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Baltura, sword in one hand, long hair flying around his face like live snakes, raised his other hand to the sky. More clouds, dark and unnatural, swirled above the trees. Red lightning flashed, striking the buildings. Each burn started slow, but fed by the wind and dark magick, grew to engulf homes and shops. Orange flame leaped to the closet object, whether a tree, a structure, or a person was inconsequential.
Rain fell from the storm clouds Dane created, attempting to douse the fires and preserve the village. Power coursed through the air, rising and clashing, that of his brothers and Baltura. Rhys could feel it, knew others in town born with a gift, or knew one who was, would know more occurred here than a few strangers battling with mercenaries. Some of the townsfolk returned insi
