After a week in Sicahn, Nalt had obtained steady work traversing out of the city to chop down trees for firewood in a variety of taverns, inns, and other businesses. He managed to have Bafan and Wella assist him on this, though they mainly just drove the cart and helped him stack the wood he chopped down.
"I'd just slow you down," Bafan joked to him on their first day, opting instead to just carry loads into the cart.
Wella, being short and not especially strong, kept a lookout for him and also helped manage the relationship with the man who hired them, Falohn Amtorov. Amtorov operated a series of services within the city that helped businesses with a variety of problems, firewood among them. Similar services he ran included the disposal of refuse from workshops, carting goods to and from the port, and even the local mortuary. When Wella first met with Amtorov, he boasted that every person in the city, even if they hadn't paid him before they died, they made up for it once they did. Her training as an apothecary was useful in developing a rapport with Amtorov on the subject of corpses, which oddly enough led to him finding work for them chopping wood for cremations, at least on their first day. The modest rates they asked for led him to quickly have them supply wood for all of his other clients.
The journeys outside the city had the added benefit of keeping steady contact with Ovigon and the twenty Gadisian soldiers loaned to Grenna from the Harbor's Eye. Ovigon grew more restless with each passing day, complaining that provisions would soon become scarce for the men.
"Tell Grenna that it has to be within the next three days or we're going to have problems," Ovigon said to Nalt while the latter swung his axe at an especially thick tree with knotted red bark. The old man seemed to strain to keep his focus on Nalt. "I've already been cutting back on rations, in case you were wondering."
"I can slip you something tomorrow when we're out here," Nalt smirked.
"Nalt, do you have any idea how much food you need to bring out for twenty men?" Ovigon asked.
"I'd think twenty times as much as for one?"
"At least you can do basic math," he grumbled. "And now, tell me, where are you going to get that without people asking questions?"
"Fair point," Nalt concurred, delivering his last swing into the tree, causing it to crash through the canopy of frail branches around it. "Alright, I'll tell her."
When he returned to the city, he left Wella and Bafan to deliver the wood to Amtorov while he meandered down to the docks where Grenna had gotten work gutting fish in one of the several stout warehouses along the shore. He found her dipping her hands into the open frigid salty waters splashing between two of the piers.
"That looks unpleasant," he laughed, pointing to her hands in the water.
Grenna turned her head and formed a half-smile.
"Nah. I've just always found the cold water gets the stink off your hands faster," she said, pulling them out and shaking them off. Even with her dark skin, they ran pale. "You look like you have something else to say."
Nalt glanced over his shoulders. No one else was nearby.
"Ovigon says he's running out of food and we need to move quickly," he whispered to her.
"How long exactly?" Grenna muttered.
"He says three days."
"Fuck," she replied, biting her lip. "You know, I've actually spotted out where most of these mages sleep. They're not army, any of them. They don't have barracks. All private residences throughout the city, except two I'm not sure of. They seem to just live at the taverns day and night"
"You sound like you're not trying to get them at the forge..." Nalt whispered.
"Oh, no. No no no no. That's impossible and I ruled that out a while ago," she chuckled. "I kept trying to think of how we might blow it up with all of them inside, but no. I can't see a way. Too many guards who are far too alert. Something did occur to me, though..."
"Yes?"
"The enchanted armor itself. For going after these mages, something that's resistant to the Auras could be useful. They're tricky targets," Grenna smiled and winked.
"Eh, I could chop Mastohlt in half any time I wanted," Nalt shrugged.
"Don't do that just yet. He's been figuring out how to do the enchantment himself, but that won't be ready for this," Grenna bit her lip again. "If we could just get some people on one of the shipments out of... Amtorov! Of course! Get Wella to get you all assigned to it."
"I don't think it's that easy and..." Nalt stammered as Grenna's eyes lit up.
"Yes it is! You've been so useful, why wouldn't he trust you with it?"
"I don't know, it sounds like it's important enough that... I just don't know."
"Try it. Can't hurt. Say you're looking for some extra money, but you're willing to undercut his normal crew. What the fuck do you care? We'll be out of here soon," she motioned westward. "Now, go get it done."
When Nalt told the plan to Wella and Bafan at their surprisingly spacious dark wood room at the Harbor Wench Inn, they both froze. Wella, however, immediately perked up.
"Actually, I have to meet with him in a bit anyway!" she chirped, swigging down a pinkish potion she made for staying warm in the frigid weather. "Come along with me! I think he'll be more agreeable sees we all want it."
