AZZANON – A SECRET LOCATION, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR

11TH KENNOVASHAE, SPRING 845 PBM

It had not taken long for Azzanon to find the current location of the Black Market, and with a due sense of urgency, he and a relatively small subset of his new companions had headed off. He pushed aside a series of hanging rugs to reveal a doorway and dimly sit stairwell going down under street level. He considered each of those with him as they slipped past him.

The first one to move past was Eva, moving with catlike grace, and keeping her hood up high to reduce how much attention she drew with the silver mirror mask that completely hid her facial features.

‘The enigmatic elven guardian, Eva. Her face reveals nothing whether she is wearing the mirror-mask or not. And it would seem it is basically impossible to separate her from Mitchell, whom she seems hell bent on protecting. But what I cannot figure out is why. The boy is gifted and clever, but he is still little more than an apprentice. Losing Eva to save him seems like a rather poor choice. But these people aren’t stupid. So there must be something I don’t know.’

The next to pass was Mitchell. Looking at him there was nothing significant to remark on.

‘Average looking appearance, wears common clothing of a white tunic and dark breeches, has a travel worn cloak, and no noteworthy facial features or distinguishing marks. Even knowing he can cast magick, I struggle to see anything exceptional or noteworthy about him. But he has a quick mind. Very few have figured out I am a spy as fast as he did. I bet he is often underestimated. I suspect it can be a useful gift, if he can figure out how to use it to his advantage.’

After Mitchell came Hawkin, the big man walking around with his jaw hanging open at the incredible sites he saw, and they weren’t even in the Black Market yet. His head turned this way and that, noting the people in this shady part of the city, beggars, vagabonds, rogues, and scantily clad women everywhere.

‘Poor boy. You are just starting to realise that while you might be considered the wild man of Garet, you are decidedly tame compared to some of the miscreants of Port Chandrex.’

“Remember what I said. Do not take food or drink from anyone without my approval. And I would strongly suggest not trying to get a girlfriend while we are down here. Not unless you wish to hand over a significant portion of whatever wealth you have on you right now, anyway,” cautioned Azzanon.

“It is almost as if you don’t want me to have any fun,” grinned back Hawkin. “Fortunately, I don’t tend to listen to people who tell me what to do.”

‘Does he realise how stupid that comment is. That just means he doesn’t listen to anyone, because it is clearly impossible to listen to someone who doesn’t tell you what to do.’

The final figure to move past him was the lean and graceful figure of Peregrin.

‘When you watch them closely, elves really do all move with the most incredible dexterity. This one carries two rather intimidating looking scimitars. Certainly impressive to look at, but whether he can actually use both of those large blades properly at the same time is another matter. True fencing is with a single large blade and smaller dagger for defence. I thought everyone knew that.’

“Do not take it personally. He does not listen to his father or his friends either,” commented Peregrin as he started down the stairs. “We are not being followed, by either normal or magickal means.”

That last comment made Azzanon chuckle.

‘At least one of this crew is actually adding value to our mission. The rest of them are just people who stand out around here, and whom I have to keep out of trouble.’

Azzanon carefully pushed his way back to the front as the group stepped from the stairs and came to a dimly lit wooden doorway with what looked like two beggars lying against the wall on either side. They were badly bedraggled, with dirt crusted cloaks wrapped tightly around them, and a dirty old hat sitting on the ground next to the one on the right. The hat was their collection plate, and it contained a few copper and a single, very out of place, gold piece in it.

‘Nice. Enshroud your guards in a beggar’s guise. Use the hat to determine who is supposed to be here and who is not. If I stumbled down here, or managed to find the place without being truly invited, maybe I put a gold coin into the hat thinking that must be the admittance fee, and then the guards raise the alarm and whatever passes for security descends quickly.

Azzanon gestured for the others to stop and he moved forwards and carefully placed the silver token he had been given into the hat. He made sure to let the beggar see the strange markings on it; a dice on one side, and the image of jester wearing a crown on the other.

The beggar coughed loudly. Azzanon heard several mechanisms unlock from the direction of the door. And then the door opened, revealing a large chamber with a surprisingly large number of people bustling around makeshift stalls.

Azzanon motioned for the others to follow him.

MITCHELL – A SECRET LOCATION, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR

The first sensation was the sudden shift in atmosphere – from the salty, open air of the port above to a close, musky scent of this hidden world. Dimly lit by flickering torches set in iron sconces along the walls, the underground market revealed itself. The air was thick with the aroma of exotic spices and the tang of magic. Mitchell quickly cast a Detect Magick enchantment to allow him to more clearly see any magick in the area around him.

