With the Templar rogue helpfully pinned in place by an arrow Dorian recognized as one of Feynrahelâs, finishing the man was easy enough. Dorianâs staff shot out, bladed end first, in a wickedly quick snake-strike of a move; the rogue crumpled, gashed throat spraying bright blood. With this Templar dead â or quickly heading that way in any case â the tightly painful feeling drawing Dorianâs skin taut over his bones receded. When Dorian reached for his magic this time, there it was again, a shining well of power roiling inside him like a tempest, like an inferno.
With a great shout of joy, Dorian flung back his arms, back arching and hair flying; between his outstretched arms, a great burning sigil of pulsating energy wrote itself upon the air and then spun forth and free, arcing outward in a many-tailed comet which burned and hissed and spat as it flew. All around the field of battle, men and women in sword-blazoned armor screamed and twitched as that electric power touched them. Fire ran up and down Dorianâs body in flickering sheets, spinning off him as he turned and turned again, casting it forth with hands and staff, conjuring up the power with his whole body and laughing as he fought.
âBoss!â came a sudden growled shout from somewhere down the field of battle, and Dorian spun, following the Bullâs gaze.
Feynrahel was bleeding and weaponless, and something inside Dorian snapped, his vision flashing red at the edges. Vaguely, a part of him wondered if this was how berserkers felt, their entire world tunneling down into a point of pure, primal rage. But he had no time for such questions now; Dorian was already moving even as he saw the Templarâs sword come up.
He reached out, grasped at the stuff of the Fade itself, and twisted, tearing himself a hole in the very fabric of reality as a worm might bore through wood; to any outside watcher, Dorian blurred and all but vanished entirely, reappearing half a heartbeat later at the Inquisitorâs side.
His staffblade, shimmering veilstone honed to a wicked edge, crunched through the Templarâs ringmail and found the manâs kidney; even as the Templar made a terrible sound, blade dropping from already nerveless fingers, Dorian channeled lightning through the staffâs metal.
A second later, the Templar dropped to the ground in a boneless heap, his body smoking and blackened and very, very dead.
âFeynrahel!â Dorian exclaimed. âAre you well?â
This was bad. This was very, very bad. Normally heâd draw his daggers for close combat, but this Templar was too quick, sending blows towards his arms whenever they lifted to go for his own blades. Instead he spent his time dodging, dancing around the sword thrust at him, twisting this way and that despite the burn in his side from his cut earlier. Just my luck if itâs poisoned.
He mightâve been able to keep up this deadly dance with the Templar for much longer had they not been placed near a tree. The roots were wild at the edge of this hill, gnarly and causing bumps and ridges in the terrain. Feyn tripped. He fell backwards, sprawling on his back as the Templar bore down on him.
And just like that, in one blink of an eye, the Templar was impaled by a familiar staff. Lightning arced so brightly off the metal that Feyn had to lift his hand and turn his head, shielding his eyes from the intense sparks that flew from mage to Templar. The smell of burnt flesh filled the air, hanging around even as the Templarâs now lifeless body was pushed from Dorianâs staff and down the hill.
âMâfine,â He grunted, slowly sitting up--only to hiss, hand going to the wound on his side. Damn but it burned--much more than it really should. Looking down at it, Feyn carefully pulled his fingers away, his palm covered in blood and another dark, nearly black substance. âPoison--fuck.â
As the world started to spin around him, Feyn laid back down, closing his eyes and resting his head against a root--not the one heâd tripped on, but still from the same tree. He could hear reinforcements coming up the hill, Cassandraâs voice clear as a bell even over the sound of soldiers marching and swords and shields clanging together. He gave a weak laugh. âEveryoneâs jusâ in time tâsee what a fool I am. Seems right.â