The night breeze swirled about me and I caught a weak hint of jasmine, followed by the exact same layered scent I’d smelled in Gloria’s office. I notched an arrow and spun, scanning the ruins.

“What is it?”

“We’re about to get jumped.”

“By whom?”

“Venomous people with snake fangs in their heads.”

The ruins lay deserted, no movement. A least half a mile separated us from the street and another mile or two of the bridge remained.

Roman pulled the bird staff out of its leather holder. “Where are they coming from?”

“I don’t know.”

“How many?”

“I don’t know.”

Behind us, something clanked against the wood. I whirled. A woman climbed over the edge and rolled onto the bridge coming to a crouch, holding a tactical combat blade. A man pulled himself up behind her.

No physical strain. No fighting, no running…Well, I was screwed.

A dry pop, like glass cracking, punched my eardrums. A cloud of black smoke exploded on the other side of the bridge, cutting us off.

“Teleportation, huh. Okay. I got this,” Roman muttered and dug in the pouches on his belt.

The woman hissed at me, baring fangs.

Okay. Enough of that.

I fired. The bowstring twanged and the arrow sprouted from the woman’s left eye.

The man charged at me.

Arrow, sight, draw, fire, all in the space of a second.

The second shaft sliced through the man’s throat, ripping a satisfying scream. He faltered, stumbled, and pitched over the side.

The black smoke coalesced into a bald man. He wore a strange pleated robe of brick-red fabric and an odd-looking apron. He held a short staff in his hand. Several small clay spheres hung from the staff, suspended by a string like a bunch of grapes. Another wizard. Great.

Roman yanked a pouch off his belt and hurled reddish powder into the air. The tiny dust granules hung, unmoving, shook, turning black, and sprouted wings. A swarm of black flies streamed toward the man.

More people scrambled onto the bridge.

Arrow—fire. Arrow—fire.

Two fell but they kept coming.

Fire, fire, fire.

The man howled a single word. Magic slapped me, nearly ripping the bow from my fingers. The flies rained down in a cloud of ash.

The man waved his staff around, tore a small pot off of it, and hurled it at the ground. The bridge shivered and white scorpions skittered over the boards, heading for us.

I sent another man flying off the bridge with my arrow in his chest. Two more crawled up to take his place. Were they cloning these guys under the bridge?

“It’s like that, then? Okay.” Roman barked out something vicious and drew a line with his staff, and spat. The scorpions reached the line and melted into boiling goo.