The bloodied sand reeked of death. Kael wiped his blade against his torn cloak, his breath ragged. The sorcerer still stood, robes billowing, dark energy curling from his fingers.
Kael lunged. Shadows lashed out, cold as the grave. He twisted, barely avoiding their grasp, and rolled to his feet. His arm ached from a gash, but he charged again.
The sorcerer raised his staff. Kael kicked the corpse of a fallen mercenary into him. It bought him a second—just enough. His sword sliced through the air, severing the sorcerer’s arm. The man screamed, staggering.
Kael didn’t hesitate. He drove his sword into the sorcerer’s chest. The magic flared, then died.
Breathing hard, he stumbled back. Behind him, the cave’s treasure glimmered—ancient gold, cursed tomes. He stared at the staff beside the dead sorcerer. Power crackled in it.
He should destroy it.
Instead, he reached down.
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