There were two mages there, hovering over him like specters, very thorough and businesslike spells of death on their lips. He hardly had the chance to remind himself that he couldn’t unleash the same without that damned spell that followed him falling on him, much less weigh the certainty of that against the possibility that the two trying to slay him might not be able to manage it.
And then, quite suddenly, they seemed to be doing less floating and more falling. He watched with a good deal of surprise as each mage in turn flinched as if he’d been struck, flapped around a bit, then landed in a heap, one atop the other. Damion sat up, knowing he was gaping and wishing he could look a little less astonished.
A match sparked in the darkness, a terribly pedestrian way to call fire, but he
