Godrid rested against the trunk of a large elm tree and watched as Histevul sat cross-legged with his eyes closed in silent concentration. The pale Bloodsold had been at this for more than a full day already, all through the night, and had barely broken a sweat; it was impressive. Granted, Godrid had been using his own pact-magic to help him maintain his, but nevertheless the mental fortitude it must have required was nothing to balk at.
Their plan had worked, though Godrid was mostly acting as support on this one. It was an insidious trap; all the Empire mage had done was step into the shadow of a tree, same as any thousands along the road, and it was sprung in an instant, pulled into the world of darkness, leaving no chance even for reflex to save her.