Royal Institute of Magic: The Shadowseeker (Book 2) Read Online Free

was heading in Ben's direction, but it was impossible to tell if Ben was the intended target or if he was just in the elf's way.
    “Ben!”
    Ben turned so quickly his neck cracked. Charlie lay on the ground in a ferocious wrestling match with one of the pixies. Their hands were locked together and the pixie's sharp teeth were closing in on Charlie's neck. Ben dived onto the pixie, knocking him off Charlie and they landed heavily on the floor. The pixie flew back onto his feet, but Ben was ready, and when the pixie came at him, snarling and snapping, Ben launched a right hook into his jaw. The pixie reeled. A second hook and the pixie went down in a heap.
    “Can we go now?” Charlie asked, getting to his feet, his eyes darting this way and that, looking for the next pixie that might dive bomb him. The gleeful shouts from the pixies were turning into howls of anger as they were taken down by the Institute. Ben picked up one of the spears littered on the floor and turned back to the dark elf. The panther and its rider were now less than ten feet away and closing with every step, despite the spells that came their way. Was it coming for him or just trying to get outside? Ben knew he just had to step aside to find out, but he didn't. He couldn't just let the dark elf escape without doing something. A rational part of him knew that any effort he made to stop it would be futile, but rationality was buried deep beneath a raw, almost suicidal, determination to act.
    He stood firm, spear in hand, ignoring Charlie tugging at his arm, until the dark elf's sword was almost in reach. He tensed himself; he had one chance with the spear, but he had to get the timing exactly right. The dark elf flicked his blade forwards with inhuman speed and, before Ben could blink, he saw the hilt of the sword flying towards his temple.
    A streak of silver lightning hammered into the dark elf's chest, followed by a glowing black cannon ball that struck the panther directly on the head, producing a sickening crunch. The dark elf flew back and crashed against the wall in a crumpled heap. The remaining pixies vanished with a pop. There was a stunned silence, broken only by heavy breathing and several groans of pain. Ben turned to the source of the spells.
    Two men had entered the room side by side, both holding spellshooters. They stood out as the only ones walking, while the rest stood and stared. One was short and stout, with heavy eyebrows, a scruffy beard and a scar that ran along his chin. The other wore a Jedi-styled, blue, hooded cloak, and in his spare hand was a Starbucks that he sipped as he walked. He had bright eyes, wavy hair and lips that seemed creased in a permanent little smile. Both had five diamonds floating above their shoulders – the short one's were red; the cloaked one's, yellow.
    Ben's emotions couldn't have contrasted greater as he looked at the two men. Draven, the stocky one, seemed to have a personal vendetta against his family and had been responsible for labelling his parents as traitors to the Institute. Alex, on the other hand, was a close friend of his parents and was one of the few Institute directors to stand up for them.
    “Nice shot, Draven,” Alex said, taking another sip of his Starbucks.
    “Nice?” Draven scoffed. “I just took out a deema in one shot. Do you know how tough they are?”
    Alex gave a gentle roll of his eyes. “Let's not get cocky. The deema is but a distant relative of the forreck.”
    “Anything related to the forreck is deadly,” Draven grunted. They had made it to the deema and Draven gave it a kick in the head and chest. The animal didn't move.
    “What spell grade did you use?”
    “Five,” Draven said, still looking at the beast. “You?”
    “Five as well, just to be sure. That spell cost me a week's wages.”
    They moved to the dark elf. This time Alex bent down to inspect, lifting the elf's head with rather more delicacy than Draven had done to the deema. When he got back up, Ben