“They have to know I exist first,” he said, snapping his fingers.

The blood caught fire, burning as if it were lamp oil. The heat came sudden and intense. Biggs fought an impulse to drop and roll. Magic fire would not snuff out so easily. As he felt his flesh burn, he lunged, his dagger aiming for the stranger’s chest. Before he could reach, the man fled, still laughing, still mocking. Instead of chasing, Biggs turned and ran for the other entrance.

“Kenny!” he shouted. “Get your ass back…”

It seemed his own shadow tripped him. There was no other way to describe the strange sight and sensation. His head cracked against an anvil on the way down, and the sudden pain disorientated him beyond all measure. His stomach heaved, and he thought he would vomit. When he got to his feet, he bolted, not knowing if it was the right way or not. He didn’t care. He had to move; he had to escape that terrible man who could burn blood with a snap of his fingers.

“Gods, Biggs!” cried Kenny as he plowed right into him. Biggs clutched him to remain standing, and this time he did vomit. The mess splattered across Kenny’s shoes, but to Kenny’s credit, he didn’t bat an eye.

“Kill him,” Biggs said, turning and pointing.

The stranger approached, his dagger still in hand.

“You have but a few left,” he said as the blood upon his blade burned like embers fresh from a hearth. The light danced across his masked face, casting an orange haze over the gray. Biggs stepped back, doing his best to ignore the pain of his burns and the throbbing of his head.

“What, to kill you?” asked Kenny. “All we need is me.”

He lifted his crossbow and fired. The bolt bounced off as if the stranger’s skin were made of stone.

“A spellcaster?” said Kenny. “Damn it, Biggs, what shit did you get us in to?”

The man’s grin spread, but he didn’t laugh. It seemed the time for laughter was over.