this potion.
“We must be quick,” Gregor told them, “but also extremely careful. We cannot afford to spill the concoction.”
Adept and sure, his monks wasted no time. Soon, a metal lid covered the cauldron, the edges sealed with wax to prevent leakage during transport. They wrapped the covered pot with rope, tied tightly in case of jostling.
And finally, three of them carried the heavy pot to the stables and loaded the precious elixir into a small wagon. In a matter of minutes, the wagon had been hitched to a burrow and the whole group headed toward the Festival of Blue Fire.
Shortly, history would soon be made. Soon, Gregor would be taking the first step on the path to fulfilling his vision of a world without rampant spellplague. He smiled. That was a dream worth taking a risk for. A shiver of excitement danced down his spine, as he and his helpers made slow but steady progress away from the monastery.
Despite his personal dislike for Vraith, Gregor remained optimistic that it would all be worth it. The beauteous end result would completely justify the tactics they were forced to use to get there, for that result would be a restoration of order. That result was peace.
Peace was worth substantial risk.
A chill wind slid across Slanya’s skin as Tyrangal teleported her, Kaylinn, and several others whom Kaylinn had enlisted to help rescue Duvan. The light of the afternoon sun winked out as the monastery courtyard vanished. The open, fresh air gave way to a smoky and stuffy enclosed corridor that smelled of tallow and soot.
The hot air made the dark space feel tight and claustro-. phobic. Slanya struggled to take slow, even breaths while 1 her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Her heart raced with § anticipation, and sweat prickled on her brow from the heat.: But as she focused on her breathing, balance returned, and she found herself ready for a fight.
“Duvan is in the room just down these stairs,” Tyran-1 gal whispered. I scried him earlier. There are five or. six j people in the room, but Commander Accordant Vraith and j her entourage have left. We should be able to overcome J those remaining.”
Taking a deep breath, Slanya took a firm grip on her I staff. She was ready.
“Hey! What are you?”
Slanya turned toward the sound, coming from a man in | chainmail climbing up the staircase toward them.
She watched as Tyrangal gestured with her hand, her J reaction extremely quick. Simultaneously, on the edge of | her vision, Slanya could swear that she saw something | flick out of Tyrangal’s mouth, stretch out and touch the J man on the forehead, then retract. But the whole thing J! happened in a blink of an eye, leaving Slanya wondering 1 what she’d seen.
“We are friends,” came Tyrangal’s soothing contralto. I “We’re here to escort the prisoner to his cell.”
The man’s face slackened from suspicion to understanding. He nodded. “All right,” he said. “Wonderful. Although I don’t think you will be needed.”
“We’ll be the ones to judge that,” Tyrangal said as she swept past the guard. She laid one hand on his head, whispered a quick spell, and the man collapsed.
They crept down the hallway to another door. Tyrangal | paused here.
“There’s a guard just inside,” Tyrangal said. “Leave herf tome.”
“We’ll try to find Duvan,” Slanya said, looking at Kaylinn, who nodded.
Slanya entered the room behind Tyrangal, who was enshrouded now in a shifting, prismatic aura and was difficult to see. A quick glance around the room showed Slanya a torch-lit dungeon, complete with stone walls and arched ceiling, iron chains and manacles, and several tables fitted with restraints for securing and interrogating prisoners.
To Slanya’s right, she caught sight of Duvan, lying slumped across the floor. He looked unconscious and there was an alarming amount of blood pooled under him. She hoped they weren’t too late.
“Kaylinn,” Slanya called. “There he is.” the room was mostly empty of Order members, but those remaining had converged on Duvan. There was no sign of Vraith, but Slanya counted three others in addition to the guard. Four, if she included the genasi woman wrapping a bandage around her wrist.
Slanya recognized one of the Order guardsBeaugrat.
“You again!” Beaugrat stood beside Duvan, a bloody sword in his hand. “You should have gotten out when you had the chance.”
Beside Slanya, Kaylinn sent a wave of holy fire into two Order members clustering around Duvan’s body. They backed away as she approached, but not fast enough to avoid the blast. The genasi wizard dodged and started toward Tyrangal
Slanya spun her staff and leveled it at Beaugrat. She advanced on the warrior, moving quickly, but careful to remain steady and aware. She knew her opponent was an accomplished swordsman and was far stronger than he looked. She’d seen that when he had fought Duvan in the ruins outside Tyrangal’s mansion.
Beaugrat drew his huge sword and leveled it at Slanya. He held the weapon with both hands and swung it with surprising deftness and agility. If he but hit her once, Slanya would be out of the fight.
Best not let him hit me then, she thought wryly.
Circling him, Slanya was aware of the escalating magical battle between Tyrangal and the genasi wizard. The woman’s aquamarine skin glowed, and the spellscar on her head seemed to flow with silver. She had manifested some sort of magical shield around herselfa clear bubble of power that absorbed and deflected Tyrangal’s fiery blasts. Inside, the genasi appeared to be unharmed.
Tyrangal’s attacks increased in power, but each one merely rolled off the protective bubble and scorched the walls and floor around her. The splash damage from their combat could easily fry everyone in the room.
Beaugrat stepped forward and brought his large sword down on Slanyaa quick strike, but one she easily dodged.
Breathe. Counterattack. Her staff glanced off his neck guard, but she followed it by stepping lightly to her left and cracking her staff against his hands. Perhaps she could loosen his grip on his weapon.
Her strike landed hard, and it was like hitting a stone wall. No give at all. Her staff vibrated in her grip, and she barely held on.
Beaugrat hardly seemed to notice.
As she sidestepped another swing, Slanya calculated her next strike. Her quickness meant that she could make several attacks to each of his. His head was the only part of him that was exposed. He was vulnerable there. She whipped her staff around and struck the big man in the side of head, just over his left ear.
Her staff was a blur, and Beaugrat had no time to dodge. The weapon shook in her hands as the blunt end thudded home. Slanya was gratified to see dark blood welling through Beaugrat’s blond hair.
“Nice hit,” he snarled, but his expression was of a wounded animal, cornered and more vicious than before. “Now it’s your turn.”
Abruptly, Beaugrat sheathed his sword. He pressed his wrists together with his palms facing Slanya. What was he doing?
Blue fire flickered to life from the spellscar on his shoulder, rippling like ignited oil down to his elbow and encasing his whole arm.
A wave of nausea pulsed through Slanya. But as she focused on Beaugrat’s spellscar, she felt something awaken inside her. Energy sparking from one point to another, prickling against her skin. Her own spellscar activated, illuminating her skin. And as the wild magic permeated her and fragmented her, she suddenly she understood how Beaugrat created the blue fire.
‘ She understood, and she reached out to affect it. As her spellscar web attuned to Beaugrat’s power, Slanya’s reality split and split again until she could barely keep her mind integrated. But she found the essence of Beaugrat’s ability. Slanya felt the wild magic flowing through Beaugrat’s scar, and she willed it to stop. In an instant, the web of filaments that made up her spellscar closed down his power.
The blue fire on Beaugrat’s arm guttered and dwindled away then died. He stared at his hands in disbelief. “How did you…?”
