Faith United

[Breaker]

The deserters recoiled away from my charge like same-poled lodestones repelled by a larger, stronger magnet. I gritted my teeth in a gruesome smile as I caught the slowest of them by the back of his cloak. For a moment his feet churned the sand in place, and he let out a panicked yell. Then I snapped his spine so forcefully blood spattered from his nose.

The remaining six backed away, weapons upraised, mana crackling. They formed a loose semi-circle around me, ignoring McKinely. The woman still lay on the beach curled in a ball, watching from the corner of her eye as she relived the horror of nearly drowning.

“Take him together lads!” Roared the ringleader. “Whoever lands the killing blow gets to keep the boots!” He leaped forward and swung his axe, while two swordsmen stabbed as one. The weapons converged on me like a three pronged pincer, all sharp and expertly wielded.

I slithered sideways, my boots leaving a single long line in the sand, and caught the first swordsman's wrist. His weapon countered his compatriot's with a loud clang, and the axe missed so cleanly that the wielder nearly lost his balance. I broke the first swordsman's arm in two places with a single decisive twist and then hit him with an uppercut that snapped his head back in a spray of teeth and crimson saliva. He dropped to the ground as if weighted by an anchor.

A fireball struck me in the back. I hadn't felt it coming – without my connection to the Tap, I could not even detect the use of magic. But I felt it burn through my shirt and scald my shoulders, skin bubbling and breaking beneath the heat. I roared and turned toward the caster but had to duck under a barrage of icicles launched by the deserter with the sparkling aura.

“Something's wrong with him,” the fire mage shouted, “use your magic boys. He can't stop our spells!”

I winced. I had never been able to stop their spells in training either, but a little confidence and swagger had gone a long way. Coupled with my knowledge of the arcane arts and ability to teach others, no one had ever challenged my power.

Ice cascaded at me from one side while fire stormed from the other. A set of shackles formed out of the stones beneath my boots and snapped at my ankles, and an unnatural gust of wind buffeted my head.

I rolled with the wind and leaped at the ringleader. The shackles missed my ankles and the fire and ice collided in a whirling maelstrom of mana. The zealot dove and rolled away from me, and then magic struck me from all sides. The remaining deserters had combined their powers to form a single giant hand of air that gripped my arms and spread them wide, freezing me in place. The ringleader straightened up, a smirk on his face, and sauntered toward me. I struggled against my invisible bonds but could not free myself.

“Sorry about this, my lord,” the mercenary mocked, “but you did say your broken body.” He nodded to his cohorts, and another invisible hand of air gripped my ankles. While Kinley and the zealots watched, the invisible shackles began to fold me in half backwards.