Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a flat roof to a large building, what looked like a shopping mall. If he landed gently, it should hold him. Warin dove for it, slowing his descent as much as possible, all while keeping a weather eye on the beacon. It still bounced around, running in—curse it, the exact opposite direction from him.
Warin landed in a crunch of snow and lost no time in shifting, doing it quickly out of fear for the roof, certainly—always rough when the roof collapsed under you, nasty business—but also because he feared losing the mage. If there was a distress beacon, and she ran with it, then odds were something chased her.
With another crunch, Gunter landed beside him, also shifting quickly. Warin didn’t wait for him. He adjusted the strap of his bag as he ran, changing it to something easier for his human form to carry. Once he reached the edge of the roof, he tossed himself over it, tucking and rolling as he landed on the snowy patch of ground below, coming up smoothly to continue running.
Gunter was right at his heels. Impressive, really, for a man who spent most of his time reading.
They passed no words between them as they sprinted, both keeping a weather eye on the light. It was still going strong, but now heading more their way. She was going any possible direction, so the pursuit must be hot and heavy indeed. And that meant they needed something of a plan.
“Gunter,” Warin panted, feeling the exertion after a long flight in the weight of his limbs, “when we reach her, cover her. I’ll take the enemies.”
“Okay,” he agreed, also sounding a touch winded.
They kept running. And running. Warin felt time tick away, a fickle thing not on their side. Time never was. As long as it was taking to reach her, the odds stacked against the mage’s safety. She must be resourceful to hold off this long. But if she was still running, then that meant—
The light abruptly winked out. Warin cursed soundly, but over the heartbeat in his ears and the rough breathing, he thought he’d heard breaking glass. A distress beacon was cast with a mirror, wasn’t it?
Gunter sped ahead of him, stretching out long legs, and rounded the corner of a brick building without slowing. Trusting he must have heard something, Warin drew on what last bit of speed he could, trying to keep up with him.
As soon as he rounded the same corner, he heard it. The sounds of a fight in progress, with spells being cast back and forth.
“Lokkte gev adi!” a male voice said strongly, but there was a hint of fear in his words.
“Eeoe,” another voice grunted.
The scene in front of his eyes threw Warin back into another time entirely, when dragons and mages still ruled the world. Three men were in open conflict with each other, spells being thrown back and forth like a bad fireworks display, sometimes splashing harmlessly against the snow-covered pavement as they failed to hit their mark. Two of the men wore dark, somber clothes, and there was something odd about the spells they cast. They didn’t come from elements and spoken words, but from a wand-like device.
The third man wore brightly-colored clothes, short blond hair plastered to his temples with sweat, and he was casting strongly from behind a glowing-gold ward he held in front of him. And at his feet, shards of glass, from what used to be a handheld mirror.
Not a she, then. The thought went through Warin’s mind without penetrating, because frankly, gender wasn’t important. A mage was in trouble, that was all that mattered. He dove into the fray with a snarl, feeling his dragon instincts clamor to the fore. His dragon demanded he shift again, throw his enemies into the ground, and turn them into a bloody paste. Warin passed Gunter, who was already coming into a defensive stance in front of the mage.
“Scheiß—” one of the somber-dressed mages said in alarm, already back-peddling.
Warin gave him no quarter, crashing hard into him, throwing a punch into the man’s solar plexus. Fighting in human form might feel odd to him, but it didn’t mean he had no knowledge of how to properly go about it. The man crumpled around Warin’s fist with a gasp of pain.
Twirling, Warin immediately attacked the other before he could try for Warin’s undefended back. He lashed out with a roundhouse kick, throwing the man well back and smashing him into the side of a building.
He spun again, ready to attack the other and put him more permanently down. Warin had no chance to do so before the mage in a black coat fumbled something from a pocket and yelled in German, “Los geht’s!”
In a snap, both of them disappeared.
Warin stood panting, frustrated beyond belief that his enemies had planned an emergency portal, just in case. He growled out a few choice words but didn’t let it bog him down further than that. The one thing war had hammered into his head was that those who stood still, lost. He wouldn’t make that mistake with a precious mage in tow.
But the frustration drained from him when he turned and truly looked at the unexpected mage without worrying about his safety. He was young. Younger than Warin would have initially guessed. He had to be in his early twenties. His pale face was flushed from the exertion and glistened with sweat, but there was more to it. The man’s large blue eyes were captivating with a lovely hint of color highlighting his eyelids. Full lips were parted and damp as if he’d just licked them. What would he taste like if Warin licked them as well?
Blinking at his own stunning train of thought, Warin was even more surprised when his dragon perked up his head to take a closer look at the mage. He couldn’t remember the last time a person had captured his attention in such a way. And his dragon had never cared one way or another. Yet, now his dragon very much agreed that they should lick the mage. He looked very yummy indeed.
No licking!
Clearing his throat, he stalked the few feet separating them. “Mage, you are well?”
“I’m, uh…” The mage’s eyes bounced back and forth between the two of them, his expression wary. “I don’t…” he stammered, and Warin immediately picked up on the American accent. The mage likely didn’t speak German, so he repeated his question in English.
“Shit, I don’t even know. I’m not hurt. You, uh, recognize me as a mage? I guess the glowing ward is a dead giveaway, yeah,” he said with a shaky laugh.
“And we saw your distress beacon from the air,” Gunter added, looking him over carefully. “You look alright to me. But this isn’t the place to discuss it, I think.”
“Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for your help.”
That sounded as if he intended to leave, which was absolutely unacceptable. Where did this mage even come from? It was likely this was the same mage who’d created the seeking spell. What were the odds there was another mage in the area casting spells? Not that good, actually. No, no. This mage wasn’t going anywhere until they had many more answers.
“Mage. Are you of the Valerii?”
The young man blinked up at him as if he couldn’t understand those words. “Sorry? Who?”
“The Valerii. The Ice clan. Do you belong to the Ice clan?” Warin repeated carefully. His English was fine. Was his German accent hard to understand?
“I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
Warin looked over at Gunter, whose eyes had gone wide with surprise. Did he not know about dragons at all? Had he been trying to signal other mages with his distress signal? This was going to be a very interesting conversation if they could keep him from darting off.