“Iarion!” Barlo’s voice called out in warning from his right side.
The elf dodged on instinct. A ball of flame crackled through the air where he had been standing, scorching the cobblestones.
“Too bad Lysandir isn’t here,” Barlo grumbled before lunging at an attacker with his ax. “He could show these men a thing or two about playing with fire.”
Iarion knew Barlo’s blustering words were covering a trickle of unease—one that Iarion shared. If these humans could wield the same power as one of the Learnéd, what chance did they have? He was forced to shoulder his bow in favor of his knife as a swarm of attackers rushed toward him.
“Keep the magic users busy!” Lodariel called over the clash of weapons to the sisters surging into the battle around them. “They can’t attack if they’re too busy
