Adventures in Fantasy: 10 Short Stories

By Ty Johnston

Epic fantasy, heroic fantasy, Sword & Sorcery, call it what you will, perhaps even edges of a little Grimdark, all and more can be found within the ten stories provided here where heroes face daunting odds, sometimes triumphing and sometimes failing. Barbarians, knights, assassins, each gets their turn, as do men and women from other stripes. All face the dangers of magic and the blade, and sometimes otherworldly beasts.

Table of contents

Lord of Thunder

Scribe: An Assassin’s Tale

Black Devil by Moonlight

War and Demons

Bread and Blades

Afraid of the Dark With Reason

The Grim Stone

Warrior

The Scroll of Ul Afqa

Land of the Forgotten

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ty Johnston
• Release date: Nov 12, 2021

Ty Johnston

Originally from Kentucky, Ty Johnston is a former newspaper journalist. He lives in North Carolina with loving memories of his late wife.Blog: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

Book preview

Epic fantasy, heroic fantasy, Sword & Sorcery, call it what you will, perhaps even edges of a little Grimdark, all and more can be found within the ten stories provided here where heroes face daunting odds, sometimes triumphing and sometimes failing. Barbarians, knights, assassins, each gets their turn, as do men and women from other stripes. All face the dangers of magic and the blade, and sometimes otherworldly beasts.

Adventures in Fantasy

10 Short Stories

by Ty Johnston

a Monumental Works Group author

Copyright 2021 by Ty Johnston

visit the author’s website: tyjohnston.blogspot.com

sign up for the author’s newsletter: tinyletter.com/TyJohnston

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Lord of Thunder

Scribe: An Assassin’s Tale

Black Devil by Moonlight

War and Demons

Bread and Blades

Afraid of the Dark With Reason

The Grim Stone

Warrior

The Scroll of Ul Afqa

Land of the Forgotten

Lord of Thunder

Lightning flashed across the gray sky and water slashed down in streaks as if the very gods had poured out their wrath upon the world. Through all this, through the muck and mud and blood, the dozens galloped their heavy steeds across waves of bodies, of the dead already laid low by arrows, the great shafts protruding from the ground and the corpses in numbers not unlike grains in a field needing harvested. Hooves crunched down upon bones and flesh alike, rending armor and breaking blades.

Their iron-tipped spears lowered for the attack, the riders pressed their animals harder, faster, men and horses alike glinting beneath the lightning in their lacquered armor of tortoise shells and oxhide straps as far behind them a line of infantry backed by archers stood their ground in the pouring rain. Ahead the riders charged, ignoring the stinging rain and the obscuring mists as best they could, all the while intent upon their prey, their foes across the field near the tree line.

As for those awaiting the assault, they appeared a sorry lot in their bedraggled tunics and cloaks and occasional leather padding. In their arms were mostly makeshift weapons, farming implements, with some few iron-black daggers showing here and there along with more than a few woodsman’s axes. Upon these men’s faces rode looks of the inevitable, of weariness, of looming death. Yet none of these hundred turned away, none sought the safety of the forest not so far behind.

With the cavalry a little more than a hundred yards away, to the front of the disheveled line of commoners strode a tall figure in saturated crimson robes, the rain pelting his bald head and streaming down into his eyes though he showed no signs of impairment to his vision. In one hand he hefted a long, slightly-curved blade the color of stream waters on a bright day, and he held this sword high as he turned to face the crowd.

There he waved his weapon towards the charging horsed warriors. The swordsman opened his mouth as if to speak, but no words came forth. None were needed. His eyes told the tale. Not unlike their many, many brethren impaled by hundreds of arrows upon the field of battle before them, they were going to die. In a matter of moments that heavy cavalry would cross the field of war and would be upon them, and they had no training and no proper arms to prepare them for such. They were farmers, laborers, some few craftsmen, plain men who stood against a powerful enemy because they had no other options left to them. Yes, they were going to die, and this swordsman they had declared their leader recognized such and could not speak, could not offer words of hope.

Instead of words, he let loose a mighty roar from his throat and he spun about, his sword pointing the way, his legs kicking up beneath the folds of his robes as he raced forward through the mud toward the enemy. Behind him silence remained for a moment, but only a moment. Then a hundred throaty cries went up and a hundred booted feet sprang forward, following their leader to face death.

The cavalry showed no signs of surprise. Nor of slowing.

