His back, battered, broken, flayed. Lay no claim to tatters. And his teeth grit in warning, "Hold. The horse will —"
Too little. Far too late. Archeval's sword drawn, and the light of it blinding. War taught well: worse than men, than sorcery, than flights of talismans, than entrapment, than the lay of the land conspiring against its invaders, worse than any score of dubious, strained and tortured advantage, are animals in the enemy's hand. They frighten, then run wild, and in their chaos care for nothing. Not their rider, the safety of the men at their feet, not themselves as they stampede on, between the hissed entreaties of rock splintered, flinched off yielding ground.
The horse is of greater concern to Lan Wangji, absent archers on their side to still it. Wei Ying — ...but when did the Yiling Patriarch last hold his bow?
No matter. Lan Wangji wrenches back, weight on his hind leg, priorities redistributed — the lightning of Archeval's sword, in its pallor, betrays them. No matter, again: if the man advances, then Lan Wangji settles as his rearguard, his blade Bichen return to sheath while he unburies the spooled span of Eleven's crude, but efficient garrote wire. He webs it fast, first casting a broad circle, fattened and loose, then tightening it in snapped geometries and sophisticated formations, to sit wire between as many of the assailants as luck and haste-eroded skill permit.
Then, the last taste of it: qi, and the wire rises, cut of it feeding off Lan Wangji's own brand of strength, cleaving fetid flesh that drowns them in the cloying stench of stale, gelid blood and moulded innards. He does not look, as limbs fall, does not count the dead — only throws over his shoulder, where he expects Archeval to hold vigil, "Leave your back." Lan Wangji will have it. "Your legs."
One of them must ensure Archeval is not caught in friendly wire, and it is not Lan Wangji. He can only weave so much care in manipulating wire — an uncoordinated tactic, unless he directs the entirety of his attention to a scant pick of targets. No. Leave that to Archeval, tasks distributed.
no subject
Too little. Far too late. Archeval's sword drawn, and the light of it blinding. War taught well: worse than men, than sorcery, than flights of talismans, than entrapment, than the lay of the land conspiring against its invaders, worse than any score of dubious, strained and tortured advantage, are animals in the enemy's hand. They frighten, then run wild, and in their chaos care for nothing. Not their rider, the safety of the men at their feet, not themselves as they stampede on, between the hissed entreaties of rock splintered, flinched off yielding ground.
The horse is of greater concern to Lan Wangji, absent archers on their side to still it. Wei Ying — ...but when did the Yiling Patriarch last hold his bow?
No matter. Lan Wangji wrenches back, weight on his hind leg, priorities redistributed — the lightning of Archeval's sword, in its pallor, betrays them. No matter, again: if the man advances, then Lan Wangji settles as his rearguard, his blade Bichen return to sheath while he unburies the spooled span of Eleven's crude, but efficient garrote wire. He webs it fast, first casting a broad circle, fattened and loose, then tightening it in snapped geometries and sophisticated formations, to sit wire between as many of the assailants as luck and haste-eroded skill permit.
Then, the last taste of it: qi, and the wire rises, cut of it feeding off Lan Wangji's own brand of strength, cleaving fetid flesh that drowns them in the cloying stench of stale, gelid blood and moulded innards. He does not look, as limbs fall, does not count the dead — only throws over his shoulder, where he expects Archeval to hold vigil, "Leave your back." Lan Wangji will have it. "Your legs."
One of them must ensure Archeval is not caught in friendly wire, and it is not Lan Wangji. He can only weave so much care in manipulating wire — an uncoordinated tactic, unless he directs the entirety of his attention to a scant pick of targets. No. Leave that to Archeval, tasks distributed.