All around them, explosions rocked the ground as the two hooded figures ran towards them, slashing at the rising vine wall that Rosethorn was rapidly growing. Scrambling out from under his dead horse, Briar only hesitated long enough to throw a sachet from his pouch before adding his own magic into the web.
A wall of vines ten feet tall rose from the earth, but the explosions constantly left large gaping holes in the lattice. "Where was that mage! It had to be a mage, a fire mage, that was leaving such damage in the area" he winced as another explosion tore a hole in the plants next to him. The vines were grown to resist destruction but even Briar could feel the pain they were in. Even magically enhanced seeds only had its certain limits. In desperation, Briar threw a red pack and sent the plants in to kill. No matter what the mage was doing, at least that would stop the two swordsmen, unless one of them was the mage.
"No, not one of them" thought Briar seeing that they were not surrounded in the magical aura he could see, "but still too dangerous to ignore".
Viciously sharp needles began sprouting form the ground as his magic took hold. A loud cry of pain rippled through the explosions from one the attackers before his body was torn open by the masses of thorns in a sickening red shower. Soaked with the blood of his companion, the second swordsman retreated as the thorns searched for another target to impale.
Looking up from his defensive position he was Evvy struggling to rise beside her dead horse. Tough as she was, a fall from the saddle had taken her out of the entire battle. Covered with many scratches and an exceptionally large bruise on her right cheek she had obviously been showered by some of the debris even with her horse shielding her. Nearby, a tired looking Rosethorn was limping slightly across to where Evvy struggled.
Two horses dead and one of the pack mules slowly ebbing away. Frustration began eating at him. Two days ago Rosethorn had said, they should have gotten back to Winding circle. Now with their transport crippled outside the border their only chance would be to hire new horses in the city: another day wasted. Too tired and angry to even care what Rosethorn would scream about his language, Briar growled loudly the vilest oath he could muster as he bent towards his own horses corpse to retrieve his mage kit. As he did, a thin blur streaked in the side of this vision before the pain of the foot long shaft coursed through his side. Glancing up from his position, he managed a glimpse of the distant yeoman before darkness enfolded him…