By the end of the first week, Caden was back in his longcoat and Hat, able to defend himself competently with a sword and dagger (bowie knife) combination. He was still lousy on the attack, always striking a fraction of a second too late for any given opportunity, but at least Dueril wasn't letting him survive now. The half-blood was all the worst things you'd want to run into in a fight: Fast and agile like a Drow, strong and sturdy like a Dwarf, and experienced in virtually anything he could pick up. He didn't have magic, at least Caden didn't think he had any magic, but he didn't need it either.

The little bastard was just that good. When he stopped using swords, he switched to daggers. When he couldn't use daggers, he took up maces. When maces didn't work, he whipped up an axe or two -- or three, four, or as many as he could juggle. When all else failed, Dueril took to using thrown weapons. That was when Caden resorted to magic.

As Wizards go, Blueraven was something of a plexiglass cannon. Easily cracked, fractured, and generally ruined, but not very easy to break. Almost every spell he knew was geared towards destroying things: Fireballs, magic missiles, lightning bolts, and all the rest. Other Wizards had barriers, wards of preservation and endurance, and even just cryptic Preventative Measures to stave off injury and death. The closest thing Caden had to a barrier spell was being able to pull up a wall of rock.

"There is this one trick I've been wanting to try," Caden said. "Something to do with gravity."

"Do it quick then," the Dwarf told him while drawing another handful of throwing knives. He sent them flying with nothing but the flick of a wrist.

Caden answered by waving a hand at the things.

Five or six sharpened slabs of metal, and Caden responded with a handwave.

...somehow, it made perfect sense that it would work. The knives came to within six inches of Blueraven's hand and then stopped cold and fell to the ground as if bouncing off an immaterial wall. Dueril quirked a brow and Caden grinned. The Drow tried it again and the Wizard responded in kind with the same results. On the third go round, Caden was adding a fluid, circular motion to his wrist and the knives not only stopped, but went off course. By the fifth, the Wizard was down to doing it with just one finger, and on the sixth, he used his whole arm and generated an unseen something that managed to simultaneously flatten and scatter the snow at his feet, generate a small gust of wind and an empty pocket of nothing at its center.

The fifth time around, Blueraven had deflected the last of Dueril's knives. For the sixth, he deflected two spears and battle-axe -- all of which scattered in different directions.

"Dangerous," Dueril noted.

"Unpredictable," Caden agreed as he dropped the barrier. "What should I name it?"

"Dunno," Dueril shrugged.

Then the Drow whipped out a rifle and shot him.

(Or he would have, if Caden had been a fraction of a second slower in throwing up the barrier spell. Sixteen lead pellets sprayed all around him, pelting trees in the orchard and kicking up bits of snow along the ground. An orange exploded somewhere at the far end of the homestead, and one piece of shot actually came within a tenth of an inch of Dueril's foot.)

"Whatever it is," Dueril said, absolutely calm and unphased by the fact that he'd come within a hair's breadth of losing a toe. "I wouldn't rely on it."

Caden answered with one of those jittery little grins that only Wizards can manage. The kind that have I am unhinged and carrying enough dynamite to take out a whole city block written all over it.

"Blueraven's Gravity Gambit," he declared.