The night darkened as the last fires of the explosion died away. The last surviving patch of mountain felt impossibly small, a trap as sure as any cage. It swayed under my feet, causing my stomach to clench, swimming with butterflies.
The skyship drifted closer. Eighty feet, sixty, then thirty. Close enough I could make out the worried expressions of the soldiers, and follow their gazes as they shot around the mountainside.
"He left you, didn't he," Wizlen said, breaking the tense silence.
I tightened my grip on my staff, fighting to keep my composure. The warrior held my gaze until I looked away, biting my lip.
"I see," he said, nodding matter-of-factly. "Then there's no sense worrying about an ambush. How typical of filthblood scum, abandoning their own to preserve their lives."
