Michael Stackpole - Of Limited Loyalty

Prince Vlad immediately cautioned himself. You are a fool to think you can stand against him. That’s not the game. Unlike going to war-in which the Prince had always had an academic interest but no desire for glory-a magick duel appealed to him. The victor would be intelligent and have a very strong will-precisely things upon which he prided himself. Were he just fighting Rufus, he had little doubt he’d win. But it’s not Rufus I’m fighting, not yet.

Vlad made the tiniest gesture with a finger. The way energy flowed through the pseudopods formed a simple cycle, looping back on itself. Vlad cast a simple spell which, at first, joined with the pseudopod and flowed with it. Then, on the third revolution it fragmented, ripping through the cycling energy. A pseudopod vanished.

The disk dipped and that attracted Rufus’ attention. With little more than the half-closing of his eyes, Rufus reestablished the foot, and reinforced all four. Instead of flowing fluidly, now they developed a scaled shell, looking very much like Mugwump’s flesh.

Rufus momentarily inclined his head toward Vlad. “So, you have learned from the Shedashee, and from another tradition. Young magicks, unforgivably young. And you, so inexperienced.”

Vlad looked up, as if his enemy was an annoyance. “You presume much, and have me at a disadvantage. You are not Rufus Branch, not entirely.”

“You wish me to talk, to prolong your agony as your men die?” Rufus shook his head. “You could not pronounce my name. The very contemplation of it would damage you. Were I to force this one I wear to say it, his brain would bleed and his mind would shatter.”

Vlad shrugged. “Names have power in magick, so I understand your fear.”

Rufus threw back his head and laughed, but the laughter died as Vlad cut all four feet from beneath the disk. The right edge hit first, and Rufus staggered through the snow for a couple steps. He didn’t touch his staff to the ground to keep himself upright, but energy did stab down from the orb and accomplished the same goal.

Rufus drew himself up, then planted the staff in the ground. “You are bold. Foolish, but bold. Unlike the one I ride, I am not afraid of you. The Shedashee, they once had a name for me: The Sun’s Whisper. Think of that as a key, if you wish. See what it gains you.”

The Sun’s Whisper. The name made no sense to him, but Vlad came up with a multitude of ideas that fit. That first ray of sunlight at dawn, or the last at dusk. The beams of sunlight lancing through the green forest canopy, or a dust mote dancing in the light. None of these appealed to him as being the wholly correct idea, but they were pieces of it.

Rufus gestured. A scintillating blue ball arced in and around at Vlad. He raised a red shield on his left forearm and wove the sunbeam image into it. His arm came up and the ball hit heavily, knocking to the right. But it skipped off and splashed against the ground, draining into the earth.

Not my best idea to use my broken arm to block him.

Another ball arced in. Vlad reshaped the shield, flattening it, then stretching it and rolling it into a cylinder. He widened it at one end, then curved it down. The Norghaest spell rattled down into the cylinder at the top and shot out the lower end, heading back toward Rufus.

The Norghaest twisted his right shoulder out of the way, letting the ball sail past. It struck a pine twenty yards beyond him. In an eyeblink it ignited the tree into a torch.

Vlad stared, having only a moment to wonder what would have been his fate had the spell struck. Flames shot to the sky, the tree a living pyre, and a cold chill ran down Vlad’s spine.

Rufus’ hands and fingers contorted their way through a more complicated gesture. Energy gathered and crackled. A third blue ball shot toward Prince Vlad.

The tube won’t work again. Neither will the shield. Vlad called to mind the glacises used to deflect cannon balls from a fort, and conjured one of them.

Then Rufus’ spell split and split again and again. The eight smaller balls swerved sharply toward the north. The last two skipped off Vlad’s defenses, but the other six, each now the size of a musket ball, struck Vlad from ankle to shoulder and down to wrist on his right side, spinning him into the snow.

Each strike thrust pain into him without rending cloth or ripping flesh. It was as if he’d had burning thorns driven through his ankle, knee, and hip. His right shoulder, elbow, and wrist refused conscious commands, becoming leaden and useless. He couldn’t even stop himself from rolling in the snow. The fire in his limbs matched the burning where snow coated his face and embarrassment flushed his cheeks. His hat flew off, the feather burning. Agony jolted through him as he struggled to get back on his feet.

Rufus drifted forward, the disk renewed, and peered down at him. “Were you given four of your lifetimes to study, you might prove a worthy amusement, Vladimir. Your grasp of theory was good. You used my name to fashion counterspells. But you did not understand my name, so they could not work.”

Vlad slumped back, spirits sinking even as gunfire continued in the forests. “What Rufus does not know is that I am the least powerful of the Mages who have claim to Mystria. Defeating me will mean nothing.”

“But it means everything to me.” Rufus held out a hand, then closed his fist. Something tugged at Vlad’s throat, then snapped. The gold chain and locket snaked from beneath his uniform and floated to the Norghaest. His hand opened again and it came to rest in his palm.

He chuckled. “Names may grant power, but this is much more powerful. I can connect through this back to your wife. Ah, and she is with child. Perfect. I can let her know you’re dying, right now, your child, too. I can kill you slowly, and I can even give her the option of accepting your fate unto herself. Would she die to save you, Vladimir? Will she sacrifice herself and your child? Shall we find out?”

The Prince raised his left hand. “No, you can’t do that.”

“Why not? They will die regardless. As precious as your wife is to you, she would be nothing to me, not even a diversion were I to take her as the spoils of this paltry little war.” Rufus held his hand up, letting the locket dangle from the slender chain. “Yes, I think I will let her make that choice. I think I will let her die in your place. And do you know why?”

Vlad shook his head.

“Simply because, Vladimir, I can, and you have no way of stopping me.”

Movement through the trees alerted Owen to Ian’s ordered retreat. He glanced back. “How are you doing, Kamiskwa?”

The Shedashee looked up from the pit. “Almost there, but I need your lock.”

Justice Bone came forward as Owen fell back. Owen went down to one knee beside Kamiskwa and dug into the pouch on his belt. He pulled out a thick lock of the Prince’s brown hair. “Here.”

The Shedashee took it and twisted several strands into a slender thread. “This should fix it.”

In digging down they had uncovered the tip of the stone marker which the Norghaest had thrust up through the earth. It formed one of the points of the Octagon-the point through which energy entered the Octagon from the direction of the outpost. Once they had cleared enough dirt and snow away, Kamiskwa had drawn a crown using pine resin. He’d used the Prince’s hair to cover the symbol. The resin stuck the hair fast to the stone. The lock Kamiskwa took from Owen completed the base of the crown.

Owen nervously tucked the rest of the lock away. “Is this going to work?”

Kamiskwa took a deep breath. “It better.”

Owen looked up. “Report, Mr. Bone.”

“Rathfield’s men is drawing mighty close.”

Owen patted Kamiskwa on the shoulder. “It will work.”