“There's a portal ward,” he panted. Freemonte was cleaning his blade again. He had wounded the small man nastily before he had run from the fight to the edge of the chasm. The warrior looked up at the flustered wizard.
“How are they leaving then?” he said, jabbing a finger at the clustering eastern mages. He didn't seem cross any more, more curious than anything else. Gerard looked over at them again, he was beginning to find their presence irksome. They may have had fancy silk robes and showy magic, but he wasn't leaving the field before the end of the battle because his power was waning. Just as Gerard was about to turn back to Freemonte and say he had no idea, the question was answered for both of them.
Only three or four of the Frisians that had been attacking the mages had remained
