The Wizard IV

"Ignis" 

Fire poured from his hand with the roaring intensity of a waterfall smashing against rough rocks. The stream of fire seared flesh from the body and charred the bone black. Screams of agony filled the air as the skin of three men melted and smoked into the earth. 

Two more raiders darted with speed around their dead and dying companions. If the unexpected introduction of magic into the fight scared them they showed no signs of it. 

One banked left with bristling and unbounded speed, in seconds, he was close enough to swing his crude bludgeon. Willam jumped back, dodging the attack by a hairsbreadth, he was too close to properly use a spell, so a dagger was his reply. He ducked under a second swing and moved forward, his dagger bit under the chest and dug deep into the vital organs. 

The second raider came at him even as his friend fell. Willam had to dodge once, twice, then three times as a saber came at him. The warmth of blood began to weep from a gash that took him in his arm. Before the man could come at him again, he put as much space in between them as possible.

"Terra spiculum." At his command, a spike of rock shot from the ground and hovered in the air in front of him. He tapped his reserves of mana and shaped the rock into a spear tip in a fraction of a second. It began to spin faster and faster until the air around it vibrated instantly. With a wave of his hand, the sharpened rock flew through the eye of the man, half his head exploded in a geyser of gore and blood, and he dropped to the ground. 

A scream sounded from behind him, one of his battle mages took a spear through the gut. In his dying breath, he threw an uncontrolled lightning bolt that ripped uncontrollably through the air. Such power was there in the spells unleashed by dead men that it flayed two raiders and another mage alive. 

"BURRRRRRRRRRRR!" A war horn blared in the distance, as fast as they came, the raiders retreated through the thick woods. Soon, they were out of sight and the fighting was over. 

"JOHN! WHAT HAPPENED? Why didn't your magic sense them?" He turned to the breathless remains of his company. 

John was sprawled out on the dirt, unmoving. His organs protruded from his stomach, spilling out around him. It was an ugly site, but the scout had at least taken down four of their attackers with him. 

'Selene!' He had to make sure she was safe. 

"Selene!" He yelled out.

"I'm Here. I'm ok, don't worry." Selene appeared from behind a sundered tree; she looked as if the fight had never happened. Not even a spec of dirt covered her riding clothes, much to his relief. 

"I want a head count. If you're wounded, find a healer." He surveyed the wreckage of his not-so-merry band. He counted at least four dead, and many of the rest were wounded to various degrees. 

"Willam, I have a live one here." Lothac, their resident dwarven battle mage, wandered up to him, axe caked in blood. He had put it to good use. "I don't have any clue what he is saying. Maybe you will have better luck."

The man Lothac brought him to was already half dead. The lighting that had gone out of control earlier had blackened his legs and lower stomach. He was mumbling to himself in a tongue Willam only knew conservatively. He wore no armor besides a small leather chest piece that offered no real protection. None of the raiders had any proper equipment, they armed and equipped themselves with whatever they could pillage. 

The raider was young, only twenty at first glance, with a strong but thin build. It was infuriating to him that such rabble had done such damage. It shouldn't be possible, mages were deadly and feared across the world. Yet, they had managed to sneak up(Which shouldn't be possible) and sow havoc. 

"Chagadai. Ilkhan, Khorigdluud

." Those were the only words he could understand. He could speak the most common languages of the elves and humans and even a passable amount of the guttural sounds of the dwarves. But the language the dying man spoke was uncommon; he had heard it only a handful of times. He did not know enough to properly question him; it didn't matter either way, he bled out in the next few moments. 

"Saddle up! We will be back in the morning to bury our dead. I want a guard set at all times, there will be no fires tonight in case they are still in the area."

From their place on the hill, he could see that the town below them was no longer inhabited by the raiding party. Rugar and his companions had most likely been killed or driven off. The smoke of fires that raged across building were the only things he could see. The plots of growing grain were trampled and fertilized with the blood of their owners.

'Khorigdluud', he recognized that name. It had been decades since he had last heard it. Not since he had spent a year traveling the steppe that was their destination. 

"At least we know who attacked us."