When Cale and Riven neared the tree, the woman, the easterner, and Dolgan stepped a few paces out in front of Vraggen. Dolgan's axe was longer than Jak was tall. The easterner said something to Vraggen and the wizard began to cast. Jak knew why. They saw only Cale and Riven. They were looking for Jak.
Jak whispered another prayer to the Trickster, tried to will himself undetectable to Vraggen, and circled around behind them. Closer, he could see that the wizard's outline was shifting and blurred, the result of an illusion that made it difficult to determine where the wizard ended and the spell began. Jak didn't need a spell to know that other magic, without visible effects, probably also protected the wizard.
After Vraggen completed his divination, his gaze swept the area around the elm, though not the air. Dolgan and the woman did likewise, though they had no spell to assist them. They showed no sign that they noticed Jak.
Jak could not contain a fierce smile. He descended a bit and hovered in the area between Azriim and the tree. From there, he had a good view of the entire field of battle.
Cale and Riven stopped ten strides from the Twisted Elm. Cale set the half-sphere on the ground and rested the edge of his blade against it. Riven stared at the easterner. The rain continued to fall. For a few heartbeats, no one spoke. Each side simply evaluated the other.
Cale broke the silence.
"You begin to cast a spell, and I destroy it," he said.
"Where is the halfling, Cale? I instructed you not to trifle with me."
Riven spat and sneered.
Jak couldn't see Cale's face from behind the mask but could imagine his scowl.
"I don't take instructions from you, mage," Cale said. "And the halfling is out of this." He tapped the half-sphere with his blade. "Now, bring forward Ren and you'll have the other half of your sphere."
Vraggen smiled. "The fact that you refer to him by name tells me all I need to know. Toss the rest of the globe to me, then you'll have your ... Ren."
"No," Cale said. "You have a five count." He raised his blade a handswidth above the half-sphere. "One."
"I'll kill him where he stands, Cale. Then you. Do not—"
"Two."
Even in profile, Jak could see Vraggen's narrow face twist in frustration. His hands clenched into fists.
"Very well, Cale."
When he turned his head to call back to Azriim, Jak's breath caught. The mage looked right through him to the half-drow. He showed no sign of having noticed Jak.
"Azriim," he said. "Proceed."
Jak exhaled.
Without hesitation, the half-drow took Ren's left hand, already missing three fingers, and rapidly sliced off the rest, one by one. The careless manner in which the half-drow performed the mutilation, like a butcher with a beef shank, made Jak's stomach churn. Blood poured from the fingers. Ren said nothing, moved nothing. To Jak, the silence was worse than screams.
Azriim stepped on the fingers and ground them into the grass with his boot toe. He looked at Cale with his mismatched eyes and grinned.
Jak turned to see Cale's body go rigid with tension.
Just give him the sphere, Jak silently pleaded. Give it to him.
Cale's plan called for Jak to kill Vraggen after Ren was safe, but Jak feared Vraggen would take the lad apart piece by piece first.
"He is held immobile by my spell, Cale," Vraggen said, "but I assure you, he sees, hears, and feels all that is transpiring. Imagine the agony he felt when his fingers were severed, the pain only compounded by his inability to scream."
"Three," Cale said. He gripped his blade tightly and stared holes into Vraggen.
The mage stuttered in surprise, but managed to recover quickly.
"V-Very well." He called over his shoulder, "Again, Azriim. His hand."
Jak didn't want to watch but found himself transfixed. Dolgan, Serrin, and the woman also seemed enthralled by the war of wills in which Ren's flesh was the battlefield.
The half-drow grabbed Ren by the wrist and extended his arm, as though he meant to chop it off at the elbow. Ren remained exactly as Azriim posed him. His appearance brought tears of sympathy and rage to Jak's eyes. His face was bruised and swollen. He had been badly beaten and the stumps of his fingers pointed accusingly at Jak, seeping blood.
Azriim raised his blade high. His mismatched eyes looked through Jak and asked the question of Vraggen.
Just as the mage was about to nod, just as Azriim's shadowed eyes glowed bright with the thought of doing violence, Cale, as calm as the Dragon Sea doldrums, stated above the rain, "Four." He raised his blade.
Vraggen blinked and froze. In that instant, Jak knew that Cale had won. Jak wondered how far Cale would have let it go.
The mage whirled to face Cale squarely.
Cale's expression was veiled by his mask, but Jak suspected it was tortured. Ren had paid the price for Cale's victory. Jak knew why Cale had donned the mask in the first place.
"Don't you dare do it, Cale," Vraggen commanded, and he signaled Azriim to stand down.
With a disappointed sigh, the half-drow lowered his blade. Jak exhaled—he had not realized that he'd been holding his breath—but softly, so that the sound of his breathing would not give him away.
Cale too lowered his blade, though he set its edge on the sphere. Shadows danced between the crystal and the steel.
"Now that we understand each other, mage, bring me Ren. Now!"
"Bring him," Vraggen said to Azriim, his voice tight.
With surprising strength, the half-drow wrapped his arm around Ren and dragged him forward. Jak scrambled aside, eyeing him as he passed. He could have buried his short sword in the half-drow's neck.
When Azriim brought Ren up near Vraggen, the mage held up a hand adorned with two silver rings.
"That's as far as he goes," Vraggen said, eyeing Cale. "No more negotiations. Give the half-globe to Dolgan or Azriim will slit the guard's throat right now."
For a moment, Cale said nothing. Under the eaves of the Twisted Elm, it seemed as though the world was holding its breath. Rain pattered through the leaves.
"Done," Cale said at last, and Jak knew that Cale was counting on him to do something. Cale kneeled and picked up the half-sphere. "Riven, get Ren."
The assassin started forward, both sabers at the ready.
"The globe, Dolgan" said Vraggen.
The big man, his ring mail chinking and his axe in hand, moved toward Cale.
Riven and Dolgan gave each other a wide berth as they passed, but each eyed the other darkly.
Jak flew closer to Vraggen. The mage's blurry, shifting outline made choosing a vital spot to strike less than exact, but Jak did the best he could. As soon as Riven secured Ren, Jak would make his move.
As Riven strode past the easterner and the woman, he locked eyes with the man and shot him a sneer.
"We'll get our dance yet, dog," Riven said to the easterner. "Never fear."
The little easterner only smirked and ran a thumb along his falchion blade.
Riven reached Ren at the same moment that Dolgan reached Cale.
"Take your hands off him," the assassin said softly to Azriim, "or I'll take your hands off you."
Azriim grinned and unhanded Ren. Riven glared at Vraggen. There was no fear in his one eye.
At that moment, Jak loved Riven.
Dolgan took the half-sphere from Cale in the same instant.
Gracefully, with his eye on the half-drow and Vraggen throughout, Riven sheathed one saber, bent at the waist and scooped the mutilated guard over a shoulder. He staggered under the burden.
"Heavy?" asked Azriim.
"Sod off," Riven hissed.
Glaring at the half-drow, he slowly began backing off. The woman and the easterner slid out wide as he approached.
With only a passing glance at the sphere, Dolgan turned, threw it to Vraggen, and backed a step away from Cale. The mage caught it and spoke a word of power. Instantly, the other half of the globe materialized in his free hand. He placed the two together and held them up to Azriim, who stepped to his side.