decided to act.
He stepped out into the street and placed himself between the man and the group of youngsters. “There has been no contract violation,” he said levelly, meeting their crazed eyes, blue and green and brown, with his own. “The man has fulfilled what was asked.” Behind him, he heard the fighter take to his heels once the attention of the children had switched from himself to Lyran. Lyran sighed with relief; that was one death, at least, that he would not have to Balance. “This one has no quarrel with you,” he continued. “Why seek you this one?”
The children stared at him, a kind of insane affrontery in their faces, as if they could not believe that he would defy them. Lyran stood easily, blade held loosely in both hands, waiting for their response.
The blond, nearest and tallest, raised his hands; a dagger of light darted from his outstretched palms and headed straight for Lyran’s throat—
But this was something a Mage Guild fighter was trained to defend against; fire daggers could not survive the touch of cold steel—
Lyran’s blade licked out, and intercepted the dagger before it reached its target. It vanished when the steel touched it.
The child snarled, his mouth twisted into a grimace of rage ill-suited to the young face. Another dagger flew from his hands, and another; his companions sent darts of light of their own. Within moments Lyran was moving as he’d never moved in his life, dancing along the street, his swordblade blurring as he deflected dagger after dagger.
And still the fire-daggers kept coming, faster and faster—yet—
The air was growing chill, the sunlight thinning, and the faces of the children losing what little color they had possessed. Lyran realized then that they were draining themselves and everything about them for the energy to create the daggers. Even as the realization occurred to him, one of them made a choking sound and collapsed to the pavement, to lie there white and still.