Dissolution

Force crackled around the outcast Mizzrym but failed to bite into his flesh. His own magic, launched from the same round little mirror he used to check his appearance, made the air surrounding Gelroos tinkle like chiming crystals. The junior wizard screamed, and in the blink of an eye he was transformed into an inert figure made of cool, smooth glass.

Metal rang below Pharaun's feet. He looked down. Ryld appeared as if he might be having a difficult time of it, but a conjured barrage of ice, flung into the midst of the surviving students, turned the tide. Ryld cut down his fellow Master of Melee-Magthere, whirled to do the same to a young spearman, and the fight was over. Pharaun surveyed the battlefield. Though burned and incapacitated, some of the warriors-in-training were still alive, but that was all right. The important thing had always been to murder his fellow instructors. That was what would impress the rogues. He floated back down to earth. «That wasn't too difficult. Looking back, it's a pity we didn't slaughter Greya

Ryld grunted, pulled up the hem of a fallen fighter's cloak, and wiped the blood from Splitter. «Can you shatter Gelroos before we decamp?» Pharaun asked. «Otherwise, he'll eventually revert to flesh and blood.» «If you like.» Ryld hefted his blade.