Releasing my hold on the guard lying at the bottom of the stairs, I pinpoint my sight on the two guards in front of us and lodge a poker of heat in their throats. My nose picks up the scent of burning flesh, and wrinkles in response, I know that the smell will haunt me to the end of my days.
They drop their spears instantly, their hands clutch at their throats. A look of pain and astonishment is locked on their faces as they turn to each other, struggling to maintain their posts. One moves to get some water from a skein tied to his waist. I heat the bag in his hand, and he drops it with hot water spilling over the floor. They drop to their knees, their attention diverted, Geraint sees his cue and moves swiftly to the window, wrenching it open with his free arm and climbing onto the sill.
