Филип Этанс - The Death Ray

Naull felt the heat of a tear in the corner of her eye and she took a deep breath.

“Naull?”

“It won’t be you?” she asked. “Are you sure? Can you be sure? He might have made his decision.”

Regdar’s hand dropped away from her hair and he took a step back from her. Despite herself, she turned to look at him but saw only his strong back.

“He could give you an order,” she said. “Lord Constable, or common foot soldier, could you deny him his chosen successor?”

Regdar turned and Naull was taken aback by the smile on his face. There was no doubt there, as there seldom was. In his eyes she saw the same lack of subterfuge and guile, the same simple honor and truth that made him who he was, that made him the man she loved.

“I have sworn to follow the duke’s orders,” he said, “even unto my own death, but…”

Naull shook her head and wiped away a tear with her fingertip. She stood and stepped into his warm, strong embrace. His arms folded around her and her body felt at once weak and strong, vulnerable and safe. She breathed him in.

“What do I want you to say?” she asked, trying not to cry. “I want you to say you love me. I want you to say you will marry me. I want you to say that you’ll stay with me every day for the rest of our lives.”

She felt him sigh, in his chest and in the breeze of his breath against her hair. He took a breath to speak and she felt that too, then felt his body stop all at once, become rigid and alert.

It wasn’t the reaction she’d hoped for. When she stepped away from him, he let her go. She looked up and saw his face turned to one side, his head cocked, his mouth open. Naull’s blood went cold.

“What is it?” she whispered, instantly bringing to mind a spell.

He held up a finger to quiet her and shook his head.

He was looking at the doors to their private veranda. The floor-to-ceiling doors were divided into panes of glass, any one of which was too small for a human to climb through. Sheer draperies covered them, letting in only enough of the street lamps’ light to let them know the sun had set. None of the sounds of the busy street below were audible.

“Is someone out there?” she whispered.

Naull scanned the draperies and saw no shadows behind them. Anyone on the veranda would be visible in silhouette. No one was there.

The sound of steel sliding on steel startled her and she whirled to see Regdar holding his sword, its enchanted, razor-sharp blade glowing in the room’s soft light. He crossed to the windows, his steps all but silent, unlike only moments before. When he was close enough to touch the draperies, he slipped one edge an inch to the side and peered out. She could tell he saw nothing, at least not right away.

Naull heard a scuffling sound at the same time Regdar did. The fighter stepped back as he let go of the drape. When the sound came again, Naull thought it might be a shoe slipping on stone. It definitely came from outside the window. The spell she’d brought to mind was among her most potent. If necessary she could erect an enchanted wall made from nothing but the invisible wind, which would protect them both from the intruder at least long enough to determine who or what it was. She tried not to think about the damage the wind would do to their beautiful room.

Realizing that the wind wall could just as easily blow Regdar off his feet if he was in the wrong place at the wrong time, Naull padded closer to him. As she moved, and the still air of the room ruffled her silk chemise across her skin, Naull felt all the more vulnerable. She had never worn armor and was more comfortable in light attire than Regdar had become, but if she was going to fight for her life, she wanted to at least be dressed.

Regdar saw her approaching, and he held out his free hand to stop her. She touched the elbow of his sword arm. When he glanced at her she jerked her head back once and whispered, “Back up.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, confused and impatient. In response, Naull wiggled her fingers and arched an eyebrow. The crude, improvised sign language registered on Regdar quickly enough and he stepped back. Just then, a shadow slid across the draperies.

The intruder appeared human enough, but the shadow’s size could have been exaggerated by the light. The thing could have been the size of a halfling or a stone giant.

Naull stepped in front of Regdar and brought her hands up, twisting the fingers of her left hand into the spell’s first position while her right hand reached for She didn’t have her pouches. She didn’t have the material component for the spell.

The shadow moved to the door. Naull could sense Regdar’s huge sword in the ready position behind her. She turned, held one finger up to stop him, and took three fast, long strides to the nightstand.

The polished brass door handle turned slowly just as Naull’s fingers found the right pouch and reached inside. There was a barely audible click as the door unlatched. Naull’s hand wrapped around a feather and a miniature silk fan no longer than her little finger.

The door moved, a torturously slow quarter of an inch at a time, as Naull began casting the spell. She tried to whisper but the intruder must have heard her, or perhaps sensed the growing magic in the air of the room. The door stopped opening but made no move to close.

Warm air washed over Naull as she completed the spell, and she had to close her eyes against the blast. When she felt her chemise flip up over her face she was momentarily embarrassed, but quickly regained her wits. She stepped back, keeping one forearm over her eyes. The sound of the wind in the confined space was deafening but in a few steps she could at least see again.

The door to the veranda blew open, revealing a young woman struggling with her own wildly uncontrolled clothing. One of the glass panes shattered and the woman shrieked, ducking away and losing her footing in the gale. Regdar dashed forward, and Naull saw that he no longer held his sword. Her skin crawled with fear when she realized what would happen if he’d dropped the sword in the swirling wind. The blade would become a whirling, wind-driven, razor-sharp menace, chopping down anything unfortunate enough to cross its unpredictable path.

“Regdar!” Naull screamed into the wind wall. “No!”

He was forcing his way into the wind, bending low and pushing through the wall. Naull knew he was strong but she hadn’t imagined he was that strong. He was passing through the wall of air, reaching out for the woman. The intruder was in serious danger of falling off the veranda and suffering the fifty-foot drop to the lamplit street below. Naull wasn’t entirely certain why Regdar wanted to prevent that

“Regdar!” she screamed again.

Just below the roar of the wind, Naull could hear a woman scream. Regdar reached the doorframe and held on tightly, still reaching with his other hand for the woman on the veranda. He turned to Naull and shouted something that she couldn’t hear. She would have read his lips, or tried to, at least, had her chemise not blown up into her face again, leaving her blind and naked from the waist down. She struggled to pull the silk away from her face but the wind and her own panic made her tug too hard. She heard something tear and felt the garment shift to one side. The material came away from her face in time for Naull to see Regdar pulling the strange woman into the room.

Naull searched her mind for a useful spell but there was little left after the examination of the crime scene. She hadn’t planned her day with the expectation of fighting off intruders in what was supposed to be the most secure inn in the duchy.

Regdar and the woman fell hard onto the marble floor, and Naull’s chemise blew up in her face again. She could hear Regdar shouting but couldn’t understand him. She grabbed at the silk in front of her face.