Mitchell’s leg was bouncing and he tried to will it still for what felt like the thousandth time. Without the manacles, Allora was apparently able to use her magic. She’d cast the language spell on him, although it appeared to exhaust her to do so, and said that there was going to be an escape attempt and he needed to sit patiently and let them handle it. He would only get in the way. 

He fumed at her words, even more so because she was right. The spell hadn’t lasted long but she’d conveyed the basics. They would strike when let out for the morning walk. If all went according to plan, they would be free before the sun rose. So Mitchell sat and hated himself a little for being unable to contribute. He knew he shouldn’t feel bad. This wasn’t his world, and people from Earth had no need for swords and had no concept of magic. He’d be cut down in a moment by one or the other without the knowledge to defend himself. He knew it but he was angry just the same. 

Sleep was impossible so he waited. He occupied himself by swatting at the little fleas that liked to feed on their blood. One good thing about being in the wagon is that they were up out of the sand. The fleas were worse when he’d slept on the ground. He’d woken up every morning itchy. Luckily, the itching didn’t last too long. 

But, while the little bastards couldn’t fly, they could apparently jump and they weren’t as bad up here but enough of them were motivated to hop up into the wagon for a snack. So as the minutes crawled by he busied himself with smashing the little pests when he felt them on his skin or caught one crawling up the leg of his filthy pants. While he smashed them he sang the words to Black Sabbath’s War Pigs to himself. 

“Evil minds that plot destruction!” Squish. “Sorcerer of death’s construction.” Squish squish. 

Ignoring the looks he got from Allora and Revos for his odd behavior, he once again said a silent word of thanks that his parents had been so into music as he was growing up. They’d met at the now legendary Nirvana concert at the Paramount Theater in Seattle in 1991 and were still rocking out to this day. Music had always been present in his house and he had a large repertoire of several genres from which to choose. It was surprising how much he could remember now that he had nothing to do but recall the lyrics. 

He was in the middle of Pearl Jam’s Do the Evolution when he heard the first sounds of their jailors rousing. His song cut off immediately. He didn’t know what the plan was exactly but he knew he wasn’t part of it. He did his best to look asleep as they set about the morning tasks. From the corner of his eye, he saw Allora arrange the manacles so that they looked like they were still on her wrist and feigned sleep just as he was. 

As Dumb Fuck Two pulled himself up into the wagon Mitchell’s heart started pounding so hard he thought for sure the big gray thing would hear it. What if they had superhuman hearing? He didn’t know. What if he got suspicious about why his heart was beating so fast? What if he could smell the fear? 

He did his best to control his breathing and appear to rouse naturally from his cramped slumber. Dumb Fuck paid him no mind, moving first to Allora’s cage. Mitchell sat up and looked around, making a show of examining their surroundings. He craned his neck and spotted Pony Tail Spock and Dumb Fuck   One stowing the lean-to and drinking water. They were watching the landscape warily. They didn’t know what Mitchell knew but they weren’t stupid. They knew someone was picking them off and were on guard. 

Spock had some sort of shimmering field around himself that made Mitchell think of the personal force fields that had been described in Dune. Despite how much he hated his situation and hated them, this magical stuff was seriously cool. 

Dumb Fuck Two began to untie the rope holding Allora’s cage shut. Once the rope slipped free he swung the cage open and stepped back. Allora didn’t move. Mitchell’s leg began bouncing again and he grabbed onto it with both hands to hold it still. Dumb Fuck didn’t notice. He was staring at the open cage waiting for Allora to crawl out. 

He said something, probably some variation of “let’s get a move on” and Allora didn’t respond. His tone became more threatening and she merely glared at him. 

She’s waiting for him to reach in, Mitchell thought. She wants to be yanked out, she wants him to come in close. He had to remind himself to breathe as he attempted to look casual. He felt like his act was so obvious that there might as well be a neon sign above his head proclaiming “This guy knows shit is about to go down!” It must have just been the panic, though because Dumb Fuck still didn’t even glance at him. 

Finally, with a small snarl, he reached into the cage and went for the link of the chain that was just visible between her legs, meaning to grab it and drag her out of the cage. It was what Allora had been waiting for. With a move so fast he almost didn’t see it, her hand was around his wrist, having never been in the manacles. She’d twisted it seam-side down so it looked like it was still closed and had tucked her arms up against them, wrists bent, so it looked like her hands were tucked between her legs. It wouldn’t have passed a close inspection but their captors were nervous and jumpy and they weren’t paying close attention. 

Dumb Fuck Two grunted in surprise and looked in shock at the now free hand around his wrist. Mitchell saw his eyes widen and he began to pull in a breath to shout an alarm. But before he’d even finished his inhalation, the stiletto came out in Allora’s other hand and she buried it almost to the hilt under his chin. His body seized and a spout of blood erupted from his mouth but, except for a couple of grunts, he died in silence. 

