Draconic SteelEven the archmage didn’t see him until he had already appeared, so potent was their rival’s magic. When the fell mage stepped out from within a solid stone wall, Precidil could feel the magic flare up from behind her, Lionel’s surprise as evident to her as daylight.
“What on earth…” he breathed. To his credit, he composed himself in an instant. "Precidil… stand away.”
The archmage’s expression hardened; with a sweep of his arm, he cast his cloak aside and strode forwards, brushing past the Heiress Draconiae and taking a traditional battlemage’s stance.
“You’ll go no further, worms,” the rival mage hissed. “Malketiem’s horse is saddled and his feet are swift. Fight me if you dare – he’ll be gone long before you’ve a chance to even see his cloak in the wind.”
The dark mage’s body lit with a hundred runes, all a pale, sickly shade of red. Corrupted crimson magic billowed