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since I think it might be time to bring a few of our ogre friends along

—or maybe some dwarves. But we’ll save that fun for later. For the

moment, I’m going to need everyone that’s still conscious to raise your

hands above your head—except you, Sophie. Given your condition, I’ll

settle for just your good arm.”

She had to let go of her injured hand to obey, and the pain left her

doubled over.

“Very good,” Gethen said, narrowing his eyes at Sandor before he

turned back to Wylie. “Now I want you to unravel your shield on the

count of three—and if you so much as think about reaching for one of

your little trinkets, Dex, I’ll have Umber send her shadows somewhere

I suspect you’ll find very unpleasant.”

“Just do what he says,” Wylie ordered when Dex didn’t agree. “I

know what I’m doing, okay?”

“Everybody ready?” Gethen asked.

He waited until Dex nodded, then counted to three, and Wylie

snapped his fingers, making their green shield dissolve into the sand.

“Now, walk slowly over to me,” Gethen ordered. “And everyone

else, keep those hands where I can see them.”

Sobs shook Sophie’s body, and she forced her eyes to stay focused—

forced herself to watch as Wylie handed himself over to the enemy to

save her.

But when he was only halfway to Gethen, he threw out his hands

and shouted, “GET DOWN!” as a beam of rainbow-streaked light

swirled from his fingers.

“Fool,” Umber snarled, waving her arms and creating a long spear

of black woven from threads of both kinds of shadows—those she

gathered, and that strange darkness that poured from her hands.

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