And slipped through the block.
… grown faster than before, and aren’t as disorganised, Preketai was thinking as he considered their formation. Perhaps the schools of magic do make a difference. I always thought they couldn’t do much harm.
Tyen stared at the ally in astonishment.
I must be stronger than him! But that means…
His entire body went cold. That meant who won and lost this battle could be entirely up to Tyen.
… may be smarter, but they don’t have hundreds of cycles of battle experience… Preketai thought, then shaped magic into a new attack.
Tyen hastily shielded the rebels. I can’t be a spy and a hero of the rebels. The Raen might accept that I couldn’t stop the rebels killing one of his allies, but he won’t want me to be the one to kill the man. And yet he’d only ever said that Tyen must not reveal his true purpose among the rebels. That means killing Preketai if I have to…
Which meant the rebels would win, but only if Tyen made the killing strike. Or did it…?
A shout interrupted his thoughts, then flashes of light came from the other side of the hall to Preketai.
“Two sorcerers!” someone shouted. “They’re attacking.”
He heard a warning shout from Preketai, but it was drowned out by whoops of triumph from the rebels and the sound of shattering glass. Tyen saw one of the underlings lying, body twisted in an impossible way, against a wall, and the other backing away only to collapse a few steps later.
Anger bloomed in Preketai’s mind. The sorcerers had been competent and efficient, qualities not guaranteed to come with magical ability. The damage to the hall could not be repaired before the guest arrived. Preketai narrowed his eyes. Seeing the man’s intentions, Tyen sucked in a breath.
“Hold your shields still,” he shouted. The closest group leaders glanced at him, none understanding the danger but most obeying. Three did not, and the rebels within their shields were jerked into the air as Preketai seized control of and shook the air around them. Bodies slammed against each other and the inside of the barriers meant to protect them. Two of the leaders regained control, while neighbouring group leaders extended their shields to protect the third group, whose leader was unconscious.
Shock turned to anger as Preketai laughed. The man’s smile vanished, and as the rebels attacked again he began scanning their ranks. Which one is it? Who is the strong one?
We need to finish this quickly, before he can try anything else, Yira was thinking. If you can hear me, Tyen, don’t forget to keep enough magic in reserve to get everyone out.
Stretching outwards, Tyen reached beyond the void, drawing in the magic that had begun to replace what Preketai had taken, and more.
“All at once,” Yira yelled. “Be ready to link when we’re done.”
The rebels obeyed.
Preketai abandoned his search of their minds. Time to end this. Most of them have run out of magic, anyway. He briefly considered keeping a few alive to punish, starting with the woman who was giving the orders. Perhaps he would drag her into the place between worlds and hold her there until she suffocated. He reached for the magic flowing in to fill the void.
And found none.
In disbelief, Preketai tried in vain to stretch further. He grew frightened as he sensed the void extending further than his reach. Knowing he was now too weak to even push out of the world, he cast about, looking for the sorcerer whose mind he could not read. His eyes met Tyen’s.
Then he jerked into the air.
A crack and gasp escaped him as his mouth widened in pain. He began to fall, but further strikes tossed him one way and the next as the rebels were seized by a crazed excitement, each wanting to make a strike that mattered, or else ensure the man was truly, absolutely defeated. By the time he landed on the floor his mind was silent. He lay still.
The hall echoed with shouts of triumph.
“Enough! Enough!” Yira yelled over and again. As nearby rebels heard, they repeated the call, and soon all quietened. Yira’s eyes met Tyen’s, and she beckoned. Reluctantly he pushed through the crowd and joined her as she inspected the fallen ally. A circle of rebels had formed about the corpse, hovering a few strides away in fear that some life might still linger.
Nausea rose as Tyen saw the body. It was twisted and broken, flesh torn and peeled away. Bones protruded through a gash in one arm of the fine silver coat. Blood still pumped out of wounds and seeped from beneath the oddly bent torso, but it was slowing. The eyes were vacant, and as Yira bent to place a finger against the man’s throat she nodded.
“Dead,” she confirmed.