Lelani raced into the darkness and came to a stop at the snow line halfway between her friends and the strangers. She waited as the fireflies continued to grow in number. Her foes’ voices conveyed alarm. They swatted to no avail. The fireflies broke off into separate groups around each enemy combatant. They swarmed over each gnoll’s shoulder until a thick globe of swirling light hovered around each head. Now, the darkness served Lelani.
The centaur charged. She moved along the outskirts of the group, staying within the black of the meadow. She didn’t need to see her targets clearly. The swirls of light around their heads marked them well. As she galloped, she strung an arrow and let it loose toward the center of the light. She heard the satisfying thud and squeal of a struck gnoll. The fireflies dropped with the gnoll to the ground before dispersing back into the night. She strung a second arrow and let it loose into another bright swirl of flies. This thud was followed by the gurgle and hacking of a punctured throat.
The enemy, in a panic, let fly a squadron of bolts from their crossbows. The first volley dropped fallow as Lelani raced away protected by the dark. They launched a second wild volley covering a wider area. One quarrel found its mark and sank into her hindquarter. She had no time to pull it out. She flew around them launching arrows at will. Three gnolls dead… four. The remaining troop abandoned their equipment and ran toward the light at the center of the meadow… toward her friends. One man with a staff remained behind. She fired an arrow at him, which he easily deflected with the staff. He stood his ground blocking Lelani’s line of sight to his cohorts. But she was no longer interested in them. In the distance, Lelani heard the crack and echo of Cat’s rifle. Her allies would deal with that rabble. She came here for him.
The man let loose a flame from the tip of his staff that burned the remaining fireflies about him. In the light, she saw that he wore a white polyester leisure suit over a wide-collard shirt. He was swarthy, with a blocky build, long coarse black hair, obsidian eyes, and a thick salt-and-pepper mustache that hung like a horseshoe on a nail. One of Kraten’s desert brethren, no doubt. She aimed for his heart and let fly another arrow. With a wave, he burned it to a cinder before it touched him. He slammed his staff into the ground. A vibration emanated in a line toward the centaur, upturning snow and earth before finally knocking Lelani off her feet. She landed on the quarrel lodged in her rear; the serrated edges cut into the flesh around her wound. Lelani clenched her teeth through the pain.
She recovered, and vacated the spot a second before flame engulfed it. There was a crudeness to this sorcerer’s technique. He had clearly been wielding magic longer than she, but there was no polish to his method. He was a brawler… a street fighter who learned his craft in the dusty back alleys of some desert city. His spells were limited in scope-fire and kinetic movement only. He lacked subtlety and had little imagination.
“They send an acolyte to battle me!” he barked at her, in a southern dialect of Verakhoon. “I am K’ttan Dhourobi of Aht Humaydah. I have killed a dozen wizards. You have no hope against me, child.”
“And yet, four of your comrades are dead,” she answered back.
“I care not for dog — men.”
Lelani was sure they did not care for him either. She hoped there was a way her team could press that animosity toward their advantage… assuming they had a future after this night. Lelani pulled another arrow on her string and fired it. He deflected it easily. She had a good notion by now of his repertoire, his one-dimensional thinking. She needed to position him correctly to exploit these shortcomings. What worried Lelani was that she would have to cast two spells at once and drop her defensive posture. She was fairly sure that he would not counter with transmogrification and that she would not end up a cockroach, crushed under foot. It would be flame or flying knives… a survivable risk.
He cast a wall of vibration against her. The air between them shimmered, cracked, and boomed from circular vacuums shooting toward her like a tsunami. She got her hands up in time to counter the attack, but it pushed her back several feet, even with her digging into the cold hard ground.
“Defensive spells have their place, acolyte, but they are only half a battle,” K’ttan Dhourobi said. “To win, you must attack! Consider this final lesson a gift.”
Arrogant windbag. Lelani launched a half-dozen phosphorous spheres at him, which he dissipated with the fire from his staff. Flame and sparks erupted between them like a celebration. Immediately, Lelani cast her second spell and threw it wide. It bypassed K’ttan Dhourobi, and went toward the middle of the meadow. She prayed Seth remained with the tree. It would be her end if he didn’t.
Even as she finished casting her spell, Dhourobi had already cast his response, a spell she knew well called Sentient Wind. Every dirk, dagger, throwing star, and arrow within his vicinity suddenly flew at her. Knives it is, Lelani mused as she tried to avoid them. A throwing star grazed her temple, leaving a long gash that bled into her eyes. A dagger sunk deep into the right side of her lower belly, arrows lodged into her right leg and deltoid, and a dirk shattered her right clavicle. Lelani’s scream filled the woods.
She lay there struggling not to black out. K’ttan Dhourobi strolled confidently toward her as he readied his finishing blow. “A noble effort, but your aim was wide.” He prepared a flame spell. “I see no reason to prolong your suffering, acolyte. This will only hurt for a minute.”
Just as he was about to finish casting it, he spasmed and jerked as though struck from behind. The mage looked around and saw nothing but the clear winter night.
Still not quite sure what had happened to him, the mage returned his attention to Lelani and tried to recast his spell, only to find he could not. He was disoriented. He tried to speak.
“Glwaaaahgthooww blthezbed,” he started. “Axxquernfing gbcxwi?”
K’ttan Dhourobi’s eyes asked the questions his mouth was unable to construct.
“Brain hex,” Lelani said, tapping her temple.
With Rosencrantz’s help, Lelani’s spell had boomeranged backed and hit the mage unawares. His thoughts muddled, the sorcerer from Verakhoon could not string together, in mind, motion, or tongue, the intricate and delicate motions needed to utilize magical energy; he couldn’t cast anything more than a fart. Enraged, he charged Lelani prattling nonsense in a tone that communicated his intent to end her with his bare hands. Lelani pulled the dirk from her collarbone, making an effort not to pass out from the pain. She wasn’t strong enough to throw it left-handed. She held it on her palm with the point aimed at her attacker and spoke the verse for Sentient Wind. It flew from her hand at K’ttan Dhourobi. Instinctively, he waved his arms in what he believed was the counterspell to ward off such an attack, but it was instead a blithering pantomime of no merit. The dirk pierced the underside of his forearm on the way through his throat and out the base of his skull, pinning his lower arm against him with the back of his wrist wedged against his chin. His hand dangled before his face in a foppish hello as he fell to his knees with a look of incredulous disbelief. The light left his eyes as the rest of him followed suit toward the ground. He landed on his face.
Lelani breathed relief. The blood in her eyes clouded her vision, and she could not tell how her friends fared at the trailer. She tried to get up, but the pain was intense. Lelani fell back under her own weight. Her head spun, darkness corralled her vision and spread toward the center of her remaining sight.
“Oh my,” she said, as she finally passed out.