Stalls and tables, haphazardly arranged, formed a labyrinthine path through the cavernous space of what was likely a massive cellar. Each vendor, shrouded in hooded cloaks or garish attire, peddled their wares with hushed tones and knowing looks. On one stand Mitchell could see stone tablets proclaiming to be forbidden artifacts from forgotten tombs in the Moresh sands, lying besides staves with magically imbued gems in their headpieces. On many others, it looked more like stolen treasures were the wares, from within the city or perhaps from one of the ships in harbour. Jewellery and art objects gleamed in the half-light; their origins as mysterious as their current holders.

Noting the genuinely magickal aura on the staves, Mitchell motioned for Eva and Azzanon to follow him, and he moved towards the first table. The vendor was a white skinned human male, but he was dressed in exotic cloths and veils of vibrant colours, giving the impression of someone who had travelled far.

“I don’t mean to be condescending, but its unlikely we will find what we want at the first table,” cautioned Azzanon. “Assume everyone is lying about their goods and nothing is the genuine article.”

Mitchell nodded his acknowledgment of the warning. As they approached the table Eva stopped him protectively, and made the final few steps alone.

“We are looking for Troll’s Blood. Do you have any?” she asked, her higher pitch melodic voice clear, even through her magickal mask.

The vendor appraised his new customers carefully. Mitchell suspected he was trying to decide if he could con them safely. He looked into the mirror mask, and was briefly lost in the reflection.

“I … I don’t have any,” he said very uncertainly.

“Do you know where we might find some?” Azzanon asked.

“Ahh… seek out Madame Trekeli. Her stall is near the back, in the dark,” replied the vendor as he stumbled away and out of view, clearly shaken by the exchange.

As they moved away from the stall and deeper into the market Azzanon asked, “What just happened?”

“The stall owner looked into his own reflection in my mask,” replied Ava. “Good people tend to see the best version of themselves, and how they have made the world a better place. Bad people tend to see the worst version of themselves, and how they have made the world a worse place. I suspect our vendor may have done some underhanded deals, or sold some false goods, and he got a glimpse of the evil and suffering he has caused. Evidently, it was quite overwhelming for him.”

“I have looked at your mask. I don’t recall having any such visions,” queried Azzanon. Mitchell was thinking the same thing.

“I have not used the magick of the mask on you. If you ask at a more convenient moment, I would consider doing so,” Eva replied.

“Yes… No… Dammit. Let me think about that,” responded Azzanon.

‘I can understand the dilemma. We all want to believe we are a good person. What if you look into the mask and discover you are not. That could be very hard to get over. And I can only guess how much more complicated it would be for a spy. If you do evil to do good, or perhaps just to prevent an even greater evil, where does that leave you on the spectrum.’

“I don’t need to look. I know exactly how good I am,” interjected Hawkin.

‘Once again, ignorance is bliss for dear Hawkin.’

As the quintet moved deeper into the market the murmur of haggling voices blended with the distant sound of the sea, a constant reminder of the port city above. The market clearly thrived on the unusual and the prohibited; there was an old sailor offering maps that apparently led to uncharted lands and buried treasures; shady alchemists hawked potions of dubious origin, promising love, luck, or longevity; and a great many cloaked figures skulked around trading in information, secrets, or just plain old theft.

In the dimmest recesses of the market, where the torchlight barely reached, were the strangest stalls. Here, Mitchell could see spell books written in both known and unknown languages. There were strange arcane instruments, some of which he even didn’t know what they did, and he thought Maragon’s laboratory had everything. Mitchell saw one stall in particular being tended by two women, one younger and one older. The older one drew his attention, with exotic clothing that Mitchell thought looked Eridani in origin, and with her greying hair mostly held back by a brightly coloured shawl. She was sitting behind a stall of exotic items, many of which emanated at least moderate auras of real magick.

‘If I were to guess, that is Madame Trekeli.’

He began to move towards her. The others followed. The older woman even stood as they approached.

“Let me handle the negotiations,” suggested Azzanon, stepping in front of Mitchell. “How much should we pay for this?”

“It is a rare commodity. 50 or even 100 gold pieces for a vial is not unreasonable,” replied Ava. “But the price is not important. I have sufficient funds to purchase the blood if they have the stock to sell.”