Lightning flashed again as the two forces trudged toward one another as best they could upon the slogged earth. In the distance armored men on foot with bows and swords and shields watched as the seemingly inevitable unfolded before them.

Closer and closer the runners and riders came, each inch they crossed splashing up muck and spraying water from the ground and blood from corpses under foot and hoof. The rain continued to pour like arrows, pounding into flesh and upon armor.

At the front of the charging men, the swordsman raised his head and his steel higher. The nearest enemy, a large figure atop a much larger steed, dipped his spear to aim at the man with the sword. A raucous bellow burst forth from the swordsman’s throat as he raised his other hand and gripped the weapon’s handle in both hands.

Then they came together in a clash. The sword hammered aside the head of the spear. Horse and rider continued forward, the bulk of the great animal smashing into the swordsman and sending him flying to land face first in the mud some little distance.

Shouts went up, and screams, and battered, tired, novices of war were bowled over and run through by men much more experienced and saddled and better armed.

A hundred died. None of them on horseback.

***

Qojimo woke to near darkness and much pain. A general soreness spread throughout his body from his legs to his chest and then out upon his arms, but worse was the ache that battered away at his head, the pain enough to bring tears to his eyes. For several moments he could not recall where he was and why he was there, but then memory spawned in the back of his thoughts, waking him to the living nightmare.

He sat bolt upright, the pain to his head thrashing harsh once again, causing him to blink away the agony as best he could. Looking around, he could see little, mostly a dark, gray sky and a lingering moon low upon the horizon, only a handful of the brighter stars winking their way through heavy clouds. At least the storm had passed and the rain no longer fell. His vision limited, he called upon his others senses. He could feel wet grass beneath his hands, and he could make out he still wore the robes of his office, also damp. To his ears came far-off groans of pain, a few, muffled, and little more other than a gentle wind.

Then further memory sprang into his thoughts. He recalled the charge of the imperial cavalry, how they had loomed over him as he had run at them with his blade held high.

His sword! His hands spread out in the darkness upon the ground, searching for his weapon. At first he found only turned-up grass and mud, but then his fingers came across something long and hard and metal wrapped in silk, the handle of his weapon. Grasping at the sword, he pulled it to him, running his hands up and down the length of the blade, finding it still intact, not broken as he had feared.

Now what to do? His body still hurting, especially his head, he rolled over onto his knees and forced himself to stand in the darkness. There he swayed for a moment, collecting his thoughts and his breath.

He had failed to win the day for the local villagers against the imperial forces, but how many remained alive of those villagers? Qojimo could only imagine what had happened after the battle. The imperials would have tramped on, burning the nearest villages, perhaps even taking or destroying what crops remained in the fields. The carnage would have been more terrible than harsh for the survivors, the women and children probably facing the worst, though any men, especially those who had taken part in the fight, would likely have been tortured long and hard as a sign to any others who might think of standing against the empire.

A long sigh escaped the swordsman’s lips as he closed his eyes and shook his bald head, the ache in his skull throbbing but easing off some.

Again, what to do now?

Before he could put a plan of action into effect, a bloom of light sprang into existence some distance away, the auburn glow showing the outline of the outer trees of the forest as well as the many, many shattered bodies of Qojimo’s former fellow warriors. He would have looked over the dead, would have looked into every face and felt the pain of their passing, yet he was mesmerized by that eerie light among the trees.

Holding his sword out to one side, he trekked toward the trees, without looking and without thinking while stepping over the downed bodies of his comrades.

As he neared the tall, slender beech trees, a mist sprang up about him, starting at the ground and his sandals before slowly rising. The fog grew and grew quickly, lifting until it surrounded Qojimo, yet it did not fully block his sight. He could still make out that vague glow through the mist and the trees. He continued forward.

Entering the forest, he pushed his way through low-hanging limbs, his sword always leading the way, his eyes locked upon that light ahead. Time seemed to come to a standstill and he seemed to walk forever.

Warmth suddenly touched Qojimo’s back and he glanced over a shoulder, staring as a hint of the sun appeared behind, the sky’s orb winking over a far horizon above trees and mountains.

Turning back the way he had been going, he discovered he had made his way through the thickest of the woods and had come to a clearing. In front of him sat an old man in yellow robes. The old man gripped a tall staff as he rested upon a cut tree stump, his eyes obviously cloudy, showing a lack of sight.

Come here, my child, the old man said.

