A brilliant orb of magical energy flew through the narrow streets, casting the colors of Fallien’s arid sands upon the elegant elven doorways, into sleeping bedrooms and upon the confines of the alleys below. The light reflected off the snowflakes as they drifted downwards, amplifying the illuminating effect. Just ahead, the two interlopers ran down the snowy street. A shrill whistle cut through the frosted air and, from just a few moments behind, a shout from the guard.

Kryos cursed the unpredictable power of wizards. They had been unable to escape from the magical construct that relayed their every turn to their pursuers. While they had a considerable head start, the Dwiilar knew that the longer the chase wore on, the smaller the odds that they would escape became.

The increasing frequency of lighted entryways that rushed by in their desperate flight reinforced his growing dread. The sounds of tired barkeeps and drunk patrons had replaced the quiet calm of darkened, vacant homes. The signature sweet scent of honey-apple mead, fresh from the cargo ships of Scara Brae, mixed with the strong rancor of vomit. Kryos could hear fragments of conversation as they rushed past closed tavern shutters. Above, another shrill call from the wizard’s spell.

“Any ideas?” Kryos called, glancing over his shoulder.

“Keep going,” the Archivist huffed between breaths. The burden of the Forgotten One’s tome chained upon the Archivist’s back had begun to take its toll. The rattling of the metal links that bound the two together seemed to mock them. Kryos eyes narrowed in frustration.

“We could just kill them,” he suggested as he skirted around a large cart loaded with empty barrels and boxes. “Before the entire city wakes up to that thing.”

As if on cue they rounded the corner and were met by another patrol of guards. The five men reached for their weapons at the sight of the two men bearing down on them. Kryos leapt and smashed his elbow into the first man’s face between the eyes, his momentum enough to carry him past and flip the now-unconscious guard off his feet. His body crashing to the stone path echoed off the walls and droned out the rasp of blades escaping their sheaths and surprised cries of the others.

Kryos landed in a crouch in the center of the remaining four, dark cloak billowing in the softly falling snow around him. Eyes glowing with power, he dodged the swing of the rear guard’s sword and rushed past his defenses, closed fist punching upwards just below the man’s sternum. He felt the air rush from his opponent’s lungs. His free hand shot out and wrapped around the back of the man’s neck. He shifted his weight and pulled, sending the gasping guard into the paths of two spears that had been rushing toward Kryos’ exposed back. One of the weapons managed to evade the guard. The other tore through the man’s side, just above his hip.

A quiet, strangled cry escaped the from the impaled guard’s lips as agony enveloped him. He crumpled to the ground, hands clutching the spear while his lungs still struggled to open once again.

Kryos spun, avoiding the lung of the other spearman. With one hand he caught the weapon’s shaft, and with the other he reached out, obsidian spirals of magic erupting along his arm. His caught the elf’s face in his strong grasp and sent the power of his soul crashing against the essence of his unsuspecting foe with the force of a rockslide. The man collapsed.

The annoying shrill of the magic ball of light above them rang out once more. Kryos clenched his fist. How he would love to kill that wizard. Cor stepped over the crumpled bodies, having taken care of the other two guards.

“The wounded should slow them down,” the dark vassal said, warm blood dripping from the chains he had coiled around his hands into the scattered snow at their feet. His eyes, alight with exhilaration, darted from the path behind them to the floating sphere of tan light above. “We need to get off the streets.”

Kryos nodded, taking off at a quick jog. Naturally, the magical orb followed, drawn to them like waves to the moon. He tried to ignore the persistent spell and focus on finding alternatives. To escape inside now would be futile. Yet they remained exposed while on the streets. They needed cover and a way to avoid capture all rolled into one. A warehouse might work, depending on the contents, but it would still be a gamble.

Eyes still glowing silver, Kryos monitored the nearby souls to prevent being ambushed. The original three guards to give chase had reached their incapacitated comrades and, just as Cor had predicted, had stopped. Only then did he notice that Cor’s soul had stopped moving as well. He turned.

The Archivist had entered an alley barely wide enough for the two of them standing abreast, peering into the shadows.

“Cor?” Kryos called, his shout waking the two inhabitants of the shop next to him.

A raised hand beckoned him.

“What did you find,” he asked as he approached.

Cor turned, a smile across his face.

Behind him, carved into the wall between the two buildings stood a dark entryway with a simple gate devoid of a lock. Stairs lead down a darkened passage, down into the labyrinth that lay beneath the city.

“Get inside,” Cor muttered, dark green energy appearing around his hands. Kryos slipped passed him, passed the gate, and down the first few steps of the now illuminated passage. Their enchanted tail still followed. Cor shut the gate behind him and crouched, planting his hand on the cold, snow-blanketed steps. Kryos felt the air become charged with magic, whether Cor’s or Xem’Zund’s, he couldn’t tell. Then, with a sudden groaning, the top steps of the passage raced upwards, sealing them in.