72
As you move toward the arena, skirting the shadowy edges of each garden terrace, you come across pockets of Venatori. It’s a shame to leave the gardens littered with their bodies, but given that they don’t seem inclined to cooperate, you really don’t have much choice. (And perhaps if the cultists start to clutter up the places rich people like to go, they’ll make the effort to do something about the problem.)
It’s while you’re fighting one of those pockets that a mage pulls out a dagger—one of those fancy ones with the wiggly blades that always make people look cartoonishly evil—and drags it across her hand to shower the grass with blood and chant a rapid incantation. It’s always the same with blood mages and, sure enough, it takes only moments for a pride demon to manifest. When it does, it heads straight for Ashur.
You and Tarquin just about manage to snatch him out of its grasp, pulling him back behind you to cast a barrier while you back away slowly, swords out. At least it wasn’t a rage demon, you think; creatures made of flames and lava probably wouldn’t be good for the plants.