They found Amtorov near one of his warehouses on the southwest side of the city, standing atop a barrel directing his carriage drivers, who evidently had gotten in a tangle, strangling the flow of his goods. Not a tall man, he was almost as wide as he was high. With thick gray hair and a bushy mustache, he certainly looked the part of a merchant. He further accentuated the look with a snappy green doublet, gold-embroidered black trousers, and a gold-plated pipe he smoked.
"You! You! You fucking idiot!" he screamed in his grating raspy voice at the nearest wagon driver, who couldn't get his horse to back up. "Is it too much to ask that you know what you're doing, you useless shit?!"
"I'm sor---sorry, Mr. Amtorov!" the skinny wagon driver whimpered. "I'm just tryin' to..."
"I'm giving you one fucking minute to get this straightened out and back in the warehouse!" he shouted over the man. He then turned to Wella and smiled, his pipe clenched in his uneven teeth. "Ah. Good work on the latest haul. Here's 50 Nimors for each of ya."
He tossed a fifty piece to each of Wella, Nalt, and Bafan from the his position atop the barrel. He nodded and smirked when he saw they each caught it without dropping or fumbling.
"Thanks, Mr. Amtorov," Wella said, bowing slightly. "Um, can I ask you something?"
"Make it quick," he grumbled, shifting his jaw while the wagon started righting itself, albeit very slowly.
"We'd like some extra work. It's hard getting back on our feet after losing the ship and even if we don't get paid as much as you'd normally..." she started, drawing a laugh from Amtorov.
"You think I'm so desperate for workers that I'd have you undercut my usual crew?" he guffawed, slapping his belly. After a brief pause, he glanced at the cart catastrophe unfolding in front of his warehouse and then lunged forward, almost causing the barrel to tip over. "WELL, I AM! Deal. Point of fact, I want someone who can help us with the next haul from the forge. And I'm holding you to that cheaper promise!"
Nalt couldn't believe their luck. It was like something out of a dream, but Wella didn't miss a beat.
"Oh, we'd love that! When would we..." she started, but he sliced his hand across the air as if he were cutting her throat.
"Tonight at nine. I'll be there to wave ya through. Then you'll take it down to the closest pier and load it into the ship. Do a good quick job for me, yah? They don't need us. If we start fucking up, and there goes that money," he said, pulling at his mustache. "They just do this stuff to buy off the locals. Make sure I keep gettin' mine and you'll get yours."
After he was done, he spun back toward the wagon, which still hadn't broken free.
"Good news, you can stop doing that! You're done, ya dumb fuck! Get yer ass outta there and I'll do it myself! I never wanna see your miserable shit for brains 'round here again!" he shouted and then turned to Wella, his face changing effortlessly from a furious scowl to a friendly smile. "Tonight at nine. Be there."
On their walk back to the inn, as a freezing drizzle again came down on them, Nalt, Bafan, and Wella were struck dumb by just how fortunate they had been. It couldn't have been real. Nalt was convinced he must've hit his head on something or that Mastohlt had slipped drugs into his beer the prior night.
"So, I think it needs to be said that we are nowhere near the end of all of this, but..." Bafan started, but Wella coughed to get him to stop.
"Not now. Also, you're going to get us cursed saying things like that," she curtly admonished him.
"Cursed?" Nalt asked. "How would that work?"
"Look, it's just unlucky to be confident. Believe me," she protested.
Nalt supposed there was a point to that. They had been so astonishingly unlucky at Gadisia, having the angel Aberos thwart their scheme just on the cusp of triumph, that any random misfortune seemed plausible. This was something Grenna tried to remind them of when they briefly informed her of their new task for Amtorov.
"I remember almost tasting victory and then..." she said wistfully as they were about to depart in that dark and windy night. "We have so much yet to do here. Just make sure you're focusing on this part by itself. Don't think ahead. Just do this right."
Wella and Bafan concocted the plan, which involved Nalt riding in the wagon's rear and having to break open each of the expected twenty crates of enchanted armor to take one piece out of each crate. He would hide these under the backside of the bench where Wella and Bafan rode and then seal the crates back up before arriving at the ship. At most, he would have ten minutes between when they departed the forge and when they arrived at the dock.
He didn't initially understand why he would have to take just one piece out of each crate, but Wella explained to him that the crates had to feel at least roughly heavy enough that nothing would seem amiss to the crews loading it onto the ship. And simply stealing a full crate was out of the question. Not even the sloppiest dock workers would fail to notice they were light on their manifest.