Azzanon briefly considered the older woman, but quickly dismissed her and approached the younger, more attractive woman.

“Hello Beautiful. You wouldn’t happen to have any Troll blood for sale would you?”

Mitchell intended to listen in to Azzanon’s negotiations, but as he approached the stall it was clear that the older woman was still staring at him intently. It was as if he, or perhaps Eva and he, were the only things in the Black market worth looking at.

“It is an honour to meet you Eternal Guardians,” she said.

Mitchell quickly looked around to confirm she really was looking at him. Apart from Eva standing protectively at his side, he saw nobody else positioned in a way that would be plausible to be the target for her comment.

“Hello. My name is Mitchell. Have we met?” Mitchell asked, trying to be polite and hoping she might elaborate on who she was and what she was talking about. He also approached closer hoping to lower the volume of their conversation and the number of people who might overhear it.

“Careful. This one has the taint of magick within her. Her sorcerous powers could be dangerous,” warned Eva in elven.

“And I am Madame Trekeli. I offer you no harm. But I can offer you a reading, if you would have it,” the old woman said, bowing her head placatingly as she spoke.

Mitchell knew the reading was a fortune telling, or prophecy of your future. Sorcerors were people for whom their magickal gifts were innate. It was in their blood, usually from magickal inheritance of infusion into an ancestor. So it was possible this old woman had the gift to indeed divine the future.

Maragon had always preached caution with such readings, saying most people offering them were frauds, and even for those that weren’t, he personally did not wish to know a fate if he could not avoid it. Perhaps is was naïve, but Mitchell felt a little differently about it. Divination magick, by far the most likely source of such a reading, was not always perfect when reading the futures. It merely showed the most likely outcome or path. Therefore, although it may be difficult, Mitchell believed it possible to avoid an unpleasant fate, even if one was foretold.

‘If I am going to be a central figure in key events which might have a massive impact on the rest of Driax, then having some information on the most likely outcome would seem prudent,’ he reasoned.

“Ok. If I accept what does it cost?” he asked.

He could feel Eva’s disapproval, but as he was becoming accustomed to, she would defer in the moment and let him make his own decision.

“A simple donation of a coin. You choose the colour based on how much you value your future,” she replied.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Does that mean the colour of the coin impacts the reading?” Mitchell asked dubiously.

The older woman smiled. “No. Your fate is not that pliable. But I can sense what you can afford, and if you short-change an old woman, then I will short-change the reading. But I am not concerned about that here. I can see from your aura already that you will not short-change me. Place a gold piece in my palm and let us begin.”

Mitchell went to draw a gold piece from his pouch, but Eva beat him to it and placed a gold piece in the old barbarian woman’s hand.

“I cannot risk her using a coin you have touched being used to divine information on you at a later date,” she whispered.

“You should listen to your protector. She will die for you,” commented the old woman, even though it was unlikely she could have heard what was said.

“Now, let me get a good look at you,” Madame Trekeli said, as she moved as close as the stall table would allow, and stared first at Mitchell, then at Eva, and back again. “This will work better if I am allowed to touch your skin, but that is up to you.” She held at her hands, one towards each of them.

Mitchell knew he was taking a risk, but he also knew the closer connection to the object or person being divined, the more accurate the reading would likely be. He took the last few steps towards the stall and took her hand.

Eva’s body language made it clear she thought the move unwise, but she reluctantly copied him several seconds later. Mitchell raised an eyebrow, acknowledging his surprise that she had done so.

“Once you touched her hand, my doing the same did not really add much risk to our mission,” explained Eva. “It does increase the risk to me, but it may have lowered the risk to you, as perhaps now I am the one divined or summoned instead of you.”

Mitchell turned his focus to Madame Trekeli.

‘If this is some sort of trap, at least react as quickly as possible’

Mitchell’s enchantment to detect magick was not as well suited to detect the build-up of magick while it was being cast, but he could sense enough to know that Divination magick was indeed accumulating around Madame Trekeli.

“She looked into the mask, and it did not seem to trouble her. So she is either likely not trying to harm us, or she formidable enough that she can resist the effects of the mask,” commented Eva.

Mitchell nodded, but he was not sure if the information made him feel any better.

“Through my gifts I can see things, as they were, as they are and as they will be, although it is not always clear to me which is which,” her voice began.

‘I wish she would stop using a word that sounds like witch. I am nervous enough already that this was a stupid idea and will wake sometime from now with Maragon standing over me and lecturing me on poor choices. But what if she is doing it on purpose?’