Qojimo hesitated. He knew not what to expect here. Was this some trick of the enemy?

The old man chuckled. You fear me, but you have no reason to. I have come a long way and I have arrived too late, but I still have a present to give to you.

Qojimo did not move. I do not know you.

Of course not, the old man said, but I am aware of you. Qojimo, first magistrate of the province of Okihora, you who have stood with the rebels against the might of Emperor Ikutun. You are a brave but foolish man. It was an impossibility that you and yours could win. Fortunately you have survived, though as a traitor to the empire you will be hounded unto your death.

Traitor? Qojimo asked, his voice raised. Who is the traitor? The magistrate who stands with his people or the emperor who torments those he should protect?

The old man chuckled again. I sympathize with you, but do you really think the emperor will see it that way?

Of course not, Qojimo said. He has not before now even after my letters to him. He would not listen to reason. He would not hear that the crops had failed this year because of the drought. He would not hear that the people were suffering. All he wanted was his gold and the crops of the field to feed his armies.

Of course, the old man said. That is the way of kings. Your emperor is no different.

That may be, but that makes him the traitor in my eyes.

As I said, brave but foolish.

Qojimo’s gaze narrowed. Who are you, old man? And how did you know my name?

The old man gave a curt bow of his head. I am Rashumoqa, first wizard of the empire. In time’s past I served other emperors.

I have heard that name, Qojimo said, but it is a name of fairy tales, a name of myth.

Rashumoqa smiled. It is a name of the far past, yes, but not one of fairy tale or myth. I took my leave many, many years ago, before you were born, before your emperor was born. I had grown weary of the ways of the world and sought peace, reflection.

Then where have you been? And why are you here now?

I will only say I was far, far away in a place I had created suited to my needs, the wizard said. As for why I am here now ... from afar I saw what was happening to the land, to the world, to Okihora, and my heart burst. I could tolerate it no longer. In my watchings I had seen you, thus I came here. I had hoped to arrive before the battle, but I found I was too late. Fortunately you have survived, first magistrate, and it is a good thing. A lesser men might not be able to weather the gift I am to give. The gods have smiled upon us this day.

Qojimo waved his sword back toward the woods and the carnage beyond. Hundreds lay dead and you say the gods have smiled upon us?

Yes, indeed, Rashumoqa said. They spared you, did they not? And you are just the man I need, the man Okihora needs, that the empire needs.

Qojimo shook his head. I do not understand this. I think you are making fun of me, trying to trick me.

Not at all. I will make you a gift. It will be up to you whether or not you receive it. I rather hope you do, for then I can be on my way and return to my repose. Otherwise, the world might be doomed, at least this part of the world. If I were a younger man I might be able to do much more, but as things stand I am too old and feeble for direct confrontation. That is why you are so important.

I still do not trust you.

The wizard shrugged. I can but make the offer. He lifted a hand almost withered, pale and as much bone as flesh, and reached within the folds of his robes. Fumbling around inside his garb, a moment later he withdrew the hand. In his fingers rested a short-handled hammer with a sizable head not unlike a steel mallet, carvings of ancient runes within the metal. He held out the weapon.

Here, he said. Take this.

Still Qojimo did not move. Why?

Because it will make a difference.

Yet again Qojimo did not move. How can one simple tool make a difference?

A sigh escaped the wizard’s lips. This is more than a tool. It is a weapon. It belonged to a warrior who lived thousands upon thousands of years ago. The Lord of Thunder. That is who held this weapon, who was gifted it by the gods.

The name means nothing to me, Qojimo said. Who is this Lord of Thunder?

He was a man not unlike you, Rashumoqa explained. "He lived during a time more turbulent even than your own. The gods looked down upon the world and saw man turning against man. Chaos ruled the lands then. If they had not given this hammer to the Lord of Thunder, if they had not created the Lord of Thunder, then all we know would be as nothing. The beasts would rule and man would be but a shadow of the past. He saved us all."

How come you to have this weapon? Qojimo asked.

Eventually all men must age and die, even me, the wizard said. The Lord of Thunder lived his life and then faded as do all men, but before that he freed the world of much evil. Now you are being called upon to do the same. Will you accept this power, this sacrifice of yourself? Will you become this generation’s Lord of Thunder, this generation’s protector?

Qojimo moved a foot as if to step forward, and he raised his empty hand as if to reach for the hammer, but he brought himself up short. Why should I believe you? Why should I trust the words of some stranger who has appeared from nowhere? Why should I believe you are who you say you are?

