02/26/2025 Snippet, JUDITH STORMCROW AND THE FLIM-FLAM MAN.

Ambush!

…

The thing about magical ambushes is, they’re barely ambushes to start with. Spellcasting wasn’t subtle, and spellcasters weren’t modest. A mage goes up against a regular person, the mage probably wins. All they need is that chance to get that first spell off, and then it’s all over except the screaming and the burning flesh. Why waste time on doing a good job, if doing even a bad one will do?

There were flaws with that theory, but Judith never saw the point in talking about them. Training for them, yes. Talking, no.

So, when the first set of arcane bolts came howling out of one side of the overgrown road the Fancy Britches were traveling down, the guards on that side rushed the brush immediately. Arcane bolts were short-range, and mages couldn’t recast them right away. All you had to do was follow the path of shriveling and blackened vegetation back to its source, and see how the mages would handle that.

Judith didn’t waste time paying attention to that side; instead she looked to the other, one hand reaching for the protective charm she wore around her neck. It was almost too hot to touch, which wasn’t welcome news but at least it meant that it had worked to deflect away whatever arcane bolt had been thrown at her. When you weren’t a mage yourself, you never knew if you had a good charm until somebody threw a spell at you.