Laira hesitated behind the charging Undead. She wasn't used to this at all. Why were priests who weren't also paladins charging in behind the holy knights?
They were clearly pure spellcasting clerics. And why were holy knights standing with the priests... No, why were there holy knights who practiced nothing but divine magic?
Laira struggled to understand the Terrasil Elves' thinking. What was the point of a pure healer in armor?
And why were the mages and sorcerers standing in the back rows? Especially those sorcerers known for their stamina and defenses... They were throwing fireballs from that far away?
Shouldn't they cast protective spells on themselves and stand in front of the less resilient priests?
Was this what that woman called Sanda King had taught Edna about controlling distance and sightlines? When you didn't know how strong your opponent was, the trick was to make sure you couldn't be hit?
Laira didn't really understand.
But she was sure of one thing: even if that oddly named clan leader had exaggerated, the Soul Siphon spell really wasn't doing much.
The unbroken downpour of Holy Rain was working beautifully. The black sphere of light that had appeared atop the tower wasn't growing; it was shrinking, nearly to nothing.
Laira clapped her hands to steady herself. Silver Fire burned softly around them, and Magic Missiles strengthened by it shot straight toward a corner of the Mage Tower's top floor. Luskan had long been a thorn in the Silver Moon Alliance's side. Though no one wanted to strike first, every faction had prepared for the possibility of becoming its enemy.
They had pored over every scrap of intelligence.
What held them back was the scavenger certain to swoop in behind them—and the dragons on the Spine of the World.
Anyone who occupied Luskan