Brenna shouted for him to put it out, and Ciaran reached out with his magic the way he’d done it thousands of times before, lighting candles and lamps in the camp. The flames curled up and died.
And then the boats hit the shore.
The first few seconds of a battle were pure luck. Training had nothing to do with success in the press of bodies, the clash of swords, because a man was as likely to hit a comrade as an enemy.
Ciaran had to survive, because he had to ask Brenna if she knew about the enemy magic.
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