

  The squelch of mud caught her ear, and she twisted her head, turning to look back.

  And her heart seemed to stop dead in her chest.

  A Shadowbeast.

  It stood, feet buried in the thick mud, steam rising from its body as it panted, tongue lolling. Its maw was full of fangs the length of her fingers, and those eyes. Those dead, black, eyes, were fixed on her.

  “The Lost take me,” she whispered, seeing her death approach as the creature burst into movement, long strides crossing the distance between them.

  Her hands moved, searching for something, anything, she could use as a weapon. Her eyes fixed to that fearsome beast as it raced towards her.

  Fear tore at her, driving away the pain.

  Her thoughts were of Brightcrest, and she wept as she whispered thanks for the joy, he had given her in their brief time together.

  She closed her eyes and braced for the end.

  That didn’t come.

  She opened her eyes and blinked, jerking her head back and trying to scramble away from the creature that hung suspended in the air, mid-leap. It snarled and snapped, legs flailing ineffectually as it was held by a power greater than itself.

  Erin turned her head, following the creature’s hate filled gaze.

  The wizard stood in the street, legs apart and arm raised. The wand he held shone with a golden light as he pointed it at the monster. His lips moved, sweat running down his cheeks with the strain. He spat the words of the spell and something unseen but causing a ripple on the air, shot from his wand and struck the creature.

  A howl sounded from it, the first sound Erin had heard one of them make and it was thrown back to crash into the side of a house with enough force to shake the wooden frame.

  It crashed down into the mud and the wizard strode forward, wand raised and expression full of fury as he spat words. His hand twisted, the wand shifting to point to the eaves of a two-storey house and Erin watched in amazement as the Shadowbeast was lifted as if dragged by a rope, up to hang from the eaves.

  The wizard wasn’t finished. He pulled a knife from his belt, holding it still on the flat of his palm. More words of power, lights on the side of his wand flickering and dying with each word spoken. He pointed the wand at the knife and lowered his hand.

  It hung in the air, and as the Shadowbeast came to, snapping and snarling, he flicked the wand towards the creature and the knife flew as if launched from a crossbow to strike the monster straight between the eyes.

  All movement stopped and the wizard lowered the wand. He was breathing heavily, his face drenched in sweat and his voice was laboured.

  “You should take more care, little bird,” he said, and laughed.