Free Razumov's Tomb by Darius Hinks Page A

of his helmet, knocking him onto his back. The pain in his neck returned with a vengeance and he blacked out again.
    When he awoke, he realised that several minutes must have passed. There were no living knights anywhere near him, only hordes of howling, bellowing beastmen, tramping across his battered body in their eagerness to advance.
    The reiksgraf rolled aside and the monsters blundered past, too caught up in their impending victory to pay him any heed. He scrambled clear of the charge and saw a group of his men, cornered by the side of the gate and surrounded by an impressive mound of fallen beastmen.
    “To the town hall!” His voice sounded ragged and odd, and as the knights looked towards him their faces blanched.
    The reiksgraf grinned as one of the men dashed to his side and handed him a sword.
    “Your shoulder…” said the man, grimacing.
    “The town hall,” repeated the reiksgraf, fending off a blow with his new blade. His attacker stumbled back and von Südenhorst followed up with a fierce backhanded slash that split the monster’s throat like a new mouth and sent it toppling to the floor. The general strode confidently through the battle, waving his men back down the street as he went.
    The remnants of von Südenhorst’s army were gathered on the town hall steps. Only thirty of them were left to receive their general, and the host gathering around them was in the hundreds, if not thousands. A few hastily-fired arrows were still raining down from the battlements, but most of the state troops had either died or abandoned their posts.
    The reiksgraf barked orders as he reached his men, demanding that they form into orderly ranks, but as he turned to face the oncoming horde, he hesitated. The moon was waxing ever brighter and as it did so, it seemed to feed the lumbering brutes gathering around them. They howled in delight and raised their swords to the writhing heavens, tasting victory.

 
    CHAPTER NINE

    Groot stumbled out onto the steps, watching in amazement as the building behind him started to collapse. Ancient columns were shearing up through the disintegrating roof like the ribs of prehistoric monsters, tearing through the walls and billowing great plumes of dust into the air.
    The knights and guards staggered out after him and, after a few minutes, so did Gabriel. The wizard’s face was as emotionless as ever, but his robes were flickering with flashes of light and the astrolabe mounted on his staff was crackling with power.
    “What are you doing out here?” demanded Groot, his voice shrill with terror. “Has he failed? Is he dead?” He waved at the tumbling building. “What’s happening?”
    Gabriel looked through the bürgermeister with blank, incandescent eyes. “The first part is complete. Razumov’s tomb has answered.”
    “Then what are you doing talking to me? By the gods, man, you should be helping your master! You’re meant to be catching starlight!”
    Gabriel showed no sign of emotion as he shook his head. “The fulcrum is a focus for one mind.”
    The two men looked back into the heaving clouds of dust and falling masonry. As the final section of roof slammed down, they were forced back down the steps, shielding their faces as great chunks of stone tumbled and spun around them.
    “Where’s the Grand Astromancer?”
    They turned to see the reiksgraf elbowing his way through the tattered remnants of his army. He was a mess. His armour was dented in several places, the wings on his helmet were bent at a ridiculous angle and his shoulder was a gruesome lump. “Has he completed his work?”
    Gabriel shook his head, but before he could speak, he noticed the crowds of beastmen gathering at the foot of the steps. The monsters had paused to watch the building collapse, as though the whole scene had been engineered for their amusement.
    Groot flinched at the size of the army and backed away, but Gabriel composed himself and continued. “It’s not a simple process,” he said,