With the blade still lodged in Dumb Fuck’s Skull, Mitchell watched in horrified fascination as she lowered his twitching form to the wagon bed and began to crawl out. 

Allora glanced around to see if the small noises he’d made as the blade pierced his brain alerted Ivaran or the other one but they were deep in conversation. Their eyes were focused on the sandy hills watching for signs of attack and they weren’t expecting anything from the wagon bed. So far, so good.

Her body ached from being in the cage overnight but she pushed through the pain knowing this was their only chance. Whoever their mysterious rescuer was, she was working alone or she wouldn’t have needed the help of exhausted and malnourished prisoners to carry out whatever mission she was on. If Ivaran saw Allora before this woman made her move, she’d have little chance against him. Without a sevith or krisa to focus her mana, she’d burn through her reserves far too fast to be able to match him in a magical fight. She trusted her training but, one-on-one without her gear, he’d rip her to pieces. 

She glanced to the side to see Revos working at the knot on his ropes and, crouching low, she moved past Mitchell’s cage and slipped the blade between it and the bars. She stifled a groan as her back protested at the movement. 

With a quick yank, the rope was cut, falling away softly to allow the cage door to swing free. Almost in the same instant, there was the sound of an arrow striking the wood planks of the driver’s seat. Two voices shouted simultaneously and the fight began. 

Peeking over the lip, Allora saw Ivaran and the other one–his name was Fellock she thought–staring out at a clump of bushes about sixty feet away. The arrow that was meant for Fellock was sticking out of the side of the wagon a few inches from his head. She’d missed!

 

Ivaran was raising his sevith, the stones already glowing. If he hit the bush with the arcane lance he’d used yesterday and the woman was still there, there wouldn’t be much left of her. No time to worry about it now. Legs quivering, Allora vaulted over the railing aiming for Fellock’s back. 

He reacted faster than she’d expected. He must have sensed her coming or heard something. While she was still in the air, he started to turn, his blade already coming up, and instead of landing squarely on his back to drive the knife down into his ribs, Allora hit him in the shoulder and her weight drove them both into the ground where they landed with a grunt. 

Above and behind her, the night exploded into brightness as Ivaran got off his spell. The sizzling sound of the arcane bolt lancing through the air was quickly followed by the sound of an explosion as it struck the ground around the bush. 

Allora’s ears were wringing as she struggled to control Fellock beneath her. He moved like a snake, twisting and trying to get leverage on her. She attempted to stick the knife in his neck but he got an arm up and he was able to turn the point aside with the bracer at his wrist. Her body was sluggish and stiff after days spent in the cage with just enough food and water to keep them from dying. She could already feel her strength failing. She had to end this fast. 

His body came around fully and she tried to stay atop him. If he managed to get her beneath him, it wouldn’t go well, not as weak as she was. She brought the blade down, again going for his throat and he cursed as he brought his arms up to block her. 

“You fucking bitch!” he spat as she brought her weight down on him. He was strong for a human. Her muscles began to fail and her arms quivered as he tried to push against her. From the corner of her eye, she saw Revos fire a spell at Ivaran and it struck his shield, sending him staggering. 

Despite her bringing her full weight on him, Fellock began to raise her up. The tip of the blade that was just inches from his throat began to move away. Sweat was pouring off her as she strained to pierce his flesh. 

“You’re gonna die, bitch,” Fellock grunted. “Fuck carrying you all the way to Milandris. We’re going to gut you here and feed you to the clorvol.” 

He pushed her up another inch. A little more and he’d have the leverage to flip her off. Behind her, another spell fired. She didn’t know if it was Revos or Ivaran and she couldn’t break focus to check. As much as she didn’t want to do it, she was going to have to use a spell. Without her krisa to focus the mana, it would be wild and likely to hurt her as well, but she had no other choice. Allora formed the spell in her mind.

“No,” Allora grunted. “You will not.” 

She released the spell. 

Without her krisa her whole body acted as the focus and she felt her mana reserves drop sharply as the energy of the spell left her body and poured into his. 

The shocking touch spell was meant to disable and disarm an opponent and was not meant to be used while you were on top of someone. It would feed back into the caster, just as it was doing now. Their clothes offered some protection so she didn’t get the full force of the spell but it was enough to cause her body to seize and she felt her hands go rigid around Fellocks, locking them together. 

They were both screaming through clenched teeth as she let the spell burn through her mana. Allora held nothing back. She could smell the scent of burnt hair and didn’t know if it was hers or his that had begun to smolder. 

