Free Bloodwalk by James P. Davis

electricity raced along his arms and disappeared into the puddle he’d landed in. Bedlam had sailed free of his grip when he hit the wall of the cottage but lay within reach, rippling the surface of a puddle into concentric rings as it hummed in a childlike rage.
    Quin’s eyes, aching, began to clear. The burning in his muscles dissipated and he flexed his fingers in the water, regaining feeling in them. A slight resistance to electricity accompanied his angelic and unnerving eyes, but the ogre’s powerful bolt had caught him off guard. The game was always unpredictable, but few stones could change its course as could the one called Magic.
    The blue-skinned ogre approached with an arrogant swagger, smiling and gloating at his fallen foe, spinning the rune-covered glaive casually as rain hissed and steamed on the vile blade.
    A wizard, Quinsareth thought. That explains much, but does me little good if I lie down and die now.
    He winced as he rose to one knee, reaching behind him and grasping Bedlam’s hilt, assured by the confidence in the ogre’s eyes. The ogre clearly felt he had the advantage and was taking his time with his kill. This beast no doubt had a common ogre’s penchant for cruelty.
    “You fought well, little one. Your tricks were entertaining, to say the least.” Mahgra’s booming voice carried easily across the noise of the storm. His large fingers absently traced several symbols on the head of the glaive as he added distractedly, “I can show you true magic, better than phantoms and parlor tricks.”
    Quinsareth jumped at the ogre, closing the distance in a heartbeat and slashing at the steaming glaive. He disrupted Mahgra’s spell but landed no blow. Mahgra gripped the glaive rigidly, blocking Bedlam’s wailing edge with his strength as he whispered another spell. The arcane words flowed like a dark song in Quin’s ears.
    Unable to overcome the ogre’s strength, Quinsareth rolled beneath it, twisting and slashing across Mahgra’s massive rib cage. Ducking beneath the behemoth’s left arm, he turned to complete another cut along the ogre mage’s back.
    Mahgra merely turned as he completed his incantation, nonplussed by the pain of Quinsareth’s attacks.
    The magic was invisible, but it fell on Quinsareth’s shoulders like a crushing weight, pushing him to his knees and squeezing his body like a closed fist. Stars erupted before his eyes as he struggled to breathe. The spell continued, worming across his skin and up his neck, clawing at the edges of his skull and scraping at his thoughts.
    He closed his eyes tightly and called on the shadows, fighting the invasive spell and resisting its urges to submit and give up his spirit. The shadows answered, bolstering his will and disassembling the unseen power around him.
    As the pressure eased, Quinsareth doubled over, feigning defeat but carefully watching the rippling reflection of the mage standing over him in the rain. He waited for an opening. Mahgra laughed, a hideous roar that hurt Quin’s ears, but the ghostwalker resisted the urge to cover them and maintained his submissive posture.
    “I should like to punish you for what you’ve done to my allies, little one. But I have more pressing business, alas.”
    He raised the magical glaive high overhead.
    Quinsareth did not wait for its descent. Springing forward at the startled ogre mage, he buried Bedlam in the giant’s gut.
    Mahgra bellowed in pain as the blade screamed inside him. He batted at the desperate aasimar with a clublike fist.
    Quinsareth’s arm nearly broke against the ogre’s blow. He heard several ribs crack as he landed on his back and rolled onto his stomach. He watched as Mahgra tried unsuccessfully to pry Bedlam from the grievous wound. Each time he pulled, the blade grew louder and twirled like an auger to dig deeper.
    Steam rose in clouds behind the howling ogre. Quinsareth saw that the glaive had been dropped and forgotten by the ogre wizard. Ignoring the pain in his