The cloudy eyes of the old man flared and he sat up straight upon the stump. He hefted his staff off the ground for a moment, then slammed it back onto the earth. An unseen eruption of violence sprang out from him, barreling across the air and slamming into Qojimo, knocking the magistrate back and then flat upon the soil.

For a moment, a moment only, Qojimo knew darkness. Then he blinked. And looked up. Into angry, blind eyes glaring down upon him, the wizard having moved, now standing over the warrior, the hammer hanging from one of the old man’s hands but the other hand still gripping that wooden staff, one end of the staff now pointing at Qojimo.

How much evidence do you need, mortal man? boomed the voice of Rashumoqa. I offer you the last hope of your generation and you but offer me endless questions!

His face went slack then and he let slip the hammer from his hand. It dropped to the earth with a clunking sound. Then the wizard turned and shuffled away, muttering, It is always this way. They never believe those who come with a message from the gods.

Qojimo sat up.

And found himself alone.

The wizard had vanished, was gone. Qojimo shot to his feet, his sword extended, and he spun about looking for the old man, but there was no old man to see. Qojimo was alone in the clearing, the sun now rising further above the trees and providing much light, the grayness of the surrounding mist burning away as the sunlight caught upon the head of the hammer, the steel there glinting so strong as to almost hurt Qojimo’s eyes.

Lowering his blade, Qojimo rubbed at the back of his still throbbing head. He stared down at the hammer.

***

The barn stood leaning to one side, its warped boards the gray color of wood that has been wounded by the years and the elements. Qojimo paid it little mind as he walked toward it, his eyes and thoughts on the hammer he gripped in one hand.

His other hand entwined around the hilt of his sword in its scabbard at his side, he studied the hammer, pondering the ancient runes within the large steel head. He knew not what the runes meant, had no idea even of the language, if it indeed was a language. Shifting the weapon in his hand, he noted the short handle and the heaviness of the hammer. Nearly all the weight and balance were in the head, though at least that much was to be expected. Still, if this was an instrument of battle, it was the most unwieldy and unusual war hammer Qojimo had ever come across in all his years as a protector of the people and servant of the emperor, though he supposed he no longer served the emperor, at least not the current emperor.

As he neared the barn, he walked into its shadow, and this he finally noticed. Pausing in his steps, he looked up at the old, rotting building. Right away he recognized it for what it was, a place for storage of local crops. Glancing about, he realized he had entered farmland and must have traveled some few miles from the site of the battle and his meeting with the old fellow who had claimed to be the wizard Rashumoqa. This brought his thoughts back to the hammer.

Looking to the weapon once more, he wondered at its use. If Rashumoqa had been telling the truth in all he said, then the hammer must bring with it miraculous powers, powers that could protect a populace from an evil tyrant, perhaps even overthrow the tyrant. Yet Qojimo had no notion of the hammer’s powers, if indeed the wizard had been telling the truth.

Grunting in frustration, he lowered the heavy weapon to his side and looked around. Yes, farmland stretched in all directions but for a narrow line of trees behind the barn. Most of the crops had already been taken from the fields for the season, but the barn in front of the warrior appeared empty, not stuffed with barley and other crops as it normally would have been.

That meant the imperial troops had already been there, had already taken everything, for it was too early in the year for farmers to send their goods to the markets in the cities.

Glancing about at the ground, Qojimo could not help but see the grass and drying dirt had been churned up by the many boots and hooves of the forces which had turned against the people.

Yet what could he do about it? He had already rallied the local men and stood against the enemy, but they had been crushed by the heavy might of the empire. Looking again to the hammer, Qojimo wondered again at its powers. Could such a simple yet silly-looking tool bring freedom to the people? He doubted it, but he also yet lived, which meant there was still some little hope however small it might be.

You there! What are you doing?

The raised voice sparked Qojimo out of his reflections. He looked up to see three men in the lacquered armor of the empire, the three with swords drawn and tromping toward him from the line of trees around to one side of the barn.

Caught by surprise, Qojimo glanced about as if the shouted words had been meant for someone else, yet there was no one else to see. Nothing but plain farmland stretched for miles in all directions.

I’m talking to you! the voice yelled again. Explain yourself!