Madame Trekeli closed her eyes and was deep in concentration.

“There is obviously a strong connection between the two of you, the Eternal Guardians. One that will be strengthened by tragedy, betrayal and death.”

“What? What does she mean by Eternal Guardians? Does this mean we betray each other? Does one of us die? That doesn’t make sense. Then who dies?’

“The Great Evil stirs, longing to return and punish those that did not kneel before him previously. And you two will be key to that conflict. You bear a catalyst, a powerful artifact of old, but it is being sought by very powerful figures. Some of whom…” her voice trailed off as she sucked in a sharp intake of breath, “… are much closer than you might think.”

While it was possible to infer what was said as a threat, Mitchell convinced himself it was not one, so resisted the urge to pull his hand away. The old woman’s eyes snapped open, and she looked at Mitchell intently.

“Beware three things. The Shade lusts for power but trust your instincts when you confront it. The second evil is petty and jealous. Turn him against his allies, or they against him. And finally, beware the one bearing darkness on the inside. He is your brother, your saviour, and your end. But you must walk a fine line. Each of you is destined to defeat a great evil. If either of you die, there is nobody who can replace you, and evil will likely be victorious.”

Her eyes turned towards Eva.

“Poor little orphan of the forest. Do not fear. Do not hesitate. Your calling is your calling. Your mission is worthy of you, and you of it. You serve one of the greatest purposes there has ever been. Do not let anyone tell you otherwise, including yourself.”

Mitchell was unsure if it was from their touch, his detect magick spell, or some other instinct, but he could feel throughout her reading that the three of them were linked in a way that went way beyond the simple connection of their skin. He also felt now as that connection ceased, and things returned to normal. He felt Eva withdraw her hand from his, but when he tried to pull his hand back, Madame Trekeli resisted.

She pulled Mitchell into an awkward hug across the stall, knocking many items over, and sending several of them crashing to the ground. But she seemed unconcerned for her wares. She leant in close, wrapping her arms around him for balance, and whispered into his ear.

“You must go. He is here. The one that hungers for that which you bear. Go Now!”

And she let him go.

KELL – A SECRET LOCATION, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR

Kell walked through the bustling thrall of people equal parts demoralised, abhorred, and bewildered by what he saw around him. Josak’s meeting with Anders had left him in a foul mood. While he had taken most of it out on Garrick, when he had told Kell he was releasing him from the cage and that any attempt to escape would be the end of him, Kell found it most unsettling. A fear and hopelessness had draped itself over his whole body, even before the cage door was opened. He could feel the thing inside him, could feel it’s magick, or perhaps just it, creeping through his body and making its control of him total.

Kell shuddered now even with the thought of it. Now he walked through some kind of market, but there were more people crammed into these small canyons of stone than Kell had ever seen in one place before. And while the crowds made him uncomfortable, it was the noise and stench that was making him want to wretch. Between the constant yelling of vendors fighting to draw attention, the bartering, begging and general calling out just to be heard, the din was much louder than anything Kell had heard before. He expected you could have a war in the alleys near here, and nobody in the market would hear you.

And the stench that came from the manure of what Kell hoped was only from the many donkeys, oxen and horses he could see. This combined with the sweat of bodies long since washed to create a smell he doubted he could ever adequately explain to another Indian who had not been to a city. Perhaps the strangest scent was sickening flowery smells worn by some people, that apparently they thought might mask the others.

Kell dutifully followed Josak and Gerard through the crowd, Gerard’s large frame doing an excellent job of forging a path through the chaos. In his arms Kell now carried a great many things that Josak was buying from vendors throughout the place. Some of the items Kell could recognise, such as chalk, flower petals, powdered metals, a winterblanket, and what looked like spices. But many others, usually contained in small glass vials or skins, he had no idea. But judging from the metal coins and gems changing hands to purchase them, they must have been worth a considerable amount. These city-folk had done nothing to dispel his father’s assertion that they were strange and had lost sight of what was valuable in the world.

“Is that everything?” asked Gerard.

“No, but I think its everything we are going to get from here. These damn Klydorians couldn’t run a decent black market to save themselves. I thought initially the vendors were hiding the good stuff. Now I realise there just isn’t any,” replied Josak, reading through a list he had prepared for at least the tenth time. Kell could make out what looked like about twenty items, and just over half had been crossed out.

“Do I even want to know what sort of evil magick you are preparing this time?” asked Gerard.