After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, the spell faltered, her mana depleted. Both of their muscles released. Unfortunately for Fellock, she was still bearing down on him with the knife pointed at his throat. Without his strength to hold her up, she collapsed onto him and she was dimly aware of the knife sliding into his throat as she struggled to remain conscious. She felt him thrash and try once more to move her off of him but his body was just as unresponsive as hers was at the moment. She couldn’t even manage enough control over her muscles to roll herself off of the dying man. 

He gurgled as the air escaped from the new hole she’d placed in his body and then he went still. 

 

She lay gasping, her head next to his, almost in the sand, and felt the blood from his wound running down her cheek. She could smell the stink of his body odor and the acrid scent of burnt flesh still hanging around them. Through the pounding headache that always accompanied full mana drain, she could hear the sounds of Revos still fighting with Ivaran. 

Ivaran cursed and there was another spell. She heard a deep grunt and then there was an explosion of fire magic. She felt the heat wash over her as she picked up her head. 

Revos was standing a ways off from her, and the tips of his horns were glowing red. She could see he was favoring one leg. His hand was outstretched and from the tips of each finger, a thin tendril of fire jetted out and combined to form one thick bar of flame that struck Ivaran’s shield. It washed over the shield and she could see the strain he was under as he tried to maintain concentration and ward off the magical attack. Ivaran wouldn’t be able to spare any additional mana to cast a spell while focusing all his energy in this way so it would just be a matter of who ran out first. 

However, Revos was a cambion, a demon race, and fire was his birthright. He didn’t expend mana the same way when he used fire magic as she or Ivaran would. If the legends were true, he could pull additional mana from his own bloodstream. But wherever he drew the power from, he outlasted Ivaran. 

Accompanied by his cry of rage, his shield cracked, then shattered. The force of its failure under an assault would have been bad enough and would have knocked any mage on their ass, but without the shield holding back the flames, they found his skin instantly and his cry of rage turned into a wail of agony as his body began to burn. 

Revos ended the spell immediately but the damage was already done. She saw Revos sag as his hand came down to his side. Ivaran collapsed to the ground and didn’t rise. Smoke rose from his body and flames licked along the leather of his armor in a few places. Revos turned and looked at Allora just as she found the strength to roll off the dead man. 

Revos stood over her as she breathed heavily. The orange glow from the tips of his horns was beginning to fade and his eyes glimmered in Vish’s light. 

“Do you two need a moment alone?” His voice was calm and casual as if he hadn’t just spent the last two weeks in a cage crawling across the desert. Asshole, she thought. 

“Help me up,” she groaned. 

He reached down and took her hand, pulling her easily to her feet. She stumbled and fell into him and he had to guide her as she walked. He was leading her around to the back of the wagon when they heard the sound of footsteps. They looked up as the woman who had helped them escape materialized from the pale darkness. She pulled her cowl down and took off the mask that covered the bottom half of her face. Doing so ended the blurring effect on the rest of the cloak. Her edges became firm once again and Allora didn’t have to struggle to keep her eyes on the woman. 

Without the cowl and mask, Allora got her first real look at their savior whose hair was long, dark red, and pulled into a tight ponytail. Her skin was especially pale in the moonlight and Allora could pick out a splash of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She had full soft lips that framed a sensual mouth. Her eyes were an emerald green and they took in the situation with calm efficiency. The three of them stared at each other for a moment. Then the woman turned to look past the carriage to where Ivaran lay still smoldering in the sand. 

Moving her gaze to Revos, she asked, “Is he dead?”

Without looking, Revos replied, “Probably not. I imagine he will wish he was once he wakes up, though. Demon fire is nasty business.” 

The woman’s excited eyes locked on something behind them.

“Do you mind?” she asked, directing the question to Allora. 

Allora turned to see what she was indicating, seeing the discarded mage catchers on the bed of the wagon in front of what had been her cage. 

“Help yourself.” 

 

The woman walked around to the edge, snapped them up, and walked purposefully over toward where Ivaran lay in the sand. 

Allora and Revos watched her go. She approached his body and then kicked him over onto his back. In a moment the mage catchers were around his wrists and locked shut. They glowed intensely as the light spell runes carved into the manacles began to pull the mana from his body and repeat in an endless loop until his reserves were drained. Until someone used the key to disrupt the mana flow between the two bracelets, the mage catchers would use the caster’s own mana to seal themselves and bleed any spare energy from the prisoner’s body. Simple, yet brilliant. 

“I don’t think she likes him very much,” Revos said as they watched the woman grab Ivaran by his pony tail and start to drag his body closer to the wagon. He was large and the woman was struggling but her face was a mask of grim determination and she did not ask for help. 

Mitchell yelled something then and they both turned to see him still sitting in his cage. 

“He’s your charge,” Revos said and went over to start looting the bodies. 

Allora climbed into the wagon on shaky legs and cut the rope to free him and then got the mage catchers off him. As he crawled out she turned toward Vish and bowed, saying a prayer of thanks to the goddess. 

They were free.