The Webbing Blade

CROWS

THE HOBBLESMAN turned round quickly, and dropped onto his front, just as the first crows beat their wings overhead. Their claws swooped down, trying to snatch hold of skin.

Lou felt his heart throbbing in his mouth, and a great chill pass over his whole body. He reached for his crossbow, still strapped to his back, and, moving quickly, he slipped a bolt into the mechanism.

Even as he stared along the sight he knew that there were too many of them.

Far too many of them.

But, still, he fired off bolts into the flock of crows, more of a cloud since it was so thick, and watched on as a handful of coal-black, feathered bodies dropped from the air and landed in the thick grass.

Lou looked to the hobblesman, saw that he’d drawn his own crossbow from his cloak. And he was peppering the crows with the bolts from it. The crows continued to hang back, in mid-air, not seeming to want to attack as one.

Yet.

With that thought in his mind, Lou saw the whole flock of them dive right down, come with their beaks sticking out, and their claws jutting towards them. There was nothing to do but throw himself down flat on the ground and cover the back of his head with his hands.

He felt their needle-sharp claws prickle his arms. He felt their beaks jab away at his skin. And he felt the steady throb of blood leaking out of his skin. More of them descended on him.

More and more.

There was a weight to them now. All of them on his body. All of them piercing his skin with their beaks and claws. Red flashes of pain flickered across his vision.

Thinking back on it, Lou wasn’t all that sure when he first felt the warmth.

All he knew was that one minute he was being pecked to death, feeling the blood throbbing out of him, his body beginning to give itself over to the intense pain, his brain about to shut down. And, the next minute, he felt an overwhelming heat. Like that of a summer’s day in the fields.

He cast his mind back to the day when they’d brought in the yield, and it played out on his mind. Once more he could taste that corn dust on his tongue, sticking to his sweaty exposed flesh, and he could smell that warmth all rising around him, like a blanket left by the fire.

And then he heard a sudden and distinct, whooosh!

Lou kept his face pressed into the earth the whole time. The mud was cool before, but it rapidly began to warm. And at first it was unpleasant.

And then searing hot.

Only when he tore his face away from the ground did he realise that the crows were gone. That they no longer lay over him. And his next observation was the roaring jet of flame which seemed to blast over the whole of the plains. Which blasted a couple of inches above him.

The flame filled his entire vision.

At first he thought he might be dead, that he was seeing the sun, that he’d got himself lost in the sun on his way to heaven, and then he watched as the light faded, just as quickly as it had come.

And then, all at once, the light dissipated. Completely extinguished itself.

All he saw was the hobblesman standing there, arm outstretched, those slender fingers sticking out from the darkness of his sleeve.

And the slight glow of his hand.

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