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You can’t leave Tarquin behind—not just because you won’t trade one good Shadow Dragon for another, but also because you’re fairly certain Ashur won’t move from the spot as long as Tarquin isn’t with you.

“We don’t leave our friends behind,” you say, impressed at how calm your voice sounds.

That’s all it takes. The magister hefts his staff and Dorian, Neve, and Ashur hit him with their specialties—a veritable storm of lightning bolts, freezing slashes, and force blasts that tear the man’s staff from his hands and threaten to do the same to the hands themselves.

Although your opponent might have been prepared for magic from Dorian and Neve, he clearly wasn’t expecting a third mage, especially one of Ashur’s power. The battle is over in moments, the magister defenseless at your feet and Tarquin free of the magical ropes, only slightly singed about the head.

Tarquin gives him a sharp dig in the small of his back with the toe of one boot. “That’s for the hair,” he says.

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