Qojimo looked to the soldiers once more and saw they still approached, were now closer than before, only a few dozen steps away, their eyes hooded and hard beneath their open helmets. They would be there any moment, and while Qojimo knew himself to be a fair swordsman, he doubted he had the skill to take on three heavy foes by himself, at least not without armor and perhaps a shield and a pole weapon.

Yet there was another option.

He glanced down at the hammer.

Then he thought of running away. The three soldiers wore weighty armor, so Qojimo knew he could outrun them. But he had sworn to protect the people and the land, even from the emperor himself. The hammer might save him or he might be proved a fool by hearkening to the wizard’s tales, but like in the battle which had been lost, Qojimo would rather stand and die than run like a rabbit for the rest of his life. He could possibly live knowing he had failed, but he could not live knowing he had not even tried. These three did not appear to be part of a larger force, were possibly stragglers from the main army but more than likely scum who had decided they wanted more than what the military had already taken. They did not deserve to live.

Qojimo lifted the hammer, raising it to the level of his sword belt.

None of that! one of the soldiers shouted, the one in the middle, the oldest of the three.

Qojimo closed his eyes, only for a moment. Gods, give me strength.

Enough of this. Kill him, a gruff voice said.

Then Qojimo opened his eyes. The men were almost upon him. Only just out of his reach. They would be there any moment with their sharpened weapons of iron, ready to slice through his robes and carve up his flesh.

He would not wait for them.

He sprang forward, shocking them into immobility, the hammer lifted high above his head and ready to be brought down upon the centermost of Qojimo’s enemies. With the hammer high, a jolt went down through Qojimo’s arm and into his chest, into his soul, into his mind. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt, pulsing his heart and sending waves of an electrifying energy throughout his body. Later he would think back on these moments and come to believe he had actually seen lightning flash down from the clear sky and envelope him, but he would never be sure.

The hammer came down, connecting with a sword upraised for protection, an upraised sword that did no good whatsoever. Steel connected with iron and the world exploded.

The three imperials were thrown backward as if a high wind had slammed into them while Qojimo stood strong in place though surprised at what had happened.

When the soldiers landed, they were on their backs, the breath knocked out of them, their bodies sore. Yet they still held onto their weapons. Each of the three sat up and stared at one another, then they looked to Qojimo.

Qojimo stared at the hammer in his hand, then he grinned and look to the imperials. I suggest you run.

They jumped to their feet and ran.

***

Emboldened but still not fully aware of the hammer’s power, Qojimo kept his distance from the army during the following days. He had little trouble spotting the lines of footmen or the riders from a distance, especially as the imperial forces kept to the roads with the exception of some few scouts, and those scouts seemed little interested in a lone man roaming about even if he did wear a sword, though the sword would not have been easy to spot form a distance. Qojimo expected tales to spread about the hammer, but it also was possible those three soldiers had kept their mouths quiet, that they had feared being called liars or cowards; either way, no one had approached Qojimo.

As for the hammer itself, Qojimo had managed to pull enough threads from the end of his robes to create a makeshift lanyard of sorts, thus allowing him to hang the weapon from his sword belt.

The night after the confrontation with the trio of soldiers, Qojimo found another barn to sleep in as he wouldn’t remain near the one where the encounter had occurred in case the soldiers would have come back themselves or with reinforcements. In the following days, Qojimo kept to the countryside, avoiding roads as often as possible and scurrying along dry creek beds when the land provided such. Some few times after dusk he would near one village or another in search of food, and he had been fortunate to find discarded root vegetables and the like in some instances. At times when the villages did not avail him of sustenance, he would live off the land as he had been trained during his military days years earlier, often devouring wild berries by the handful along with the occasional batch of wild onions or nuts fallen from trees. He had considered hunting, but his weapons were not proper for such tasks and so far he was making due with what he could scrounge.

Then one day while resting beneath a tall tree and considering his chances at creating traps and snares to catch small animals for food, the scent of smoke came to his nose. This was not the smell of a cook fire, but that of a larger flame, of wood and grass burning.

Climbing to his feet, Qojimo glanced about, but he was in a shallow valley and could see little more than the multitude of trees around him and a bit of the bright sky beyond. Hoping to find a better vantage point, he began the climb up a hillside, heading for flatter land.

As soon as he reached the ridge above where he had been resting, he spotted right away several lines of black smoke snaking up from the ground to the sky. The smoke came from the south, approximately two miles away beyond a barren field and behind a line of trees where Qojimo knew there to be a road. He also knew there to be a village there.

