Филип Этанс - The Death Ray

Vargussel and his images had backed off, giving Regdar room to drop dead or giving the wizard room for a spell that would finish him off.

Regdar could hardly breathe. Facing a host of bad alternatives, he decided to drink another potion. Vargussel wasn’t interested in taking Regdar alive, because they obviously both knew who was the real murderer. Why else would Vargussel be there trying to kill him? The wizard couldn’t let the lord constable live any more than Regdar could suffer Vargussel breathing air meant for Naull. It was a fight to the death.

The wizard cast his spell, mimicked perfectly by his seven duplicates, as Regdar ripped the cork off the second vial. He drew it to his lips. The eight Vargussels thrust their hands toward Regdar, and it was as if a giant hand picked up the lord constable and threw him. Regdar saw no hand, felt barely a whisper of pressure against his body, but fly through the air he did.

The steel vial stayed in his grip but the contents shot out of the container in a stream. Regdar, rather than try to control the way he landed, used every bit of agility he could muster to get his open mouth in front of that healing stream.

The sweet elixir splashed against his lips. He whirled his tongue to get every drop. He swallowed even as his back slammed into the ground. Regdar held his breath, held down the potion, and lay there squirming as new pain met the potion’s healing effects and his body quivered.

Regdar climbed to his feet, dragging his sword off the ground. The healing effect of the potion made him stronger with every beat of his heart. By the time he stood straight, sword at the ready, he was strong and determined again.

“That’s two healing potions you owe me,” Regdar said.

Vargussel paled momentarily. The flames that licked across his skin were fading away. Regdar couldn’t understand the first few words of the wizard’s reply, then he realized that Vargussel was casting another spell. Before Regdar could charge, a globe of shimmering light encircled all eight Vargussels, and all eight smiled at him—laughed at him—and started casting again.

The lord constable charged the wizard but again failed to reach him before the spell took effect. Regdar chose the nearest incarnation of Vargussel and slashed at him but the wizard wasn’t where he was supposed to be. At first Regdar assumed he’d dispelled another conjured image but the wizard’s laugh was coming from Regdar looked up and saw all eight Vargussels floating in the air above him. The wizard hadn’t disappeared, he’d jumped into the air and stayed there. Regdar guessed the wizard was two dozen feet above the ruined building, well out of reach.

“You were inconvenient, Lord Constable,” all eight Vargussels called down to him, “then you became troublesome, then you became costly. Now you’re just meat.”

Regdar smiled and sheathed his greatsword in the scabbard on his back. He reached behind him and slipped a hand under his pack.

“Watchmen!” the wizard screamed. “Kill this man, in the name of the Duke of Koratia!”

None of the watchmen moved. Regdar drew out a leather satchel that had been strapped under his pack.

“Is that it?” Vargussel called down. “Is that the weapon you used to kill the heirs of New Koratia?”

The lord constable opened the satchel and pulled from it what looked like a bundle of sticks—albeit sticks of beautifully carved, stained, and polished wood.

“What have you got there?” the wizard asked, his eyes narrowing, his head tipped to one side. “What is that?”

With a flick of his wrist the bundle of sticks snapped out and together to form a sturdy composite bow.

Vargussel flinched, then smiled, his eight faces occasionally distorting behind the globe of shimmering light.

Regdar strung the bow, all the while waiting for Vargussel to hurl another spell at him. No spell came. The watchmen stood their ground. It was as if everyone wanted to see Regdar shoot all eight wizards out of the sky, one by one.

“Weapons,” the wizard mused from eight mouths. “Always weapons.”

Regdar slipped a beautifully fletched arrow from his quiver, nocked it, drew back the bowstring, aimed, and fired while Vargussel rasped out another spell.

Regdar’s arrow passed Vargussel’s lightning bolt like carts on a crowded city thoroughfare. The arrow struck true, and another of the false Vargussels popped away into thin air, leaving only seven.

The lightning bolt struck true as well but there was only one Regdar. The pain was worse than the construct’s lightning, far worse than the wizard’s staff. Regdar’s body went rigid, and he felt himself lifted off his feet. His hair didn’t just stand on end, it twisted and pulled. His armor felt like pans left in a fiery oven, the different pieces clanking against each other as he quaked.

It lasted less than a second then was gone, leaving only the stench of scalded flesh, burnt hair, and ozone. Regdar’s armor creaked and groaned as it cooled and popped back into place.

Regdar drew a second arrow.

“Go ahead,” the wizard chided, “stand there.”

Regdar nocked the arrow, pulled back the bowstring, and aimed. The images had pulled a wand from under their robes, and seven sticks of crimson gold were leveled at Regdar. He fired, and so did Vargussel.

It was a line of roiling orange flame, drawn together by some arcane force, that flowed at Regdar from seven identical wands. Having loosed his arrow, Regdar was able to turn, hunch his shoulders, and let the fire pour over his armored back. The heat burned him, the fire blistered his skin, the pain weakened him—but he didn’t fall.

He turned, and only six Vargussels remained.

All were pointing the wand at him again.

Regdar consciously decided to jump when he was already in midair, halfway between where he’d been standing and anywhere else within jumping distance.

Fire poured down onto that spot from the floating wizard, setting the rotting timbers on fire. The damp wood smoldered, giving off an odorous, greasy smoke. Regdar looked quickly around and saw the leaning remnant of a wall. It wasn’t much but any cover was better than nothing, when he was already burned, cut, shocked, bruised, and bleeding. He needed a moment to think.

Regdar stood and ran, sometimes skipping, sometimes leaping over jumbled piles of debris. He had to make a nerve-racking detour but he passed close enough to Naull’s body to scoop the corpse up in one hand and continue.

Another wave of magical fire rumbled behind him, sending up more black smoke that Regdar hoped might conceal him from the wizard’s wrath. He felt the heat on his back but managed to outrun the flame. At last he hopped behind the wall and cringed, expecting another blast of fire, but it didn’t come.

“Run, Regdar!” Vargussel shrieked, his voice echoing over the ruin with the six-part harmony of the conjured images. “Prove your guilt for all to see! Take that last victim and run!”

Ignoring the ranting wizard, Regdar pulled the last of the steel vials from his pack, peeled off the sealing wax, popped the cork, and downed the sweet contents before he could talk himself out of it. The burns were too painful, and he could feel that the lightning had damaged something inside his gut. He had no choice. He would just have to be smarter.

“What’s the matter, Vargussel?” Regdar called back to the wizard. “Did I upset you?”

“Silence, murdering dog!” the wizard shot back.

Regdar drew an arrow and nocked it, then moved a few steps along the wall.

“That monster must have cost a pretty penny,” the lord constable taunted. “Sorry I had to kill it.”

Regdar found a hole big enough to see through, and he scanned the sky for the Vargussels.