The other four trollmen were yelling in fear and horror. I heard one of them puking, and another shouted, “God’s teeth! What did he do?”
I ignored them for the moment and picked up the fallen slaver’s huge sword in a two-handed grip.
As he stared up at me, there was nothing in his eyes but fear. Just as if I was chopping wood for the fire back home, I swung the sword round in a great arc and brought it thudding down on his neck. There was a wet crunch, and his staring head rolled away from the rest of him as his body jerked in its death convulsions. Blood, driven by his still-beating heart, pumped weakly out into the dirt.
I stood and turned to survey the battlefield. Amelia was standing to my left, a few yards away. She’d laid her book on the ground behind her, but still clutched the Beast Cores in her hands. I saw that she’d taken one of the smaller ones and held it alone in her right hand. I saw her measuring the distance between us and the rest of the slavers, gauging the angle for a throw.
“No, Amelia, they’re too close—we’d be caught up in the blast. Leave this to me; I think I can handle them.”
She nodded, and I saw the tension go out of her arm as she realized what I said was true.
The trollmen had regrouped, and they now stood bunched together, looking pale but determined. The one standing closest to us sneered and tried his best to put courage into his faltering voice. “We weren’t going to give him a cut of the profits anyway. You did us a favor, kid.”
Then he drew a shortsword from where it hung on his belt. “But you’re still coming with us. Both of you.”
He darted toward Amelia, but I shot another fireball straight for his chest. My aim was a bit off, and the flaming projectile crashed into his head instead, incinerating it. Even better.
I was in no mood for mercy now. These men had never shown mercy to anyone.
The headless slaver fell face first into the dirt, his shortsword dropping from his lifeless hand. The other three slavers were glancing from each other to their fallen comrade and back again, looks of fear and panic on their faces. I saw them make their decision; it took all of a second for their fear to turn to anger. Together, they drew their swords and charged.
Amelia snatched the shortsword from the dead slaver and raised it in an unpracticed grip. I raised the jagged scimitar in a one-handed grip and pulled my knife with my other hand. I blocked one blow from a trollman’s blade and ducked beneath a swipe from another. As they started to close around me, I danced on my feet and used my newly acquired scimitar to keep the three remaining slavers at bay. Amelia got behind me, holding her blade up but leaving the fighting to me. As I dodged and parried enemy attacks, I pulled Mana into my arm and fed it through my tattoo. The flame motif in the center of the tattoo lit up, glowing through the thin top layer of my skin. I concentrated on the shortsword in my hand even as I thrust and parried. I saw smoke rising from my hand and felt heat starting to radiate from the steel. Power flooded me. It felt amazing.
I fed more Mana through my hand and into the blade. Then the whole blade burst into flames. I felt my Mana start to drop, but I fed just a bit more in and the sword became a conflagration.
The slavers stumbled backward as I swept the flaming blade in a great arc around me.
With a yell of triumph, I charged after the trollmen as they fled. I cut one down with a slash across his back. A shallow wound, but the sword did more than scratch him with its edge. He screamed as flames enveloped his filthy tunic and crawled up his hair.
Another slaver turned to face me, and I thrust my sword into his stomach as he retreated in panic. The pointed tip plunged into his abdomen with a hiss, and the smell of burning flesh filled my nostrils even as he died on the point of my weapon.
The last of the trollmen was already a good twelve paces away. I was out of breath, and I didn’t want to get too far from Amelia. I pulled Mana back from my sword, and the flames died away, leaving the blade a charred black color. I only had a fraction of my Mana remaining. Would it be enough? Time to find out. I raised my hand, poured Mana into my tattoo, and shot a fireball at the fleeing slaver.
The ball of flame struck him in the back. I took a few steps toward him so I could end his life, but I stopped short. There was no need. The fire was consuming his clothing and sizzled into his flesh, eating away organs in a matter of seconds until there was nothing left but a charred, greasy black mass on the scorched ground.
My vision was dimming at the edges. Suddenly out of breath, I sat down hard. Maybe I’d overdone it just a little.
Amelia ran over to me. “You did it,” she cried. “You saved us.” Her voice was slightly muffled through the ringing in my ears.
I concentrated on my Mana again and felt the level rise a bit. The darkness receded from my vision, and I could hear clearly again. My throat was parched though, and I realized
