"Right," said James. "Nobody's going up that side."
"I can kill that," said Cillian.
"How many of the two have you got left?"
"...Two."
"Then no, you can't, because they'll put another one up." James pulled his last skeleton back out of the lane rather than watching it burn, which cost him eleven seconds and two metres of dignity. "I'm not feeding them. Every one I put in that lane is eighty mana into a thing that doesn't even move."
"So we go at them," said Finn. He was already looking down the hall. "Now, before there's six of those. Straight up the middle, I'll take the nearest one, and—"
"And they're forty metres apart," said Ronan.
Finn stopped.
"You go up the middle, you're in front of four of them at once," Ronan went on. He was still breathing badly and it made him talk in short pieces. "Two on your left. One right. One at the steps that throws lightning. And everything behind you is Maeve and Cillian in the open."
"Then what?"
"Outer edge," said Maeve.
