Michael Scott - The Magician

The Disir to Joan’s right darted forward, sword and axe weaving a deadly humming pattern in the air before her, battering at Joan’s sword, driving her back under the vicious onslaught.

The second Disir rounded on Sophie.

Setting the spear shaft alight and melting the head had exhausted her, and she slumped against the banister. But she needed to help Joan; she needed to get to Josh. Pressing hard on the underside of her wrist, Sophie attempted to call upon her Fire magic. Smoke curled from her hand, but there was no fire.

The Disir strode forward until she was standing directly in front of the girl. Sophie was standing on a step, and the girls’ faces were almost level. “So, you are the silver humani the English Magician wants so desperately.” Behind her metal mask, the Valkyrie’s violet eyes were contemptuous.

Drawing in a deep shuddering breath, Sophie straightened. She stretched out both arms, fingers closed into tight fists. Closing her eyes, breathing deeply, trying to calm her thundering heart, she visualized gloves of flame; she saw herself bringing her hands together, shaping a ball of fire in her fists like dough and then flinging it at the figure standing before her. But when she opened her eyes, only the merest hints of gossamer blue flames danced over her flesh. She clapped her hands together and sparks danced harmlessly across the warrior’s chain mail.

The Disir tapped her sword against her gloved hand. “Your petty fire tricks do not impress me.”

A tremendous crash from the kitchen shook the house again. The ornate chandelier over the center of the hallway started to sway to and fro, tinkling musically as the shadows danced.

“Josh,” Sophie whispered. Her fear turned to anger: this creature was preventing her from getting to her brother. And the anger gave her strength. Remembering what Saint-Germain had done on the roof, the girl pointed her index finger at the warrior and unleashed her rage in a single focused beam.

A dirty yellow-black spear of solid fire leapt from Sophie’s finger and exploded against the Disir’s chain mail. Fire splashed all over the warrior, and the force of the blow drove her to her knees. She shouted an incomprehensible word that sounded like a wolf’s howl.

Across the hall, Joan took advantage of the distraction and pressed her attacker hard, pushing her back toward the gaping ruin of a door. The two women were evenly matched, and while Joan’s sword was longer and heavier than her opponent’s, the Disir had the advantage of wielding two weapons. In addition, it had been a long time since Joan had worn armor and fought with a sword. She could feel the burn in the muscles of her shoulders, and her hips and knees were aching from the weight of the metal she was carrying. She had to finish this.

The fallen Valkyrie climbed to her feet in front of Sophie. The front of her chain mail had taken the full force of the fire bolt, and the links had melted and run like softened wax. The warrior grabbed a handful of the mail and ripped it away from her body, flinging it aside. The plain white robe underneath was scorched and blackened, with sparkling chunks of metal melted into the cloth. “Little girl,” the Disir whispered, “I am going to teach you never to play with fire.”

N idhogg’s sticky tongue unfurled through the air toward Scathach, who was still pinned against the kitchen wall, wrapped tightly in the creature’s claws. The Warrior fought in complete silence, struggling in the monster’s grip, wrenching herself from side to side, boot heels scrambling for purchase on the slippery tiled floor. With her arms pinned to her sides, she was unable to use her short swords.

Josh knew that if he even paused for thought, he was not going to be able to go through with what he meant to do. The smell of the creature was making him sick to his stomach, and his heart was thumping so hard he could barely catch his breath.

The forked tongue brushed across the table, leaving a deep burn mark on the wood. It punched right through a wooden chair as it headed straight for the Warrior’s head.

All he had to do, Josh kept reminding himself, was to think of his sword as a football. Holding Clarent high above his head in the two-handed grip Joan had shown him earlier, he launched himself forward in a move that the coach at his last school had spent an entire season trying-and failing-to teach him.

But even as he was jumping, he knew he’d miscalculated. The tongue was moving too fast, and he was too far away. With a last desperate effort, he flung the sword from his hand.

The flat of the blade struck the side of Nidhogg’s meaty tongue. And stuck fast.

Years of tae kwon do training took over as Josh crashed onto the tiled floor. He hit it hard but still managed to slap it with the palm of his hand, sending his body forward into a neat roll that brought him back to his feet…within inches of the meaty acid-dripping tongue. And the sword.

Catching hold of the hilt, he used all his strength to pull it away from the tongue-it came free with a sticky Velcro sound, and the tongue sizzled and hissed as it snapped back into the monster’s mouth. Josh knew that if he stopped, both he and Scatty were dead. He plunged Clarent point first into the serpent’s arm just above the wrist joint. As the blade sank smoothly into the alligator-like hide, it began to vibrate, a high-pitched keening sound that set Josh’s teeth on edge. He felt a rush of warmth flowing up his arm and into his chest. A heartbeat later, a surge of strength and energy wiped away his aches and pains. His aura blossomed bright blinding gold, and there was a tracery of light curling around the gray stone blade when he wrenched it out of the creature.

“The claws, Josh. Cut off a claw,” Scathach grunted as Nidhogg shook her hard. The two swords fell from her hands and clattered to the floor.

Josh lashed out at the monster, trying to cut off a claw, but the heavy stone blade turned at the last moment and bounced harmlessly off its foot. He tried again, and this time the sword struck sparks off the creature’s armored hide.

“Hey! Be careful,” Scathach yelped as the swinging blade came dangerously close to her head. “That’s one of the few weapons that really can kill me.”

“Sorry,” Josh muttered through clenched teeth. “I’ve never done anything like this before.” He slashed out at the claw again. Sparks flew into the Warrior’s face. “Why do we want a claw?” he grunted, hacking at the iron-hard skin.

“It can only be killed with one of its own claws,” Scathach said, her voice surprisingly calm. “Look out! Get back!”

Josh turned just as the thing’s huge head lunged forward, pushing into the side of the ruined house, its white tongue darting forward again. It was coming for him. It was moving too fast; there was nowhere to go-and if he did move, it would just hit Scatty. Planting his feet firmly, both hands wrapped tightly around Clarent’s hilt, he held the sword before his face. He closed his eyes at the approaching horror-and immediately opened them again. If he was going to die, he’d do it with his eyes open.

It was like playing a video game, he thought-except that this game was deadly. Almost in slow motion, he saw the two ends of the forked tongue wrap around the blade-as if it was going to wrench it from Josh’s hand. He tightened his grip, determined not to let the sword go.

When the flesh of the creature’s tongue touched the stone blade, the effect was immediate.

The creature froze, then convulsed and hissed, the sound like escaping steam. The acid from its tongue bubbled on the blade as the sword trembled in Josh’s hand, vibrating like a tuning fork, growing warm, then hot, and started to glow with a stark white light. He squeezed his eyes shut…