His hands buzzed while he sat in the closed part of the wagon alone, imagining what it would be like in just a few minutes when he had to frantically accomplish his task. When they arrived at the forge, he was happy to see that the crates were far more loosely fastened together than he imagined.
"Careful lifting 'em," Amtorov commanded as Nalt helped the forge workers load the crates into the rear. "The tops are sliding right off."
"I'll see if I can nail any of them shut while I'm back there with them," Nalt uncomfortably laughed. He turned to one of the forge workers. "Loaded 'em in a hurry, didn't you?"
"Shut up," the short but burly forge worker growled at him as he pushed a crate into the back of the wagon. "We didn't have time."
Nalt just nodded and continued picking up one crate after another. With ten pieces of armor in each, the crates weighed at least as much as a large man. His muscles ached immediately. His back felt as though it would snap if so much as a feather landed on it.
Once it was all loaded and the back of the wagon's canvass cover closed, the hardest part began. He furiously slid off the lids while the wagon slowly made for the harbor. The breastplate pieces looked like ordinary shiny steel plate at first glance, but he felt a strange chill radiating from the metal, almost a damp mist. After holding the first plate for several seconds in awe of the peculiar sensation emanating from the armor, he quickly went to one crate after another and took one of the top plates each time, sticking them under the backside of Bafan and Wella's bench and hastily covering them with a dirty sheet.
Recklessly moving from one crate to the next with the bumpy cart ride, he cut his hands on sharp edges of the crates and even the armor itself. He was sure he was leaving bloody smears on the crates, but it couldn't be helped at that point. He tried not to think about it and switched to his hammer and nails to close up at least some of the crates before they arrived at the dock That moment came faster than he wanted, but with four crates sealed, at least it could look like he gave it a good effort.
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"Alright, load 'em up," an officer with a resonant voice came forward and opened up the back of the wagon. "You there, help us out."
"I was trying to nail these lids down, but if you..." Nalt nervously stammered.
"Don't care," the officer said, his eyes barely visible under his helmet's visor. "They'll be wanting these straight away when they get up to Methrangia anyway."
Nalt silently assented and climbed over the crates to start helping the crew with them, though his bloodied hands drew some attention in the pale torch light.
"What in Fory... Omonrel's name happened to your hands?!" one of the dock workers screeched.
Nalt quickly held up his hands, rotating them to show the full extent of the damage.
"Rough edges on those crates and one of those damn lids slid off onto my hands," he grumbled. "Looks like I got mauled by somethin', eh?"
"I'd say," the dock worker winced and continued their task of handing off the crates to the worker behind him as the chain of workers swiftly deposited each crate on the ship. "Get that all patched up! Wounds like those fester."
"Will do!" Nalt chirped and hopped back into the wagon.
In just a few minutes, it was all done. Nalt was surprised that there wasn't any effort to search the cart. He rode in back as Wella and Bafan drove it back to the warehouse. No one said anything, as though there was a shared fear that remarking on their success might cause a calamity to befall them. Nalt checked the breastplates, just to ensure they were in fact all accounted for.
"Alright, I'll stay with the plates here at the warehouse just to make sure no one takes them," Bafan said to Wella and Nalt once they pulled into the warehouse. "I'll say I got a little drunk and pissed one of you off and had to sleep out here. Some shit like that. Nalt, you wear one of them under your coat to show Grenna we got it done."
"And you'll show Mastohlt he isn't even close to the smartest mage out there," Wella grinned.
"Sold," Nalt said dryly. He quickly slid his coat off and fastened one of the peculiar breastplates on. It barely fit, clearly meant for men with slighter builds, but the clasps closed with a struggle. "How's it look?"
"Like you should cover it back up with your coat before someone knows what you've done," Wella sighed. "Now, let's show it to Grenna."
While Bafan stayed in the warehouse, Nalt and Wella made for their inn's side entrance so they could more quickly arrive at Grenna's room without dealing with the tavern and the leering eyes of drunk soldiers. When they got to Grenna's room, they found her and Mastohlt working on a map of the city, likely to ensure they both understood the mages responsible for the enchanted armor to be.
"I say, Nalt! What happened to your hands?!" Mastohlt screeched the instant his head turned.
"This is what real work does to them, you fuck," Nalt growled.
"Annnnnd that's enough of that," Grenna said, swiping her hand as though it were a blade through the air. "You did it?"