“A divination spell. I need to find out where the Stone is and why I am having trouble detecting…” Josak never finished his sentence, as a look of surprise came over his face, and he began to look around feverishly, clearly trying to find something through the crowd, but seemingly unsure which way it was.

Suddenly he pushed off in one direction, quite forcefully making his way through the crowd, his eyes continuing to scan the whole area in front of him.

“It is here. It is here!” Josak repeated, the urgency in his voice growing. “Come on! Move!”

Gerard seemed a little confused, but followed along quickly enough. Kell was slower to react, unsure what to do with all of the things he was carrying. Atenáti pointed for him to follow Gerard, and so reluctantly he did, doing his best to carry all of the items with him.

EVA – A SECRET LOCATION, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR

“We have to go!” Mitchell whispered to her urgently. “I think Josak is here.”

Eva immediately moved towards Azzanon to assist in completing their business dealings.

“Thank you, your shop is a credit to you, and your prices should ensure your family eats well…” concluded Azzanon, in a perfect Lotese accent, as he seamlessly adopted the persona of his weapons smuggler alias. As the younger woman gathered up the pile of coins and gems in front of her, she smiled politely in response to the comment.

“…for the next three generations!” Azzanon finished. The merchant’s smile dissolved as she realised she was being insulted.

“Troll-Blood is very hard to come by Sir. There is much risk involved, and hence the price.” Azzanon waved her away as he turned back to his two companions.

“I should have just stolen it,” he said.

Eva looked at him disapprovingly.

‘Why must these humans make everything emotional and more difficult?’

“She just stole from us!” he countered.

“She negotiated an amount we were willing to pay. That is a successful negotiation,” she offered, indicating with her hand that it was time to leave.

“If that is successful negotiation, then kidnapping someone at knifepoint must be called assisted transportation in these parts…” Azzanon likely would have continued to argue the point but Eva seemed to be pushing him to leave quite urgently.

“Is there some emergency?” he whispered.

“We believe a very bad person is nearby. Someone who would very much like to capture us. And thus, we must leave with much haste,” replied Eva. She began to lead Mitchell by the forearm back towards the entrance of the Black Market, gathering up Peregrin and Hawkin from a nearby stall as she went.

She tried to strike a balance between speed and composure. Moving too fast would draw attention to their group. And down here in particular, people were likely to be overly suspicious of anyone moving too quickly. Her eyes rapidly scanned a path through the other market-goers in front of them, while also casting around when possible to look for possible signs of Josak. She had never met or seen the man, so all she had to go on was a general description – tall, lean, with long dark hair and short beard, with grey in both the beard and hair. And to here Maragon tell it, you could see in his eyes the immense evil and power within him, but also the fear and insecurity that drove him.

They were about halfway back to the entrance when she saw a figure pushing through a group of people to her right that matched the description. From this distance she couldn’t see his eyes well enough to verify Maragon’s claim, but she could see him clear enough to see he was frantically looking for something. And he seemed to be looking at people more than the stalls.

“Eyes forward. Don’t draw attention to us,” Eva said in a stern, whispered voice.

She also stopped looking around so much. She had an enchantment running which would sense if anyone in the area tried to cast anything, and she assumed if Josak were to do anything, it would likely begin with magick.

‘The question is, how much are you willing to draw attention to yourself? Will you exercise caution in your use of magick in a crowded area such as this?’

They had not made it much further when she detected a powerful build-up of charm magick. This magick was mostly used to alter the mind of another, generally making them friendlier, braver or perhaps angrier. But at the more powerful levels it could affect more people, or do more severe things like compel you to follow a particular command.

‘I do not like the idea of a mob of magically effected humans, and nor do I like the idea of Mitchell, or anyone else in our group having to follow magickal commands from Josak. This is a powerful spell, but perhaps with the element of surprise I can disrupt it.’

Eva patiently waited while the caster drew in enough magickal energy to cast their spell. She kept Mitchell moving forwards, but each second seemed like a minute, her feeling of anticipation and dread growing. Once the actual spell-weaving began Eva knew she had to act, so she went with a sudden two-fold plan to disrupt it.

First, she spun quickly, releasing Mitchell’s arm and in one smooth motion grabbed a crystal orb off the nearest stall and threw it at him. She would have preferred to throw one of her finely balanced daggers, but there was too much chance of harming an innocent bystander. The orb, while heavy enough to hurt, was unlikely to kill someone.

Then while the orb was still in the air, she began to cast a traditional counter spell.

