“Master Ligish,” Xerxes said, taking a step forward into the Longpoint guard position. “I think you need to come with us to talk to Captain Ishki.”

Master Ligish chuckled, then stepped forward and jumped off the battlement.

Bel gasped.

The battlement, being about fifteen cubits from base to the crenelations, wasn’t exactly a massive cliff. But it was high enough that an ordinary person would never casually leap off of it.

But Master Ligish did. He plummeted down, landing in a thump that caused one of his knees to touch the ground briefly before he stood up straight and tall. No longer was he hunched over, and in fact, his posture made him seem like an entirely different person.

“The hell…” Gandash murmured.

Ligish was wearing sleeping garments consisting of a robe and loose pants. Underneath the robe, he was shirtless, and the fabric having shifted aside during his jump, it was now possible to see muscles that had previously been hidden by his frilly garments. His musculature was so defined as to be chiseled, as if he had been sculpted from granite.

“I admit I made a mistake,” Ligish said. “I should have dug up better information about who the Parliament sent to intrude on my work. I never imagined a Buhhu mage would have been in the group. If I’d known a conjurer was here, I would have taken more thorough measures to make sure my workshop remained safe.”

Xerxes’ heart rate was starting to climb. The implications of Ligish’s words weren’t exactly veiled in complicated wording. He planned to do them harm. Xerxes’ fingers tightened on the hilt of his sword.

“I know the name of every mage on Mannemid,” Gandash said. “And you’re not a mage. Which leaves only one possibility regarding who, or what, you are.”

Ligish reached to the belt that secured his robe. Tugging on the end, he pulled it away and threw his robe off, revealing his spectacularly muscled torso, shoulders, and arms. “First of all, you’re foolish if you think there’s no way for mages to sneak on and off of worlds. Mages from higher starisles come to hellholes like this all the time. Who doesn’t like to do a bit of slumming now and then? Although, you’re right. I’m not a mage.”

I knew it, Xerxes thought. He’s a martial adept.

“In any case, I don’t plan to sit around here chatting,” Ligish continued, “telling you my grand plan. I’m just going to kill you. Then kill the rest of your convoy as they sleep. It’s going to cause a lot of trouble, as I’ll have to dismantle everything and move away. But by the time the Mage Parliament realizes what’s happened, I’ll be long gone.”

Xerxes’ mind was racing. He didn’t know very much about martial adepts, other than the fact that they didn’t live as long as mages, but were faster and stronger. The last two points were the most salient.

Keeping his eyes locked on Ligish, he put his lamp down, stabbed his sword into the earth next to him, and then reached down to his component pouch. Though the sword would give him a huge advantage in an ordinary fight, this wasn’t going to be an ordinary fight. If he was going to end up tangling with a martial adept, he would much rather have his entire hand be an expression of pure power that could burn through flesh and muscle.

Looking at him, Ligish said, “Let me guess, you’re an Asgagu mage.” He shifted his gaze to Bel. “And you’re either Nasaru or Balatu?”

Xerxes pulled a handful of powder out of his pouch.

Ligish looked back at him. “Ah, crabnickel powder. I was right.” He cracked his knuckles. “Really, the only question for me is who to kill first. Even combined, your total strength doesn’t surpass mine. So picking you off one by one will be—”

“Can you please just shut the hell up,” Xerxes said. After the disaster of his last fight, he wasn’t eager to jump into a deadly combat. On the other hand, he really didn’t feel like listening to a speech. Holding the crabnickel powder at the level of his solar plexus, he carefully traced the Asgagu Isten rune. Melam flowed, filling the lines of the rune and causing them to glow brightly before the energy swept throughout his body.

Bright light spilled out in all directions as his hand turned into a glowing expression of power. He clenched it into a fist.

“Right to the point,” Ligish said. “I like that. Fine, I suppose I’ll kill you first.”

He dashed forward, moving much faster than Xerxes knew Seers were capable of.

I need to hit his throat or temple, Xerxes thought, preparing to launch a jab.

However, at the last second, Ligish veered off toward Gandash instead.

Shit, Xerxes thought. Of course Ligish would rather take out Gandash first. If Gandash summoned two Abhorrent, Ligish would have a much greater challenge to deal with.

Xerxes shouted something indistinguishable even to himself as he lurched after Ligish.

There was no catching him. The man bore down on Gandash, who didn’t even have time to react before the martial adept leaped into the air and spun, sending his foot flying toward the mage’s face.

Ligish’s flying kick was something that even Xerxes would have feared. Gandash, who didn’t have the same fighting background, didn’t stand a chance.

The foot hit him in the side of the face, and he crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut.

“Hey,” Xerxes shouted, “why don’t you—”

Ligish spun, jumped forward, and planted his fist right in the pit of Xerxes’ stomach. He grunted as the force threw him off his feet, and he flew backward at least four or five feet before slamming face first into the earth.

Pain and nausea rippled through him, and he groaned. But it wasn’t his first time being knocked down in a fight, so he forced his hands onto the ground next to him and pushed himself up.

As he looked up, he heard a twang as Bel unleashed the arrow she’d nocked.

Ligish caught it out of the air.

Damn, Xerxes thought. It was one thing to catch a thrown knife. Catching an arrow was an entirely different matter. He’d seen people do it, after years of training. But it wasn’t something even Asgagu mages did in combat, as it was too dangerous. The situation had to be carefully controlled, with both ‘performers’ standing in specific positions, a fixed distance between them, and the timing executed perfectly. But Ligish had accomplished it as casually as Xerxes had caught Gem’s knife in the tavern.

Ligish snapped the arrow and tossed it aside.

Ignoring the pain that filled him, Xerxes tried to get to his feet, but failed.

“Sorry, love,” Ligish said to Bel. “It’s the end of the line for you. It pains me to kill such a pretty little girl, but when you tangle with people like me, you can’t expect anything else.”

As he strode toward her, Bel reached to her quiver with trembling fingers and tried to draw another arrow.

Come on, you gotta get up! Xerxes shouted at himself. He forced himself onto his feet. At this point, he had only one option. He had to run as fast as he could toward Ligish. He bent his knees as he prepared to dash forward.

Bel got an arrow halfway out of the quiver before her fingers got the best of her and she dropped it back down.

“Fuck,” she murmured.

“Quite a foul mouth for such dainty lips,” Ligish said. He was now only about three paces from her.

You’re going to have one shot at this, Xerxes said. Quietly taking in a deep breath, he started running toward the martial adept.