Pierre Pevel - By The Alchemist in the Shadows Page 0,2

that caught the first rays of the rising sun. The thunder of hooves made the ground shake. Reynault and Sceur Beatrice led the column.

They rode side by side, their eyes fixed on the manor ahead, whose defence was being hurriedly organised. There were signs of movement, as hats and musket barrels appeared along the wall enclosing the courtyard. The Chatelaine unsheathed her sword and brandished the shining black blade, a blade made of draconite, high in the air.

The mercenaries shouldered their muskets and took aim. They knew their weapons had a range of one hundred and twenty paces and that it was best to let the enemy draw near before firing. So they waited.

The horsemen came on at a gallop, following the dusty track, three or four abreast. But what would they do when they arrived? They charged as if they saw an open gate before them. Yet both the heavy doors were closed tight and an old cart loaded with barrels full of earth had even been pushed behind them as reinforcement. Nevertheless, the guards came on at the same mad pace.

They were only two hundred paces away. At sixty, the mercenaries would start firing.

A hundred and fifty paces. The track ahead was a straight line. Her black sword still held aloft, the Chatelaine chanted an incantation in the draconic tongue.

A hundred paces. At any moment a hail of lead would mow down the front ranks of riders, felling both men and beasts whose bodies would in turn force those behind them to tumble.

Seventy-five. Sceur Beatrice was still chanting.

Sixty. The mercenaries were about to open fire . . .

But at the very last second, the Chatelaine screamed a word full of power. Her blade shone with a sudden light and the twin doors of the manor gate shattered into splinters. The explosion was tremendous. It shook the walls, made the ground vibrate and flung the cart and its barrels into the air. It killed, wounded or stunned the mercenaries posted to either side of the gate and left the remaining defenders in shock, deafened by the blast and blinded by the cloud of dust.

The riders did not slow. They burst into the courtyard, firing their short muskets. Some of their enemies responded with their longer guns. Musket balls whizzed back and forth, striking their targets. One of them ricocheted off Reynault's breastplate. Another ripped off his hat. He dismounted, drew his sword and shouted curt orders to his troops. All around him, close-quarters combat broke out. Sceur Beatrice remained close by his side.

'Where?' he shouted over the din of yelling men and clashing weapons.

She seemed to search around and then pointed to the main building.

'There!' she cried.

'With me!' Reynault commanded as he leapt forward.

He was immediately followed by Ponssoy and a few others who surrounded the Chatelaine. She knew how to fight, but it was her powers that could save them all as a last resort. Her survival was crucial.

Muskets appeared at the windows of the large manor house and began to blast away. One of the guards crumpled. Despite his loss, Reynault and the rest of his group nonetheless managed to reach the main entrance. It was barricaded shut — they would have to force their way inside. Someone found a beam to use as a battering ram and with each successive blow the twin doors shivered, then began to crack a little more every time. But they still held.

'Faster!' urged the Chatelaine, a fearful expression on her face. 'Faster!'

The doors gave way at last. Reynault and his men rushed inside, charging straight into the mercenaries who greeted them with a murderous volley of musket fire. Several guards fell. Ponssoy was seriously injured and Reynault's thigh was pierced right through, although he paid the wound no heed. A furious melee broke out, in which even the Chatelaine took part. She and Reynault attempted to force a passage through the combatants, until she finally placed a hand on the lieutenant's shoulder.

He turned to her.

'Too late,' she said in a quiet voice which he nonetheless heard perfectly clearly.

A dull rumble came from somewhere within the house. The stone floor slabs in the great manor hall began to tremble.

Reynault realised what was happening.

'Retreat!' he shouted. 'Retreat! Retreat!'

Carrying their wounded and fending off the mercenaries still pressing them, Reynault and his group hastily withdrew. The whole building was now vibrating, as if shaken by an earthquake. Its foundations began to sag. Tiles fell from the roof. The stones in the walls came