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thin, dark, sharp. Elizar was attacking them directly.

Although the mist should have made it difficult for him to aim the spikes accurately, they seemed to know exactly where to go, homing in on Galen and Isabelle's mage energy. They drove into Isabelle's shield in a hundred places, striking at heads, arms, chests. They began to drill their way through.

Isabelle had been able to hold off Elizar's attack in the training hall, but now she was tired. Galen tried to remember what they had said. Her weave was tight; that was how she had held out the spikes. She would need all her concentration to maintain the shield. He couldn't move her now, or the spikes would break through.

Clutching desperately to the tech's wild energy, Galen conjured ball after ball, hurling them against Elizar's shield. His shield had never been terribly strong, but now it showed no sign of weakening.

They needed a plan. They needed another way out.

They needed to break through the wall. Perhaps Elizar's reinforcement of the walls wasn't as strong as it should be. If the weave of his energies wasn't as tight as Isabelle's, perhaps something small could break through, could create a tiny breach that could then be expanded.

Galen grabbed his staff from where he had dropped it, aimed its end at the wall. The spikes drilled up and down his arms, over his body, searching for any weakness.

He conjured a narrow beam, similar to the one he'd used to cut through the Drakh's window, but even smaller in diameter and higher in intensity. The brilliant thread of light shot out at the wall, cut straight through it. He tried expanding the diameter of the beam. He was able to enlarge the hole a tiny bit; then the reinforcement stopped any further progress. He terminated the beam. The hole was perhaps
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