Sarah looked out in the distance around where she thought the shore would be. Despite the clear day, the sun did little to dissolve the mists.

“I think you need to look a little closer,” Stanley remarked. “If the mist is in the city, it’s a fair bet the Enemy is as well.”

“But how?” Sarah breathed, “Gareth said the mists would let them track the enemy’s every move.”

“Perhaps the enemy has tricks of their own,” Stanley replied.

Sarah knew he was right. Voritor had already demonstrated a variety of tricks that had caught them off guard back at Corrington and those wings Voritor was sporting probably indicated that his power had only grown since then. How had he survived? Not that it was important now. In the corner of her eye, she saw Stanley stand bolt upright.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I thought I heard something from downstairs,” he replied.

Sarah frowned. His hearing had always been the sharpest in the group. The lanky man sprang into action quickly, running over to close the door and bolt it shut. Sarah helped him move a sofa and cupboard to help barricade themselves in.

“That will slow them down if they come up here,” Sarah panted, “But they’ll get through eventually, and we’ve nowhere to run.”

The window was the only other way out and they were at least a hundred feet up in the air. Sarah looked out at the mist below. “Perhaps you were hearing things,” she offered hopefully.

“I wish I was,” Stanley breathed.

Moments later, she could hear footsteps and shouts from the stairwell outside. “So much for that,” Sarah breathed as her heart began pounding. They were trapped, and the enemy appeared to know exactly where they were. Stanley barred the way to the door with his body and Sarah found herself wishing that she could call upon fire magic.

“How did the enemy get into the city?” Sarah gasped, “Does that mean the garrison was defeated?”

Stanley didn’t reply. His mouth was pressed into a thin line as he eyed the door. He too was unarmed. The elves had neglected to return his weapons and Sarah cursed herself for not at least asking for them. The thundering of footsteps grew louder before coming to a stop outside the door. Moments later, there was a thundering crash against it. The door splintered and the furniture they had used to barricade it was tossed aside like chaff in the wind. Beyond, Sarah saw the unmistakable bulk of the half orc, Steven, who stepped aside to allow the Drow to walk in.

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His movement was fluid, and he wore a sheepish look on his face as he strode into the room. “See, I told you she was here,” he said over his shoulder.

“We should hurry,” Steven warned, “more will come soon, and only the two of us survived the trip.”

“Right you are,” Voritor said, and turned to give Sarah an apologetic look.

“What do you want?” she demanded.

“I told my associate back there that I was going to kill you last, but alas, my plans have been changed by that meddling halfling and the God of Water,” Voritor sighed. He shook his head theatrically, but Sarah was looking only at his hand which rested on the hilt of his sword.

Stanley let off a loud cry and leapt forward, swinging a chair over his head. Voritor glared at the lanky man, stopping him in his tracks. “Please, don’t embarrass yourself,” the Drow warned sweetly. He drew his sword in a fluid motion, and it shimmered with a malevolent black hue under the midday sun.

The gaunt faced man’s eyes darted around frantically as his body was moved by an unseen force until it was half out of the window, teetering precariously.

“I’ll make this as painless as I can,” Voritor promised as he walked towards Sarah, who backed away towards the window where Stanley was, “And spare your friend.”

Knowing she was out of options, and preferring to die on her own terms, she ran for the window and leapt out, grabbing Stanley as she fell. She immediately regretted her impulsiveness as they plunged into the mists. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth, bracing herself for impact. At least she wouldn’t see her death coming.

Then, she felt the mist thicken, slowing her fall. Moments later, a spout of water appeared under her, slowing her further before setting her gently down on the ground.

“That was near,” a disembodied voice said out of the mist.

Soon, the mist dissolved, revealing Gareth, who was standing on the surface of a stream. He was ringed by thirty elves, all ready for battle. Nearby, she noticed the bodies of eight orcs lying on the ground, some looked like they had fallen a great distance while half of another was fused to the wall of a nearby building.

“A teleportation spell,” Gareth grimaced, “He is a risk taker, that one.”

“Perhaps he died on the return trip,” a blue robed elf suggested, “I can no longer detect his presence in the city.”

Gareth fell silent as he peered down at the water under his feet before sighing. “No such luck, he and his crony have returned to the far shore.”

“He was after me,” Sarah breathed, collapsing into a heap now that she knew she was safe. “How did he know where I was?”

“I’m afraid I’m to blame for that,” Gareth offered apologetically. “I had guards posted outside the building you were in. He must have noticed that.”

“But why is he after me?” Sarah asked.

“He is after all of the Pantheon’s Chosen,” Gareth replied.

Before Sarah could question him further, he had already turned around and was walking away with his escorts in tow.

“Follow us, please.”

Sarah looked up to see Pairel standing over her with scarcely concealed contempt on his face. “Where are we going?”

The elf scowled. “Somewhere safe.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here,” Stanley urged as he helped Sarah to her feet, “it’s not safe out here.”

As she stood, Pairel and six elven soldiers closed ranks around them and walked them back towards the wall.

“Say,” Stanley whispered as they walked, “How did you know the halfling was going to save us?”

“I didn’t,” Sarah replied, not daring to look Stanley in the eye.