For a big man, Argent moves like a fragging sprinter when he wants to, and I have a frag of a time keeping up with him. As we race through the compound, it looks like the fighting’s starting to die down. Then I’m proved wrong as a magical fireball bursts among a knot of my troops on the other side of the compound. They go down like tenpins—stunned and wounded, but not toasted like the enemy mage obviously wanted. The few combat mages we’ve got among our force apparently are earning their keep by effectively providing the rest of us with spell defense. I can’t stick around to see how the exchange turns out; Argent is darting back out through the blasted gate, vaulting over the twisted bodies lying in the opening.