the smuggler’s bible


It’s chaos down on the cave floor. The spell halts, perfectly still and glowing beautifully, for one split second and something—some delicate internal piece of the thaumaturgical mechanism—snaps in half.

Then it explodes.

Violet light races through the spectrum until it’s just heat and pressure forcing the air out of Bloodtooth’s lungs.

“Oh god, it’s happening,” he thinks. “Killed by a wizard.” The sword is wrenched out of his hand by a sudden hot gust of wind, and he raises an arm to shield his face against a rain of dirt and stone. “I was so damn careful.”