the ground where she sprawled, unconscious. The boy still didn’t move, and the man wrapped his arm about the other’s neck and, using him as a shield, began backing toward the cliff face. The boy went without a struggle, almost as if he didn’t realize what was happening.
Neither Paxon nor Avelene was quite sure who everybody was at this point. Given the likely possibility that the two attackers were part of the contingent sent to kill Arcannen, what did the boy and the girl have to do with anything? It felt odd that they should be here at all, especially the boy. Hadn’t he seen enough of Arcannen in Portlow to stay clear of him?
Paxon glanced over at Avelene. She seemed undecided, staring at the scene below. “What do we do?” he whispered.
No response. Then she looked at him wordlessly and stood up. Together, they began walking toward the boy and his attacker.
It took only a moment for the man to see them. A knife appeared in his hand, and he pressed it to the boy’s neck. “Where is he?” he screamed at them.
Both Paxon and Avelene slowed, confused. “Dead,” the Druid answered. “They’re all dead. Let the boy go.”
The man looked around wildly, noting the giant’s body and dismissing it. “Not them! The sorcerer! He’s not dead! Are you blind? Where is he? You answer me! You want this one’s throat cut, do you?”
He pressed the knife blade harder against the boy’s throat, but the boy didn’t even flinch. He just stared into space.
“Look down!” Paxon shouted at him. He pointed to the charred rocks and bits of tattered robe that lay almost at the man’s feet. The man glanced them and gave a shrill, wild laugh, as if this was the funniest thing he had ever seen.
Avelene kept moving forward, drawing Paxon with her. “Your fellows are all dead!” she called out. “You have nowhere to go. Let the boy go, and I will give you your freedom!”
The man spit at her. “You’ll give me nothing. You’ll do what I say or I’ll kill him right in front of you! You stay where you are.”
Avelene slowed, but not by much.
“How stupid are you, woman? You think the sorcerer dead? Just like that? Quick and simple, a flash rip does the job? Dead? He’s got nine lives and then some! He’s waiting us out—all of us—just to see who lives and who dies. Those that die quick are the lucky ones. But I’m not fooled because I see things you don’t!”
Paxon experienced a flash of uncertainty. Was he right? Was Arcannen still alive? But if so, then who had the flash rip explosions torn apart?
He knew the answer before he finished asking himself the question. Magic. The sorcerer had used magic. It was an image the flash rip had destroyed.
He separated himself from Avelene by a few steps, searching for a way to disable their adversary. If he could get close enough, it should only take a moment to render him senseless. But it would be tricky, and he would only get one chance. He hesitated, glancing at Avelene. She was continuing her own advance, white fire flaring at her fingertips, tense resolve mirrored on her narrow features.
“Wait,” she whispered at him.
The man continued backing away from them, working his way toward a gap in the ruins that would give him access to the coastline. “I’m not so stupid as these others, Arcannen!” he shouted at the ruins about him. “Not Bael Etris! I see you. You can’t hide yourself from me, witchman!”
The mist was shifting in front of him with such frequency that he was disappearing into it every few seconds. Any attack would be semi-blind in these conditions. But Paxon knew they had to do something.
“You want this boy dead, Arcannen?” Bael Etris screamed suddenly. “Show yourself or he’s meat on the—”
An explosion of smoke infused with a brilliant crimson light cut off the rest of what he intended to say, flooding the whole of the ruins surrounding Etris and the boy, completely enveloping both. At first, Paxon thought Avelene had caused it, but when he glanced over she was down on one knee, shielding her eyes from the glare. Throwing caution aside, knowing there was no time for it, he charged into the swirling miasma, the black blade of his sword alive with movement, its emerald light flaring in bright streaks against the crimson of the haze.