Arran waited for their pursuer in the ruins of the city wall, hidden amid large pieces of stone debris. While the ruined wall had mostly collapsed, its wretched state created numerous places to hide, and Arran had chosen one where even the most observant eyes would find it hard to spot him.
As he waited, he thought about what could still go wrong with his plan.
The biggest risk was that the Master already knew what lay inside Uvar, and would refuse to go inside. That would not bring any immediate danger — Arran and the two novices were safely inside, after all — but it would allow the Master to wait for reinforcements.
And although if Arran was confident that a Master could not easily withstand the city's pressure, if any Grandmasters and Archmages arrived, it would be another matter.
Still, he did not think this outcome likely. The Eidaran Empire was far from the border, and strange though Uvar was, it was just one of many unusual locations in a region too large for any single person to know entirely.
Moreover, the Eidaran Empire had fallen only decades ago. That was longer than Arran had lived, but for powerful mages who were born centuries ago, it was little more than a blip in time, barely even worth mentioning.
This was something he had gleaned from Snowcloud's maps.
The maps she brought were among the best the Sixth Valley had, but throughout their travels, Snowcloud and Arran had found them shockingly out of date. They featured towns that had crumbled into ruin centuries earlier, roads of which not a trace remained, and even several kingdoms that had long since faded into memory.
Arran's thoughts were interrupted when he spotted two small figures in the distance. At once, he let out a silent curse. He had expected a single Master, perhaps accompanied by several adepts. But two people had now appeared, and he very much doubted either of them would be an adept — there was no reason a Master would let himself be slowed down by a single adept, after all.
The two figures approached rapidly, and although they looked around as they walked, there was more confidence than caution in their movements. But then, they had little reason to be cautious — there were precious few enemies that posed a threat to a single Master, much less two of them.
The sight disheartened Arran, but he did not allow it to shake his calm. Against a more serious threat than they had expected, remaining calm was all the more important.
It only took a few minutes before the two figures reached the Lifesense amulet had tossed on the ground, and one of them picked it up. By now, Arran could see that they were a man and a woman, both middle-aged, and clearly comfortable around each other.
His original plan had been to feign an ambush, but now, he reconsidered. Even if he could lure one of the two into the ruins, doing so would immediately alert the other to the danger. And against a forewarned Master, Arran had little confidence in their chances.
Instead, he looked on silently and unmoving, bow at the ready if the situation changed.
The two middle-aged mages talked as he watched, and although he could not hear their words, it seemed like they were arguing — the man repeatedly pointed toward the city's ruins, and each time, the woman shook her head in response.
Then, to Arran's surprise and delight, the man began to walk toward the city walls.
"We don't know what's in there!" he heard the woman shout, anger and frustration in her voice as she followed several paces behind the man.
But her protests had little effect. The man continued onward to the barrier, and he crossed it just a moment later. The effect was immediate — the man froze mid-stride, as if struck by lightning. Then, he collapsed to the ground, his body shaking as the city's pressure bore down on his Sense.
The woman's face instantly filled with shock. "Serik!" she cried out in a desperate voice, then rushed forward.
For a brief moment, Arran thought she would cross the barrier, falling to his trap without him even having to intervene. Yet instead of rushing to her doom, she came to a half a pace away from the barrier. Then, without hesitation, she began moving her arms.
Arran could not Sense what she was doing, but her movements made it clear that she was testing the barrier, searching for a way to pass it safely. While he did not know whether this was even possible, the sight caused him some concern. If she managed to resist the city's pressure—
Before he could finish the thought, a horse-sized boulder tore itself from the ground two dozen paces behind the woman, then soared toward her at a staggering speed.
Rockblaze had acted.
Sensing the threat, the woman instantly turned around and raised her left arm, then made a fist. The boulder that had looked unstoppable only a fraction of a second ago instantly came to a halt, then harmlessly crumbled into dust.
But that wasn't the end of it. The woman made a small gesture with her right hand, and an instant later, the entire treeline exploded. For at least half a mile, it seemed as if every single tree had chosen to erupt in a devastating blast.
It was a sight that would normally have shocked Arran, but at this moment, he had no time to worry about it. The woman's back was turned to him, and with the barrier right behind her, she would have no way to Sense him.
Without even a second's hesitation, he nocked, drew, and loosed an arrow at the woman's unprotected back. Even before it struck, he had another two in the air.
The first arrow took the woman in the center of her back, the force of Arran's shot driving it in all the way up to the fletching. The second hit only a fraction of a second later, striking barely a hand away from the first.
Despite the devastating injuries, the woman spun around once more, and the third arrow shattered against an invisible shield just inches from her body.
Yet as the woman turned, Arran saw two arrowheads sticking from her chest, with blood gushing from her wounds. The arrows had torn through her lungs and heart, and had she been a less powerful mage, she would have already died.
But far from dying, the woman didn't even show signs of collapsing. What should have been mortal wounds appeared to only be injuries to her, albeit grave ones. And as Arran looked at her, he saw the flow of blood from her chest lessening.
He rushed forward without hesitating, drawing his sword as he ran. There was no time to ponder his attack — he understood that his foe was at her weakest right now, and if she recovered, there would be no way to defeat her.
As he ran, the woman launched an attack at him — something that looked like a black fireball — but when it was stopped when it hit the barrier, although this time, a ripple ran through the air from where it impacted.
Then, Arran raised his sword — not at the woman, but at her unconscious companion. He did not know how much a fallen Master's life force would help him, but for the fight ahead, he needed every advantage he could get.
"No!" The woman shouted loudly when she saw Arran's target, her voice filled with terror. But from behind the barrier, there was nothing she could do in the brief moment before Arran's sword came down on her companion's neck.
As the Master died, Arran felt a surge of power — stronger than any he had felt before, though not nearly as strong as he had hoped. But there was nothing for it. This would have to do.
He turned to face the woman… and was stunned to see her crossing the barrier, her expression one of utter despair as she looked at her companion's body.
She fell to the ground the moment she crossed, but to Arran's shock, she did not fall into a stupor. Instead, she began to crawl toward the dead man at Arran's side, a trail of blood in her wake as she crossed the grass.
The sight caused Arran to step back in shock, but the woman ignored him as she approached the body. When she reached it, she took the head and cradled it in her arms.
For several seconds, Arran looked at the woman as she held her companion's head, sobbing quietly. Finally, she slowly raised her eyes and faced Arran.
"Do it."
She said the words softly, and as she spoke, there was a wretched look in her eyes that conveyed unbearable grief and sorrow.
Arran nodded slowly. Then, he brought his sword down on the woman's neck.