Fletcher exhaled slowly, fighting to keep his hands steady, willing his thundering heart to be calm. He had to strike while his enemy wasn’t expecting it, and he had to make his shot count. One wrong move and the soldier would turn on him—and unlike Roxanne, he wouldn’t be able to conjure a stone shield to defend himself.
Then Roxanne let loose a cry of pain. Her earthen spell cracked and thin shafts of fire squeezed through. She dropped to her knees as the Fironian advanced, wielding a relentless burning torrent against her.
Breath hitching, Fletcher aimed the arrow at the man’s heart—but he never got the chance to shoot it. Another rumbling sound reached his ears, the only warning before a wave of water rushed past him, engulfing the slope. It crested and broke on the Fironian, who did
