Flaxseed’s aura guttered like a wind-blown candle. His skin had gone the color of old parchment, and his knees buckled so hard stumbled three steps backward, every ounce of spiritual energy drained from his veins.

Sensing that single breath of vulnerability, Jared pivoted on his heel. The Dragonslayer Sword flashed from its scabbard, a silver comet arcing beneath the torchlight, and drove the point straight toward Baldric’s exposed chest.

Baldric’s attention had still been snagged on the elder; the blade punched through flesh and bone before could weave a defense. Blood fountained from his lips as the impact hurled across the chamber like a broken doll.

“Move!” Jared roared, his voice cracking through the smoke like a whip. He seized Flaxseed by the forearm, hauled the exhausted charm master to his feet, and sprinted for the hidden corridor that led out of the secret room.

Behind them Baldric and the elder struggled to rise, but injuries left the pair nailed to the floor. They could do nothing except watch their prey vanish into the gloom.

Jared and Flaxseed burst from Blackwind Stronghold and pounded westward, hearts hammering in sync with each desperate footfall. Their only hope was to reach the ravines skirting Nine Serpent Mountain before the bandits rallied and gave chase.

After running several dozen miles, they found a narrow grotto veiled by thorny brush. Inside, the air tasted of damp stone and old moss, a perfect hiding place. They collapsed onto the ground, lungs heaving, limbs trembling from exertion.