Log InRegister
    Read Free Web Novels Online

    The flowcaster acted immediately. The hands clamped over his mouth stopped him from shouting, but they could not stop him from gathering flow.

    Alistair had known most flowcasters depended heavily on proper tools. The staff, the core, and the flow-enchanted channels inside the weapon made casting faster, easier, and stronger. Dependence still left room for action. The robed man could still draw fireflow without the staff. He simply had to do it with less finesse, through his own body instead of through a prepared aiding cast.

    Fireflow gathered in his hands and along his arms, unstable and much rougher than the lances and spheres he had shaped earlier. It lacked the same distance, control, and refinement, but that hardly mattered at this range. The flowcaster only needed a burst of heat close to his own body to break the hold.

    Seeker realized the danger an instant too late. The fireflow burst outward. It was not an explosion, not like the sphere he had cast in the field, but at that range it did more than necessary. Heat blasted across Seeker’s arms, chest, and face. The clone’s grip broke immediately. Alistair pulled back from the body on instinct as pain flooded the connection, then forced himself to stay until he could use what the clone had bought him. Seeker had served his purpose. He had stopped the shout and given Falsehand time to leave the tent with the flower.

    The flowcaster staggered forward, coughing through the smoke and heat of his own rough casting. For a moment, rage almost sent him in the wrong direction. He looked back toward the burned man who had dared lay hands on him, and the desire to finish the attacker was clear in his face.

    But the thief was already running. Besides, anyone struck by fireflow at such close range should be finished, so the flowcaster could deal with that attacker later. He shoved out of the tent and shouted with everything his exhausted body could still give.

    “Thief! There’s a thief in the camp! The flower!”

    The cry failed to work as he expected because the whole camp was already in turmoil.

    The few remaining fighters from the island alliance were already descending toward the camp. Under normal circumstances, they would not have dared move so soon after the beating they had taken, and certainly not before more of their wounded had been dragged away, patched up, or at least moved beyond the flowcaster’s reach. But they had been offered what looked like an unprecedented chance.

    Another group, supposedly late to the fighting, had reached the alliance’s hurried recovery point. They were only six, but they were armed and carried a mercenary token that gave their words weight. They offered a simple agreement. Attack the camp from two directions while it was exhausted, and retrieve the flower. Whoever got it would divide the profit after selling it.

    The alliance fighters had not trusted them completely. They were not fools. But they had seen the camp wounded, scattered, and barely standing. If they waited, the flower would be gone. If they attacked quickly, they might still seize it. So they agreed, which was why, when the camp suddenly erupted with shouts of a thief, the alliance was already moving down the slope.

    By the time they entered the camp, they realized something was wrong. The other mercenary force was nowhere in sight. Their supposed partners had not struck from the second direction. Instead, the camp was already in disarray for reasons the alliance could not yet understand. A few fighters had bolts sticking from them. Others had collapsed on the ground, still twitching from what looked like thunderflow discharge. Men shouted contradictory orders. Several were looking toward the flowcaster’s tent, while others were turning toward the slope.

    The alliance was already too close to retreat cleanly, so they engaged.

    Their luck held because the flowcaster and one of the camp’s best fighters ignored the immediate attack and rushed after the thief. The alliance could only hope their supposed partners would somehow still honor the deal.

    Runner was already fleeing elsewhere. Sprint carried the clone through the camp and into the wild as fast as his body could manage. The flowcaster had no hope of matching that pace directly, especially after so many castings, but the fighter with him was another problem. The man was fast, and the distance kept shrinking. Runner could hear the pursuit behind him drawing closer.

    Then Misgiver’s warning struck through the shared mind. Fireflow.

    Alistair forced Runner’s footing sideways before the attack fully landed. The movement saved him from the center of the blast, but not from the force of it. Fireflow hit the ground near him and burst outward. Heat washed across his side, and the impact threw him down, rolling him across torn grass and dirt.

    For an instant, the clone’s thoughts became pain and shifting motion. Alistair pulled back from the body only as far as control required. Runner was hurt, but he could still move, which was all Alistair needed. He pushed to his feet and kept going, without wasting even a breath to check the burn. The footsteps behind him were close now, far too close, and the flowcaster was already gathering another crude casting.

    He needed a way to end the chase.

    Ahead, the land dipped toward a short broken drop. Runner altered his path toward it. Someone shouted behind him, but he did not stop to listen. The fighter was nearly on him when Runner reached the edge. The clone drove forward with Sprint, jumped, and let the ground vanish beneath him. His body hung over the drop for a heartbeat before the ground rushed up.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Runner dissolved before impact.

    In the other direction, Shade escaped with the flower and the flow-enchanted staff.

    Alistair’s closing plan had been simple in form, even if every part of it had been dangerous in practice. The camp force was already weakened. The alliance was wounded but not broken. The flowcaster remained the one threat that could ruin everything if he reacted properly. A class like that defied ordinary standards. Even exhausted and deprived of numbers, the man could still change the field with one successful casting.

    0 chapter views

    0 Comments

    Note
    0 online