101
You bite your tongue and wait to see what Neve has in mind. After all, she and Dorian have been Shadow Dragons far longer than you have and they’re still alive.
After another moment or two of unintelligible whispering, Dorian summons his magic; he’s barely moving, but you can feel his muscles tensing where he’s crushed against you and see the tiny tendrils of electricity weaving their way around him, almost indistinguishable from the lightning of the cage.
He mutters a word, the electricity flaring up—and then the sky collapses and everything goes white.
When you wake up, your ears are ringing and your sword arm is in excruciating pain, but you’re alive. And, judging from the mess Tarquin is prodding at on the ground, the mage slaver is not.
“What… what happened?” you ask groggily.
Dorian frowns. “I’ll tell you what happened,” he says. “I’ve singed my best shirt!”
Neve and Tarquin roll their eyes; Ashur tries to look sympathetic, but his mask and hat spare him the trouble of putting much effort into it.
All things considered, you think as the five of you head back to the pawn shop, the outcome could have been far worse.