"Yes, Grenna," Wella nodded and turned to Nalt.
He took off his coat and revealed the enchanted breastplate, which immediately drew gazes from both Mastohlt and Grenna. Mastohlt ambled forward, his eyes squinting and his hand outstretched.
"Now this is something!" he shouted. He caressed the plate with his fingers as though he were touching a work of art. "When you work with the Auras like I do, you can sense it."
"Oh, please. Mastohlt, you work with fire and everyone I've talked to says that's the easiest one," Grenna groaned. "One even called it 'The Dullard's Craft.'"
Nalt chuckled at that and took endless delight in the reddening of Mastohlt's face.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," Mastohlt grumbled. "Now, may I?"
"May you... what?" Nalt queried, raising his eyebrows.
"Just a little puff of flame," Mastohlt gestured with his hands. "Nothing much. I just want to see how it works."
"Shouldn't he take it off first?" Wella asked from behind Nalt.
Grenna shrugged.
"I've got faith that the damn thing works. Fire away," she chuckled.
Not wishing to object and come off as scared, Nalt brusquely nodded and puffed out his chest. Mastohlt grabbed a sprig of dried Redroot from a pouch on the mage's right side and closed his eyes as he held it before Nalt. Crackle. The sprig ignited into a small orb of oscillating red and orange flames. Nalt swallowed and braced. Mastohlt flicked his fingers and sent it flying into Nalt's armor. Sizzling and popping, it dissipated into steam that burst in all directions, harmlessly.
"Clever. The Water Aura is imbued as a ward into the armor itself," Mastohlt backed away, smiling and nodding his head. "There's also a fire ward against ice. Astonishing."
"And you've got twenty pieces in total, right?" Grenna asked Nalt, not pausing to think for even a second.
"That's right," Nalt answered, still slightly staggered from seeing that flaming ball dissipate into nothing.
"And they're all like this one?" Mastohlt asked, jabbing his finger into the plate.
"Near as I could tell," Nalt answered, shrugging his shoulders. "It's not like I had the time to look at every inch of each one, but they felt the same."
Grenna tapped her finger against her lips as she stared at the plate. Everyone else turned toward her, awaiting her instruction.
"It all has to happen tomorrow," she said, clapping her hands together. "We get fifteen of the plates to Ovigon and his men and then sneak them back into town late with your wood cart. The others we have for ourselves plus Bafan. Some of Ovigon's men won't be armored, but that's just too bad. I'm going to break everyone up into pairs and each pair has to kill two of the mages we've scoped out."
"We could each kill one and get it over with faster," Nalt laughed.
"No," Grenna sighed. "I've thought this through and it just won't work if we do it that way. Failures become more likely without support. We can't afford failures. Nalt and Mastohlt, you go together. I'll go with Ovigon once he's in. Wella, you and Bafan. All of those damn soldiers, we'll figure that out, but pairing them off can't be that hard."
"I'll leave that to you," Wella laughed. "Two each, eh?"
"That's right," Grenna answered, raising two fingers. "That'll wipe them out and then we make a quick escape before anyone knows what's happening. Alright? Simple. I'll get you your targets in the morning. Get some rest."
Nalt struggled sleeping that night. Mastohlt and Wella failed as well. As they tried to sleep in the same room, each rustled in their beds in the pitch black of that night. Whenever Nalt closed his eyes, he saw faint glows of red and blue light coming from the left, where he placed his purloined enchanted breastplate on the floor. He periodically opened his eyes to stare at it, but saw nothing. Dismissing it as an overactive imagination, he sighed and returned to aimlessly fretting all night long.
When at last he did sleep, a strange dream greeted him. He floated in total darkness until he came to a white and gold glowing light. It was blinding, painful even in his dream to behold. Nonetheless, he kept floating closer to it. As he did, it grew warmer and brighter. He flung his hands every which way trying to glimpse the core. It all failed. At last, when he gave up, surrendering to its implacable nature, he saw something. Two golden eyes. They opened slowly at stared at him. A horrid ringing sounded out, rattling worse and worse inside his head.
He awoke screaming. Mastohlt and Wella each jolted awake, but paid him little mind. Neither mentioned it to him, nor did he ask them for their thoughts. As he readied himself for the arduous day ahead, tried to keep it out of his mind, but his efforts failed. Those haunting ethereal golden eyes were there whenever he blinked, burning into his eyelids.
