in front of so many soldiers, not to mention the sorcerer that must be with them. It was certain death, no matter how confident his grandfather sounded.
Ignoring those thoughts, he gripped the door handle and pulled.
Nothing happened. The door was stuck and refused to budge. Will stared at it dumbly for a second. He had used that door almost every day of his life, and he knew how much force was needed to open it. Then he noticed the magic that followed the edges of the door. His grandfather had used some sort of spell to keep it from opening.
Why? he wondered. Did he know I’d come back, or is this part of some strange plan? Shaking his head, Will went to the left and peeked out the front window.
He didn’t like what he saw. At least twenty men were standing in the front yard, spread out in a broad line. Behind them stood an extremely plump man whose head was entirely bald. Will could tell it was the sorcerer at once, for the man was clad in gaudy orange robes, and if that weren’t enough, a large flame hovered beside him, invisible to normal sight. Beside the sorcerer were four more soldiers armed with crossbows.
“You seem awfully bold for a man with no friends and very little power to back him up,” said the bald sorcerer.
“Why don’t you step up here and try me out if that’s what you think, you hairless flesh-bag,” sneered Arrogan. “I was dealing with scum like you long before your father paid your mother to sleep with him.”
Will saw his teacher’s turyn swell, growing noticeably over a span of seconds.
The sorcerer saw it as well and his eyes widened. “What are you doing?” Alarmed, he barked an order to the men beside him, “Shoot him!”
Arrogan snapped his fingers, and Will saw a blur as a spell-construct formed and just as quickly vanished. The air around his grandfather roared, whipping around him in a circular fashion, sweeping the crossbow bolts away before they could reach him.
The sorcerer seemed surprised. “Who are you?” hissed the plump man. “Are you a warlock? No wizard could spend his energy like that.”
“I’ll gladly tell you my name,” said Will’s grandfather, “but then I couldn’t let you live. Last chance. Would you rather hear my name or keep breathing?”
The leader of the enemy soldiers laughed, but it sounded forced. “You’ve got some serious balls, fellow. Not that I care, but tell me your name anyway. It’ll make the story more interesting when we’re laughing about it in camp tonight.”
“It’s your funeral,” said his mentor before spitting off the porch. “My name is Arrogan Leirendel, and I’m no warlock.”
As one, the soldiers reacted with chuckles. Even the sorcerer laughed, this time more naturally. Straightening his back, he responded loudly, “You’re either a fool or moon-touched if you expect us to believe that, or perhaps you think you think you’re a jester?”
Stone-faced, Will’s grandfather said nothing, but his turyn began to grow again.
“He thinks he’s the Betrayer himself,” sneered the sorcerer. “Kill him.”
The soldiers advanced, swords drawn, but Arrogan didn’t wait on them. Stepping off the porch, he walked toward them. When he was within a few feet of the center of the line, the three men closest to him froze in place. Reaching out, the old man took the sword from one of them, and before the ones farther away could react, he began coldly butchering the helpless soldiers.
Will couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for them. He had been paralyzed too many times himself. He could imagine the sheer terror they must have felt, finding their bodies no longer obeyed them, while a madman killed them with their own weapons.
Those farther away moved to save their comrades, but Arrogan dispatched the first to come within his reach, his sword moving in a blinding display of swordsmanship. Even Will was surprised, and for the first time he realized the old man had been going easy on him during their training.
But no amount of skill would suffice against so many. The invaders surrounded Arrogan, and Will felt sure the old man would be gutted—but as they closed on him Arrogan’s turyn exploded outward as he launched another spell.
It was the same one he had used to deflect the crossbow quarrels previously, but this time it was flesh and bone around him. The raging air turned red as arms, legs, and less recognizable pieces of Arrogan’s attackers flew in every direction.
The violence of