David Cook: King Pinch

While Manferic presented himself to the guests who huddled in fear along the walls, listening to the screams of those dying at the doorway, Pinch ran to Lissa. The massive hand still clutched her. He sliced the unreal flesh with his dagger. A great gash opened that did not bleed and the hand held firm.

"No time," gasped Lissa, straining against the construct's might. "Take this-use it." She wriggled and twisted a hand through the fingers. "Take it!" In her hand she waved the amulet of the Dawnbreaker.

"You're mad! I'm not touching it. It ruined me!"

"Death will do worse-thief," Lissa spat back.

"I don't even know what to do with it!"

"Neither do I, but it's marked you. You have to use it." She jingled the chain.

"Janol-away from her!" Manferic rasped, finally spotting his bastard son.

Pinch dove to the side but not quite in time. An icy blast seized his leg and he skidded to the stone floor as his muscles went numb. Lissa shrieked as the blast struck her full. Frost coated his hose and the chill sliced to his bones. Pinch knew he couldn't survive another attack like the last.

"Use it!" Lissa gasped as she weakly flipped the amulet his way. It skidded across the floor and Pinch grabbed it up, knowing there was no choice. He expected it to burn with pain and flame, but it did nothing.

From the dais, the lich looked at his son with a contemptuous sneer. "I blame you for all their deaths, Janol," he said, sweeping a rotting arm toward the carnage that covered the floor. The hysterical screaming had stopped; the poisonous cloud had seen to that. The survivors huddled dazed near the walls. Those still able to fight in both strength and spirit stood wary, waiting for someone else to make the first move. At the lich's words, all attention turned toward the thief.

Pinch held the amulet aloft, like he had the last time. It did not flare in his grasp and he despaired. Then he saw a small shadow moving slowly behind the thrones. "The deaths are on your hands-Father," he shouted back, keeping the lich focused on him.

"I should never have fathered you," the thing sneered. The shadow lunged forward and Sprite appeared behind the lich with his short sword poised high.

Perhaps it was a footfall or a hopeful glance, but the lich wasn't surprised. It stepped to the side just as Sprite lunged forward. The halfling had thrown his weight into the blow, and now there was nothing to strike. As he staggered forward, Manferic easily caught him around the neck and lifted the little one before him. "Fool!" Pointing his finger inches from Sprite's face, the lich uttered a single phrase of spell. A deadly barb of light flashed from the lich's fingertip and sliced into the halfling's face. Sprite screamed but there was no release. Another deadly flare flashed and then more in a steady stream. Sprite's screams were unrelenting as the magical darts sliced his face to ribbons.

"Damn you, do something!" Pinch swore as he held the amulet high. It was inert. What did he need to do? What was he missing? Pinch felt his utter helplessness as Sprite writhed in the lich's grasp.

And then he knew, he understood what truly mattered to him. It wasn't wealth or wine, it wasn't even the thrill of defying the law as he leapt from rooftop to rooftop. It was Sprite, Maeve, and the others. Pinch knew he wasn't brave or noble, but his gang was all he had. If Manferic wanted Ankhapur, he could have it, but not his friends. Pinch could not leave them to this cruel lich. He was fighting for them.

Pinch focused everything in him-his hate, passion, ambition, even his greed-toward the one goal of saving his friends. In his heart, he was willing even to sacrifice his last good hand.

As if hearing that, the amulet began to glow. At first it was the golden gleam of dawn's aura, lighting up the room. The shadows of the hall fled with the rising of this false day.

Bathed in the glow, the lich's skin began to smolder. The creature hurled aside the shattered ruin in its grasp and turned its deadly finger on Pinch. The magical missiles rocketed across the gap, each one striking him dead on. These arrows of mystical force ripped jagged punctures into his flesh and rocked his body back. The pain staggered him, but Pinch did not relent. He didn't even try to dodge or hide. All his faith was in the amulet.

The glow's intensity swelled in his grasp. Now it was the sun rising over the horizon. The flare bleached the colors from the hall, until it dazzled all eyes. Figures became silhouettes cloaked in a luminous haze.

On the dais, in the heart of the light, an inhuman shriek drowned out all other sound. Against the white brilliance, a single torch of gold-red fire competed as Manferic the Undying was consumed. The lich reeled as the flames scoured past its frail flesh and blazed with the colors of its uncaged will. Tongues of gold, red, and blue leapt heavenward as the death that was denied reclaimed its due.

And still the intensity grew. The world became light beyond light, a brilliance so great that eyes open or closed barely made a difference. Voices tinged with fear and wonder whimpered in the void.

At last the light faded, although it was minutes before Pinch or any of the others could see clearly again. He stood blinking against the painful darkness, trying to see what had happened. Manferic stood no more. Where he had been was a crumbled heap of white ash, still holding the tracery of bone. When Pinch staggered up the steps, it fell away like snow swept away by the wind.

After the rush and roar of battle, the still of the aftermath was haunting. It was as a soft symphony of sobs and moans, the pathetic cries for help mixed with the weeping for the dead. From what seemed like far away drifted the urgent shouts of rescuers.

As quick as he could, Pinch stumbled over the bodies of princes and priests to find his friend. He found the halfling propped against a throne, raggedly breathing through his ruined face.

"Sprite!"

"Pinch-that you?" the little thief whispered. A little foam of blood bubbled on his lips. "What happened?"

"Manferic's dead. We won, I think."

"That's good." The halfling weakly groped until his hand found the regulator's. "Pinch, I can't see."

"It's just the light. Your sight'll come back."

"No, Pinch. It's my eyes. He ruined my eyes. I'm blind."

It was true and the rogue knew it. The halfling's eye sockets were bloody hollows. There was nothing he could say.

He turned away as Lissa came up. The giant hand had vanished with Manferic's death. It had only held her, not harmed her. "Tend to him," he asked, filled with exhaustion.

Lissa nodded and gave a weak grin. "It seems I'm always fixing you up."

"It seems I'm always saving your hide."

Voices came from the body-choked hall as the first reinforcements tentatively ventured into the realm of destruction. Guardsmen and a palace wizard picked their way through the bodies, fearfully peering into the hall. Among them the exhausted rogue saw Therin, Maeve, and the woman from the tunnels, Lady Tulan, his mother. She was thin, pale, and trembling, overwhelmed by the wonder and terror of the surface world she had lost so long ago.

"Pinch?" Therin and Maeve hailed suspiciously and in unison, spotting the form of their leader where he sat on the steps.

"It's me, you gallows cheat," Pinch groaned. "Manferic's dead. Maeve, you can read me, unless drink's muddled your mind."

"That's Pinch," Maeve confirmed, not even bothering with the spell.

"Who's king? What happened?" they demanded to know as they hurried to his side.

Pinch looked to the thrones. Vargo was poisoned. Throdus and Bors were charred corpses. Marac's chest was split open by some magical blast. "No more princes," he mumbled with exhaustion.

Therin, blunt-minded and practical, looked over the hall. "Well, Pinch, someone's got to be king."