Who Walks in Flame Read Free Page B

however, leave an occasional oasis. After all, he is merciful, Khuar-na the Witch-King.
    He strokes a hard, crimson scale and speaks to the Scorch-Walker. “Flame and smoke as far as the eye can see, my friend. I never wielded so much power before. I can now create deserts within days.”
    Alien thoughts seep into his mind: amulet, planet core, magnetic forces, heat .
    “Yes, I agree.” He lifts the amulet and rubs a thumb across its surface, feeling an unseen micro-fracture that had almost destroyed the device. “It could not have held much more energy, though.”
    His thoughts turn to his slain people, now dust and faint memory. So what if they had the eyes of reptiles and their blood ran cold? They were still as like the people on this planet as not. They had not deserved the genocide the humans unleashed upon them.
    His eyes narrow as he looks out upon the Army of the East gathered before him in their thousands with pikes and swords, horses and armor, cannons and muskets.
    Though the cannons could kill him and injure the Scorch-Walker, Khuar-na does not fear gunpowder. A smile tugs at his lips. “A deadly surprise awaits them, old friend. They will learn why the West fell so easily.” The Scorch-Walker’s laugh echoes in Khuar-na’s mind.
    Khuar-na speaks to his people, his voice booming through the use of a simple enchantment.
    “Today, we will have our revenge! Today, a new order shall begin on this world. My people, we will rise again!”
    The cheers of ten thousand desperate souls resonate across the battleground. The captains he appointed divide his motley, ill-equipped horde into two groups of equal size.
    “On my signal,” Khuar-na shouts. "Give no quarter!”
    After that, Khuar-na’s army picks up its pace, moving forward at almost a jog. The Scorch-Walker matches them, though it is little more than a casual walk for a beast of its size. Opposite to them, the artillerists load their weapons. Squads of archers and gunners take their positions. Pikemen and swordsmen stand their ground before them. Cavaliers with pistols, lances, and sabers move to the sides, preparing for a flanking maneuver.
    Do they think me ignorant of tactics and technology? Clearly, they don't remember the weapons their ancestors faced, and overcame despite the odds. They must think weapons such as theirs are new inventions.
    The first cannons boom. Their fire concentrates on the Scorch-Walker. 
    “Charge!” Khuar-na orders his troops as the Scorch-Walker launches into a sprint, dodging and weaving. Cannon shots scream by, missing a target the artillerists never imagined could move so swiftly.
    They struggle to reposition and lead their shots ahead of the Scorch-Walker, knowing they will get one, perhaps two more volleys before the behemoth plows into their front lines.
    The second round goes off in staccato fashion with artillerists firing as soon as they think they have shots. One cannonball whizzes by Khuar-na, missing by only a few paces, yet he remains unfazed. A second strikes the Scorch-Walker in the chest. The great beast grunts as a scale cracks. The flattened, thirty-pound ball falls to the ground. 
    With eyes sharper than those of any human, Khuar-na spots the leadership element left of center. A thought, and the Scorch-Walker veers toward them.
    A battery of light, maneuverable cannons trains its fire on Khuar-na. The Eastern captain raises his hand, trying to guess when the behemoth will next weave. Musketeers aim their guns. Khuar-na grabs his amulet, engraved with the sign of an alien sun ten billion years away, and directs the surging energy within it.
    Carnage follows.

    ***

    The Scorch-Walker’s approach begins as peels of thunder and plumes of dust and smoke. The earth shakes, and in the distance, it seems that the entire West burns. Refugees and scouts told of lands already turned to desert wastes by the might of the Witch-King.
    When the Scorch-Walker rises on the horizon, like a moving fortress, the