He stopped, his eyes turning stone-cold. "What a coincidence indeed."
He reached behind him and unstrapped the massive sword from his back. He didn't set it down; he simply let it go. The weapon hit the earth with a deafening thud, the sheer weight creating a shock wave that sent a ring of dust rippling outward. Taz stretched his spine with a wince and a sigh of relief, as if the sword had been a physical burden he was glad to be rid of.
Taz pulled a long strip of white cloth from his pocket and began wrapping it tightly around his fist. From the material and look, I was certain the fabric wasn't ordinary; from the distance I stood, I could see it was inscribed with ancient, glowing text—runes from a language that seemed older than the world we currently existed in. As both his hands were encased in the soft white light, he looked less like a mage and more like a street brawler about to enter a back-alley scrap.