He took off at a run. He gave no thought to his own safety, but unwound the hammer from his belt as he moved. It might be possible the fire was some accident, in which case he would help as best he could, but he didn’t believe such a calamity had occurred. No, he had seen too many troops on the move. Most likely the village had been fired, or at least part of it, probably in the name of rooting out any further rebels, possibly even in the hope of drawing out Qojimo himself. Drawn out he would be, and he would not allow himself to fear any possible consequences.

His sandals slapping the earth beneath him and the hem of his robes flying out behind, Qojimo stormed down a grassy hill and made straight for a road of packed dirt between rows of trees. As he ran, he spotted much movement and turbulence in the distance, many forms in action ahead along the road. As he drew nearer, sounds of shouting and screaming came to his ears, and he could make out ahead several carts and wagons in the middle of the path, one of the vehicles having been turned over on its side and spilling its contents upon the road; clothing, foodstuff, furniture, all and more had fallen out in disorder.

Worse yet, Qojimo saw the familiar-looking soldiers in their tortoise shell armor huddling around the wagons. The men were stomping something in the road and stabbing at it with long spears. No, not something. Someone. Several someones.

Qojimo increased his speed, his feet kicking up beneath him. As he drew even closer, the scene grew worse. A dozen peasants lay sprawled in the middle of the way, some even children, all of them beaten and most bloody and obviously dead from the wounds they had taken. These poor souls had been unfortunate enough to fall prey to these mad soldiers of the emperor.

Before Qojimo could arrive, several of the armored figures took note of him, one pointing in his direction. Helmeted heads came up, a score of them, all staring at the figure charging at them.

That must be the one! a soldier yelled. He’s got a hammer.

So the tale had spread. It mattered little. What mattered was that Qojimo was too late to save most of the innocents laid out in the road, but he could at least avenge them. He only prayed the power of the hammer would be enough.

As he ran nearer to the soldiers, several of them pulled back their arms and then snapped them out straight forward, sending spears darting across the distance at the lone warrior. Suddenly Qojimo’s fist gripping the hammer shot up above his head as if tugged by the heavy weapon and a wind sprang up around him, whirling and whirling, sending up dust from the road. The javelins met this wall of twirling air and flew off in other directions away from Qojimo.

Either fearless or simpletons, the armored men did not hesitate to charge as a group, swords out and ready for carving.

Qojimo’s hammer hand came down, the weapon pointing toward the oncoming foes. The whirlwind about the warrior blew forward and grew in size, rolling around and around. Before the soldiers had a chance to retreat, the small tornado was among them, lifting heavy men from the ground and throwing them off to the sides where they landed among trees with the cracking din of bones breaking. In a matter of moments, the way was clear for Qojimo, only the wagons and carts and fallen peasants between him and the village where could be seen and heard many more of the soldiers doing their best to destroy homes and lives.

Qojimo darted forward, pausing to reflect upon the downed figures who had been slaughtered. He could do nothing to save them.

But he would try to save others.

He kicked up his heels and ran forward once more.

Only to nearly halt after crossing another dozen steps. Once past the wagons, he now had a better look at the village and what he saw brought much concern. At least a hundred of the soldiers worked at carnage. What kept Qojimo going were thoughts of the hammer in his right hand; the hammer had proven powerful and now saved him on more than one occasion, and he would have to trust it to do so again.

Still running, he noticed none of the rowdy bunch before him were paying attention to anything other than their own tasks, putting torches to village huts and slaying those villagers who remained alive. This gave Qojimo an advantage.

He charged into the madness with the hammer swinging. Unlike before, no forceful magic showed itself from the weapon, but still it proved a great tool of destruction. The steel head crunched into a helmet, shattering it and the skull beneath. Then on a backswing the hammer caught a soldier beneath the jaw, snapping back the man’s head and nearly separating it from his neck.

At first the majority of the soldiers noticed not that a dangerous madman was in their midst, and this allowed Qojimo to bring down the might of his wrath upon more armored figures, snapping one man’s neck and crushing the ribs of another. With a number of their comrades down and bleeding, some screaming, the soldiers suddenly noticed the threat among them.

Spears and swords and even torches turned to the danger.

All to no avail.

The hammer always at the forefront, Qojimo went into a whirling dance of destruction, the massive head of his weapon lashing out left and right, toppling armored men before they could lay a blade against him. On and on he went, moving swiftly from one group of packed men to another, overwhelming