The Defense of Harro

By Amon Gwareth and Kensai

“Quit gawking like a herd of moonstruck calves!” Terry ordered the tail of a long line of frail old townsfolk and awestruck children. “This is your last chance to run for your lives,” he told them, punctuating the grave pronouncement with a wave of his shield, trying to will them more quickly through the distant gates of Harro, just barely visible up the road to the east.

“They aren't going to make it, are they?” Tannish asked quietly from his shoulder.

Terry turned back to the task at hand, retrieving his sword from the carcass of the beast at his feet. The pull of the thing against his blade was unnatural enough to be nauseating, at once far too heavy for its size and yet feeling as if it were made of nothing so much as smoke and ash. The slithering, sucking sounds its flesh made as he pulled the sword free, was nearly enough to make him choke.