The rhythmic drumming echoes the thudding of my heartbeat. The marching footsteps can only mean one thing.
The guards are coming for me. The pebbles at my feet are dancing to the ominous music of the army’s approach, bouncing around from the force of the man-made rumblings.
I feel my chest getting heavier and my throat closing up.
My fingers instinctively wrap tighter around the wand.
“No,” whispers Iseldir as he slides down off of his rocky perch, “Even if you could manage to cast a spell to defeat them all, you’d probably never be able to use it again. It would absorb too much of their life-forces.”
“What do we do then?” I hiss, “Surrender? Roll over and die?”
He draws his own wand, a much more traditional-looking relic, and holds it out.
I scoff, looking at the petite man in fro