There was little doubt in Eva’s mind that Josak was the more powerful caster, but she hoped the element of surprise with both the orb and the counter-spell thrown at him almost simultaneously would be enough.

Josak’s spell weave faltered as the Orb hit him in the head. He yelped in surprise and pain.

Her counter-spell found the weaknesses in his weave, and the spell broke apart. The weave was faltering so badly once he was struck by the orb that she wondered if it might have fallen apart on its own.

‘It would seem Josak is not a caster accustomed to casting in the midst of battle. That will be worth remembering.’

The crowd around them turned to look at the commotion.

“Run. Get to safety!” commanded Eva. She could see Mitchell hesitate. He did not want to leave them.

“If he captures what he wants, we all lose!” she said as assertively as she could, deliberately choosing words that would not reveal too much to anyone who might hear them.

Her eyes and Mitchell’s locked onto each other. She saw acknowledgement of her point register, and then he nodded his head, turned and ran off.

‘Is this my calling? I hope my fortune is not to die here while he escapes.’

She calmly cast a spell she had secretly been practicing from the moment she had met Mitchell, in anticipation of just such as moment. There was a brief flicker in the area around her as her illusion took effect.

JOSAK – A SECRET LOCATION, PORT CHANDREX, KLYDOR

Josak held the side of his head in his hands. He could feel the pain from where the stupid piece of rock had hit him. He could already feel the blood trickling down the side of his head. He could feel it on his fingers. His anger burned red hot. The insolence of one of these pathetic little creatures to dare strike at him.

‘Somebody will pay dearly for that! To strike a High Priest of Razilin’Tera is punishable by death!’

He brought his head back around and looked again in the direction the rock had come from. And there he saw Maragon’s boy, Mitchell, standing in middle of the market aisle, staring impudently at him.

“You will pay for that, boy!” Josak spat.

Josak noticed the boy was not alone. Two others were now forming up beside him. A young human warrior wearing some minor house noble crest on his tabard, over a suit of chainmail. Over his back he carried a shield and a large sword, which he now saw fit to draw. He seemed either nervous or eager. Josak was never great at reading emotions.

The second figure appeared calmer. He was an Elven warrior, with long silver hair and carrying a scimitar on each hip. Josak hated elves.

‘Always think they are so superior to everyone else. Well… I get to smash an arrogant elf, an annoying brat, and I get the Stone of Evronn. Today is a very good day indeed.’

Josak began to cast again. This time he would knock them all flying with a tempest of air.

‘That should keep them off me until my barely competent associates can catch up.’

As Josak drew in the energy for his spell, the air around him began to whip and blow. His robes began to billow, as did his hair and beard. He could sense people now scurrying away both around he and his intended targets, and he could hear the raised voices of alarm and fear echoing around the market.

‘Let me show you real power, peasants!’

He kept drawing in energy. None of those in front of him were charging at him, so there was no reason to stop drawing in energy, thus making the final spell that much more powerful. He both saw and felt feeble attempts from at least three different sources to disrupt his spell, but he was ready for that now. There would be nobody in this marketplace who could stop him now.

He unleashed the full fury of his storm, throwing both hands towards those arrayed in front of him. Massive winds ripped from his hands and blasted towards Maragon’s boy, the elf and the petty minor noble. The boy and the noble flew backwards, crashing heavily into the stalls behind them. Amusingly, Maragon’s boy threw up a meagre magickal barrier in front of him to protect himself, but it was like holding up a sheet of paper versus a volley of crossbow quarrels, and it made no difference.

But the ferocity of the storm was not content with just those two. The full fury howled into the stalls, all of the items on those stalls, the vendors behind those stalls, and then into the stalls on the row behind. There was total carnage as tables, chairs, people, crystals, books, trinkets, sheets of paper and a myriad of other items were flung through the air by the incredible winds.

“Witness the power of Razilin’Tera, the Great Dragon, the Unyielding Fire, the One True Lord of Driax!” screamed Josak over the howling winds, “And his chosen, Josak Norgette.”

In the back of his mind, part of him was screaming that he was drawing attention to himself, but he was angry. And he wanted everyone present to see the full power of his God, and of him.

Annoying he saw the elf had used magick to leap sideways, way further and faster than would normally be possible. He avoided the worst of the blast and tumbled to his feet about thirty feet to the right.

“Don’t let any of them get away,” he yelled at Gerard, Atenáti and Kell, who had finally caught up. “The boy is mine!”