Mary Kirchoff - The Medusa Plague

The wizard was greatly relieved to hear Dagamier's footsteps as she returned across the nave. The black- robed mage stepped into the white wing and slung a heavy cloak across Guerrand's shoulders that would protect the wearer like a suit of armor.

The naga's eyes followed Dagamier, the first movement Guerrand had seen the monster make. He raised his hands before him. Sparks raced across Guerrand's flesh, ready to leap forward as a bolt of lightning.

Nagas were highly susceptible to bribes, so before attacking, Guerrand thought to offer one. "We want your master, and have no quarrel with you," he began, searching his memory of Bastion's collected magical items for an artifact of use to a limbless creature. "Stand aside, and I will give you a magical circlet after I'm assured we've passed freely."

"My master is not here," the naga replied in a dark voice that held no trace of an accent. "He has entered the portal. I will accept your offer and let you pass." With silken grace the naga's coils slid off one another. The creature backed away warily, but its unblinking eyes remained riveted on Guerrand.

Dagamier tossed a disbelieving glance at Guerrand. He, too, was surprised at the monster's easy acquiescence, and did not entirely trust it. With the spell sdll ready to cast, he advanced into the white wing, balancing caution against the immediate imperative of drawing Lyim from the portal. Dagamier followed three steps behind him.

A scream set Guerrand's heart hammering. Looking back over his shoulder he cursed. Silhouetted by the doorway, Dagamier had her arms thrown wide, and a look of horror and pain was frozen on her death-pale face. With great effort, as if pulling against a harness, she tipped her dark head back to peer up into the rafters above.

But Guerrand had already seen what Dagamier could not. Dangling heavily from an overhead beam, just inside the door, was a second naga. Its serpentine tail hung down and disappeared behind Dagamier. The naga quivered its tail, making Dagamier twitch like a marionette. Slowly her eyes rolled back and her head slumped. The black wizaid's entire body went limp. Yet she remained standing until, with a flick of its tail, the naga snapped its poisoned stinger out from her back.

Dagamier collapsed sideways and lay motionless.

Before the woman's body hit the floor, two bolts of lightning ripped from Guerrand's hands to smash into the monstrous snake-thing above the door. The air crackled and buzzed as the twin arcs twitched in a fantastic dance across the open room, rooted at one end to Guerrand and at the other to the naga.

The blast constricted the rippling muscles in the creature's body. The glistening stinger thrashed and jerked through the air, which quickly filled with the stink of burning flesh. The shriek that erupted from the second naga's lips was nothing like the smooth tones of its accomplice. The naga was blown from the rafter amidst a whirlwind of smoke and wood splinters. It landed next to Dagamier, a mess of burned flesh and smoldering blood.

The first naga launched a spell of its own. The nagas' magic was unique to their species, because their spells had to be triggered with no material ingredients. The first naga's humanlike lips curled back across its needle teeth, and a ball of blue flame rolled down the length of its forked tongue. The naga caught the roiling pellet on the tip of its stinger and then hurled it, with a snap of its tail, straight at Guerrand's back.

The ball expanded as it flew, until it smashed into the protective globe surrounding Guerrand. It flattened itself against the magical field and groped with tendrils of blue flame across the softly glowing surface, searching for any weakness. The blue flame continued growing in size and intensity until it appeared it might engulf Guerrand inside his invulnerable globe.

The high defender could feel the heat against his skin even through the magical shield and cloak. Still, he was confident that the blue flames could not penetrate his defenses. Within moments the flames began to flicker and fade.

Guerrand's vision was obscured by the naga's spell for brief seconds, time the beast used to rush forward, stinger-tipped tail slashing at the wizard. Drawing a small rod from his waist belt, Guerrand leaped toward the thing's tail and struck it. Crimson light flowed out from the rod to encircle the naga, constricting and crushing it. The monster thrashed in a frenzy and stiffened momentarily. But the unearthly glow returned to its eyes as it shook off the rod's effect.

The naga screeched its rage until Guerrand thought his ears would burst. It stopped only to stare at him warily, malevolent intelligence shining in its cruel eyes.

I'll distract it, came the thought into Guerrand's mind, so that you can kill it.

Startled, Guerrand scanned the room, spotting Zagarus perched atop a bookcase against the far left wall. No, he thought. The naga's too dangerous, Zag. I can handle it. Go back to our quarters.

But the sea gull was not so easily put off. I'm sure I can peck a snake without getting hurt. Zagarus spread his wings and launched himself into a slow glide across the vast, open room.

The naga was weaving back and forth, looking for an opening for its poisoned tail. Zagarus swooped low across the creature's back, slashing at the tiny blue- black scales with his beak. The naga's howl was more pique than pain. The snake-thing whipped its body around like a club so quickly that the sea gull was knocked to the floor.

Dazed by the blow, Zagarus scrambled on the hard tiles to get away from the naga. But he had hardly moved before a stream of smoking ichor sprayed from the naga's mouth and splashed on the gull's back. "Kyeow!" The bird thrashed on the floor as the feathers and flesh on his back bubbled away in sizzling gobs.

"Zag!"

A horrible, burning pain seared Guerrand's spine. He stumbled slightly from the shock, but his mind clung tenaciously to the magical formula he was reciting. In the time the monster had spent responding to Zagarus's unsuspected attack, Guerrand had prepared a spell. Through his and his familiar's shared pain, he recited the magical words before the naga could turn back to him. The floor beneath the thing turned to rippling white liquid. The enormous snake-creature let out another shriek of shock and pain as three-fourths of its length was abruptly rooted to the liquid floor. It fought madly to tear itself away, but without success.

Sensing its doom, the naga flailed in a berserk frenzy to break free. Slowly the last of its head sank, screaming, into the swells of the floor. The porcelain surface immediately returned to its original state, smooth and undisturbed.

Three quick steps brought Guerrand to where Zagarus had fallen. The faithful familiar was lying still, except for his breathing. It doesn't hurt so bad anymore, came the bird's thought, labored and slow. My body is so numb… I can hardly… feel anything…

Guerrand stroked the gull's dark, feathered head tenderly, his throat thick. I'm not ready to release you as nv familiar, Zag.

Of course you aren't, Rand. Zagarus's thoughts came hard and broken, the effort nearly too much. I'm a ¦;ooded, black-backed Ergothian sea gull-

"The most strikingly beautiful of all seabirds." With a catch in his voice, Guerrand finished the sea gull's favorite description of himself. Zagarus's dark little eyes sank shut, and his labored breathing stopped. Crimson spears of pain pierced Guerrand's body, twisting upward through him to explode in his head. For several unendurable moments he felt as if he had been ripped in half, front and back, by talons of flame.

The mage fell to the floor. Then the pain fled, leaving only a heavy ache in its wash.

Lying on his side next to Zagarus's still form, Guerrand tasted blood in his mouth. The death of his familiar had caused the terrible reaction in his own body. Guerrand felt mentally weakened, and knew, too, that Zag's passing had drained him of magic that he could never regain. Whatever the cost to himself, Guerrand thought fiercely, Zag had been worth it. He reached out and ran a finger along the bird's white-tipped wings, his ebony back one last time. Rest well, friend. There was a hollowness inside Guerrand when, for the first time in more than a decade, there came no echoing response in his head.