Kingdom of Ash

Two of those witch towers had been
directly over the pits. Pits that they had filled
with the chemical reactors and powders that
fueled Rolfe’s firelances, then concealed
beneath the earth—waiting for a spark to
ignite them.
Those two towers now lay in scattered ruin,
their wyverns broken beneath them, soldiers
squashed under falling stone.
Yet one still stood, the pit it had been
closest to exploding too soon. One of the
wyverns who had pulled it had been hit by
debris from another tower—and lay either
dead or injured.
And that third remaining tower had
stopped.
A wicked, low horn sounded from the
enemy host, and the army halted, too.
“Thank the rutting gods,” Rolfe said, head
bowing.