When their wagon reached Ovigon and the Gadisian soldiers on the outskirts of Sicahn, he was barely able to pay attention anymore. The world seemed ethereal and distant, as if his hand would swipe through anything he touched. The plan of how they would smuggle the soldiers into Sicahn didn't help. It was something out of a disjointed dream. Ovigon and the Gadisian soldiers with him would all be crammed into the wagon and then Nalt would stack the wood high at the edge of the wagon to create the illusion that the wagon was full.
"Look, Nalt, it's the best we can do," Ovigon chided him. "If I could think of anything else, I would."
They didn't head back to Sicahn until nightfall. Nalt rode on a small sliver of the wagon's back, barely holding on while they approached the gate. As the guards examined the wagon with only the most cursory of glances, one stood near Nalt and looked up and down at the wood stacked tight and high.
"Big load, eh?" the guard inquired.
"And my back's feelin' it," Nalt groaned. "I'm just gonna be happy to unload it."
"Don't envy ya there," the guard mumbled.
After being waved through, they made for Amtorov's warehouse, which was blessedly empty that evening. There, in the dark, they found Grenna sitting on a barrel, her arms folded while she waited for them.
"Alright, you made it. Now comes the good part," she grinned as everyone assembled in front of her. "We have the smallest of windows to get this all done tonight. Don't fuck this up. Each team of two will have to kill two mages. I've plotted it all out for you and have the known locations all here on these pieces of parchment. There weren't enough of the enchanted plates to go around, but we've made do. If you have a good opportunity, take it immediately. If you're in danger of being discovered, wait. Simple rules, but they bear repeating."
Mastohlt, standing next to Nalt, rolled his eyes while Grenna gave her explanation of the night's mission. He glanced at Nalt from time to time as she spoke, ultimately leaning in to whisper.
"I assume you've got this all down, right?" he asked, his breath smelling of sweet wine.
"Of course," Nalt brusquely answered.
After receiving their targets, each pair prepared to leave the warehouse in staggered intervals to avoid drawing attention to a large group leaving at once. When the time came for Nalt and Mastohlt to head out, Grenna came over and looked both of them in their eyes.
"Stay safe," she smiled as she looked to Nalt. "I don't want to have to replace you."
"Consider it done," Mastohlt preened in response.
"You too," Nalt said to Grenna, blushing. She nodded, her smile broadening, and then motioned for them both to go.
And, just like that, he and Mastohlt walked out of the warehouse and into the gusty streets without any further fanfare. Nalt and Mastohlt only spoke as little as they needed to in order to trek to the first mage's location. As they walked, a torrent of freezing rain began to blanket the city.
"Not again," Mastohlt groaned. "I say, Nalt, let's get this over and done with quickly."
"No argument from me," Nalt mumbled, the icy rain falling into his eyes. He saw a brief flash of those blazing golden eyes again. He stopped walking for a couple of seconds, but shook it off.
After several minutes of walking up the cramped streets on the city's northwest side, they arrived at the small white stone home of one of the mages. It was wedged between two somewhat larger homes on either side, both of which had entirely darkened windows. This home, however, had a dim orange glow in the leftmost window, vaguely illuminating a man propped up in his bed reading a book.
Nalt and Mastohlt glanced both ways on the street and saw no city guards, regular army, or anyone else. As Mastohlt flicked his head back and forth, his long hair, now wet with freezing rain, slipped into Nalt's face, drawing a grunt.
"My apologies," Mastohlt said with a wink. "I say, with this rain we can probably just knock and ask for refuge and go from there. It's a nice neighborly request."
The idea seemed silly to Nalt, but his alternative was to break straight into the bedroom and hope surprise would keep the mage from responding too quickly.
"Alright, go ahead," Nalt mumbled and pointed at the door.
Mastohlt knocked loudly on the door several times at regular intervals. Nalt clenched his teeth and looked down at the stone path below while Mastohlt kept knocking.
"Can I help you?" a muffled deep voice called out on the other side of the door.
Mastohlt immediately flashed a toothy smile at Nalt and moved a step closer to the door.
"Yes, actually. It's raining damned hard out here right now and I was wondering if you'd let us in until it clears up," he politely announced to the still closed door.
After a moment, the door creaked open and a dark-skinned man of middling height with a long graying beard stood before them in his night gown, his bare feet standing uncomfortably on the house's cold stone floor.
"Alright, just until it gets a bit lighter," he grumbled. "Come on in."
