“I say you talk too much.” “So be it,” said Bosch, and another inferno burst forth from his open hands, engulfing Holgren in a maelstrom of flame. I could barely make out his form, a dark, wavering blur at the heart of a torrent of fire. I saw his smudged silhouette crumple. I saw Bosch grin, beads of sweat rolling down his face, dripping from his nose and unshaven chin. The men with him stood watching, most with mouths agape. A mage’s duel isn’t something you see every day. Finally, the river of fire sputtered, slowed to a trickle, failed. It was eerily silent. Holgren was down on one knee.
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