Free The Demon's Blade by Steven Drake

harnessed the starstone.
    A bright flash filled the inn and the two men were knocked upwards and backwards several feet, crashing to the floor well behind the young man. Then the lad ran out the door.
    The ruffians quickly recovered from their shock and got up. "He won't get far," cried the leader. "Jorm and Dagg will have him."
    There must be more outside, Darien thought. He waited for them to make their exit, then quietly disappeared into the shadows of the hallway, making his way toward the back door. He then moved swiftly out the door and through the alleyway, where the boy had appeared just a little while ago.
    Darien looked around, thinking the band of thugs would probably take the youth somewhere out of sight, but instead saw them standing only ten yards or so from the doorway of the inn, in a square with a small fountain. He shook his head. It won’t take long to dispatch these fools, he sighed to himself. The young man was lying face down on the cobblestone street. One of the men held up a torch, which sputtered in the rain, barely managing to stay lit, while another man held a sword to the boy's neck. The rain beat loudly upon the stones. The wind blew hard and cold, and thunder sounded overhead. The four men looked ready to administer a beating, perhaps a fatal one. The shade held his hand out, fingers aimed toward the ground where the man holding the torch stood. For just an instant, the water on the street froze solid and the man slipped, falling backwards and hitting his head hard. The torch he had been holding flew out of his hand, fizzling noisily out as it splashed into one of the many puddles. Darien released the spell and the ice returned to water in another instant.
    The other men spun round, but the shade had already slipped back into the darkness of the night, away from the light spilling out of the inn’s open door. The man holding the sword to the boy’s throat lost all focus, raising his sword as well.
    They don't even know what they're fighting, Darien whispered to himself, with a muted chuckle. They might be drawing their swords to slash at a slippery street, for all they know.
    The men were whirling about, looking around in the dark, so Darien tossed a loose stone up the street. They all turned to the sound of the stone and raised their swords. Darien circled round behind them. No need to waste much more time here, he thought. He ran silently up to the back of the nearest man, reached under his cloak and grabbed him by the shirt at the back of his neck. With his other hand, Darien touched the back of the man's neck, putting him to sleep instantly, and paralyzing him where he stood. The sword he’d been holding fell clattering to the ground. The as yet unknown attacker hid himself behind the paralyzed man’s considerable girth. The leader and his companion were now all that remained.
    "Jorg, what are you doing?" the leader yelled, obviously somewhat perplexed by the odd predicament of his frozen companion. “What’s with that stupid look on yer face? Quit playing around.”
    Suddenly, the other man let out a howl, then turned and ran, screaming something about being bewitched by elf magic. The leader turned to stop him and Darien moved away, shoving the sleeping man to the ground with a thud. That left the leader, who had missed seeing his attacker in the darkness and was now looking down at his fallen comrade with an utterly befuddled expression. The shade circled behind and tapped him on the neck as well. He too fell asleep, slumping to the ground with a quiet thump. The one who had run was already out of sight, but could still be heard screaming, mad with fear.
    “Well that's that, three unconscious not even knowing why, and one running off screaming nonsense, ” Darien said aloud. He walked to the young half-elf, who appeared to be frightened, but unhurt. The boy didn’t move, and showed no signs of even being aware that his attackers had been dispatched.
    "Well, are you going to get