Nalt graciously bowed, in part to hide the shocked expression on his face. Mastohlt's self-satisfaction at having been right was almost palpable. It was enough to make Nalt wish it hadn't worked.
When they both stepped into the house's small living room, Nalt closed the door behind him and shook off the freezing water from his clothes. The mage watched both Mastohlt and Nalt with squinted eyes while he stood by the doorway to his sparsely appointed bedroom.
"Are you with the army?" he asked, keeping his distance.
"Work with them," Nalt answered.
The man nodded lightly and closed his eyes, wiggling his right hand as he did.
"There's something vaguely familiar on you," he mumbled. "May I take a closer look at your armor?"
Nalt grimaced for a moment and then shrugged.
"I can't see the harm," he said, taking off his outer cloak and revealing the plate underneath. "Got this a couple weeks ago. Officer who gave it to me said it might be useful."
The mage came closer, holding a few of his fingers in front of him as he approached.
"This is enchanted plate," he gasped. "From here. And it's... new."
The mage's eyes widened and the lines on his face collapsed. Nalt reached out with both hands and grabbed the mage's head, his fingers plunging into the mage's skin and skull for a firm grip. He felt every muscle in the man's face twitch violently. Nalt twisted the mage's head all the way to the left and slammed him to the ground.
Mastohlt had started to conjure a bolt of fire, but immediately suppressed the flames. He gently kicked at the mage's body, his mouth sitll open from what he had seen.
"I didn't see the plate helping us in quite that way, I must confess," Mastohlt chuckled.
"Yeah, well, you have to be quick," Nalt spat, his body recovering from the swift spurt of strength he employed. "Onto the next one, then?"
"Indeed," Mastohlt answered and walked over to blow out the candle in the man's bedroom.
In the brief time they were in the first mage's house, the rain lessened considerably to just a slightly trickle. The streets now, however, were covered in a shimmering layer of ice that Mastohlt found especially difficult to traverse with his smoother cloth boots.
When they were just a block from the second home, a taller stone building with multiple windows glowing with candlelight, a rumble shook the air from a couple blocks to the east. Mastohlt turned his head immediately. Nalt followed along just to see a burst of orange and red flame explode into the night sky, hurling stone and wood dozens of feet into the air.
"Fuck," Mastohlt said. "Alright, we don't have much time."
Nalt nodded. When he blinked as he approached the second home, he saw the burning golden eyes again, accompanied by a horrible ringing. He tried to put it out of mind, but then the city bells started chiming while shouts and screams rose all over the city.
Just as they got within reach of the home's door, it swung open and three robed men came running out, their staves in hand.
There was only supposed to be one here, Nalt immediately thought.
"Are you heading over there to help, too?" Mastohlt managed to recover from his surprise faster than Nalt.
"Of course!" one of the men, skinny and with long blonde hair, shrieked while they ran.
"We'll be right behind you!" Mastohlt said motioning for Nalt to trot along behind the mages. He gave Nalt the slightest of nods as he readied a clump of his reagents in his right hand.
Nalt grasped the axe strapped to his back and began bringing it over his head. The mage on the left just in front of Mastohlt stopped and started turning toward Nalt. Mastohlt conjured a swirling blob of magma-like flames so strong that it turned the freezing rain to steam as it spun around for a fraction of a second. It then shot forward and vaporized the mage's head, burning off the flesh first and then turning the bone itself to ash.
The other two mages, including the skinny blonde man to the right in front of Nalt, spun around. The blonde mage looked Nalt in the eyes just before Nalt brought his axe down straight on top of his head. The axe cut through bone and flesh straight down the man's body, bisecting him where he stood. Both halves of his body fell to either side, a torrent of blood hitting the street below.
However, the portly mage in the middle had enough time to conjure a shimmering and flickering red ward that thwarted Mastohlt's second attempted blast. Before Nalt could swing his axe, the mage mage loosed a fluorescent blue cloud of impossibly cold frozen vapor. While Nalt managed to swing his axe through the cloud and drive his axe deep into the mage's chest, he inhaled a hefty portion of the cloud.
His nose and throat had a burning sensation as the could ripped through them. Then his lungs seized up. He couldn't breathe. The world spun around him and he tumbled to the ground below, blacking out to Mastohlt's screams of his name. "Nalt!" Mastohlt cried.
In the bewildering void he found himself in, a shining female figure stood before him. She gradually opened her eyes to reveal the burning golden gaze from before.
"I have watched you," she said in an ethereal voice. "You have much to do."