untroubled surface. Raidon returned his implements carefully to his pack.
A shout. Heads turned down the tree-lined path. The last scout appeared, riding hard.
His voice came harsh and panicked on the wind. “Thayan patrol! Red Wizards on the river!”
The camp exploded with hustling forms. Quent screamed for his caravan guards. The Commorand brothers and the dwarf crossbowman immediately heeded the chief’s call. Raidon glanced at his pack with all its precious contents. No time to stow ithe slipped it onto his back as he joined Quent and the others.
Quent was pointing up… two figures hung red in the air over the trees, as if standing on an invisible tower. The hard-riding scout looked up and back, terror evident on his face. The hovering Red Wizard on the right, a woman, raised a ruby-tipped wand. From its tip butst a swarm of angry red pinpoints that descended unetringly upon the scout. The scarlet points burrowed into his flesh as he screamed and convulsed.
The scout’s blood-spattered, wild-eyed horse returned to camp without its rider.
Quent pulled an arrow from his quiver, drew, and released. The shaft arced high into the air. Mere feet from its target, it bounced away, as if hitting a brick wall, though one without color or shape. Undeterred, the dwarf crossbowman cranked hard on his enruned weapon. An iron bolt screamed up and buried itself in her torso. She shrieked and her stance wavered in the air. A shimmering globe briefly sparked into visibility around her then faded.
The dwarf voiced something incomprehensible, though his tone was satisfied. He selected another metal bolt and began to crank again on his crossbow’s mechanism.
High above, the male Red Wizard pointed a strangely irregular blue wand. Raidon, responding to cues he couldn’t articulate, dived away from the dwatf an instant before a bolt of the storm’s pure fury connected wand and dwarf. The blast still lifted and threw the monk against the side of a wagon, though he absorbed the impact with a midair roll. A dark, many-legged column lingered across his vision; he blinked away the after-image and saw the smoking remains of the dwarf, charred fingers yet clutching his beloved, red-hot crossbow.
Quent was across the dealing, staggering to his feet. One Commorand brothet was on the ground, his staff blown to splinters. The other, Adrik, remained upright, the grass around his feet unburned.
Raidon gained control of his breathing and dashed toward Adrik. He gasped, “Can you bring them down?”
The sorcerer nodded briskly, his hands already essaying a complicated nulling pattern, his lips shaping words whose meanings slipped across Raidon’s memory without leaving a mark. Adrik finished by throwing wide his arms. A pulse of mazing, twirling energy leaped up and around the suspended wizards. The woman, her footing in thin air already questionable, dropped like a stone. The man wavered, then rapidly
dipped behind the tree line. The Red Wizard hadn’t fallen; he’d merely descended under cover.
“By the coin!” yelled the sorcerer, “he’s still alive! If he gets away, he’ll call down a full Thayan patrol!”
Raidon bolted down the path, then into the trees where he expected the wizard would find the ground. If he could surprise the man…
Red fabric flashed ahead past intervening trunks, and a sinister chant floated on the air. The Red Wizard was casting. The Xiang monk summoned his training and became like the wind, flowing through the trees without slowing. He rushed the lone wizard like a zephyr
A flash of green light, and the wizard was alone no more. A rubbery-skinned, olive-hued creature towered before the Thayan. The newcomer was thin, but wiry muscles sheathed its ungainly arms and legs. Its hair was thick and black, and seemed to writhe as if straining for a life of its own. From stories he’d heard and images he’d seen in books, Raidon guessed it was a troll.
The Red Wizard called out, “Devout the Shou
A shout. Heads turned down the tree-lined path. The last scout appeared, riding hard.
His voice came harsh and panicked on the wind. “Thayan patrol! Red Wizards on the river!”
The camp exploded with hustling forms. Quent screamed for his caravan guards. The Commorand brothers and the dwarf crossbowman immediately heeded the chief’s call. Raidon glanced at his pack with all its precious contents. No time to stow ithe slipped it onto his back as he joined Quent and the others.
Quent was pointing up… two figures hung red in the air over the trees, as if standing on an invisible tower. The hard-riding scout looked up and back, terror evident on his face. The hovering Red Wizard on the right, a woman, raised a ruby-tipped wand. From its tip butst a swarm of angry red pinpoints that descended unetringly upon the scout. The scarlet points burrowed into his flesh as he screamed and convulsed.
The scout’s blood-spattered, wild-eyed horse returned to camp without its rider.
Quent pulled an arrow from his quiver, drew, and released. The shaft arced high into the air. Mere feet from its target, it bounced away, as if hitting a brick wall, though one without color or shape. Undeterred, the dwarf crossbowman cranked hard on his enruned weapon. An iron bolt screamed up and buried itself in her torso. She shrieked and her stance wavered in the air. A shimmering globe briefly sparked into visibility around her then faded.
The dwarf voiced something incomprehensible, though his tone was satisfied. He selected another metal bolt and began to crank again on his crossbow’s mechanism.
High above, the male Red Wizard pointed a strangely irregular blue wand. Raidon, responding to cues he couldn’t articulate, dived away from the dwatf an instant before a bolt of the storm’s pure fury connected wand and dwarf. The blast still lifted and threw the monk against the side of a wagon, though he absorbed the impact with a midair roll. A dark, many-legged column lingered across his vision; he blinked away the after-image and saw the smoking remains of the dwarf, charred fingers yet clutching his beloved, red-hot crossbow.
Quent was across the dealing, staggering to his feet. One Commorand brothet was on the ground, his staff blown to splinters. The other, Adrik, remained upright, the grass around his feet unburned.
Raidon gained control of his breathing and dashed toward Adrik. He gasped, “Can you bring them down?”
The sorcerer nodded briskly, his hands already essaying a complicated nulling pattern, his lips shaping words whose meanings slipped across Raidon’s memory without leaving a mark. Adrik finished by throwing wide his arms. A pulse of mazing, twirling energy leaped up and around the suspended wizards. The woman, her footing in thin air already questionable, dropped like a stone. The man wavered, then rapidly
dipped behind the tree line. The Red Wizard hadn’t fallen; he’d merely descended under cover.
“By the coin!” yelled the sorcerer, “he’s still alive! If he gets away, he’ll call down a full Thayan patrol!”
Raidon bolted down the path, then into the trees where he expected the wizard would find the ground. If he could surprise the man…
Red fabric flashed ahead past intervening trunks, and a sinister chant floated on the air. The Red Wizard was casting. The Xiang monk summoned his training and became like the wind, flowing through the trees without slowing. He rushed the lone wizard like a zephyr
A flash of green light, and the wizard was alone no more. A rubbery-skinned, olive-hued creature towered before the Thayan. The newcomer was thin, but wiry muscles sheathed its ungainly arms and legs. Its hair was thick and black, and seemed to writhe as if straining for a life of its own. From stories he’d heard and images he’d seen in books, Raidon guessed it was a troll.
The Red Wizard called out, “Devout the Shou
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