Realms of Magic - Brian Thomsen King [10]
He could not match weapons with this many, so he moved his flaming blades in purely defensive motions, beginning the chant to let loose another spell.
He took a spear thrust on the side and nearly lost his concentration and his spell. His finely meshed elven chain armor deflected the blow, however, and the elf finished with a twirl, tapping the hilts of his swords together, crying out a word to release the spell. His swords went back up straight, his thumbs came out to touch together, and a burst of flame fanned out from the elfin a half-circle arc.
Without even stopping to witness the effects of his spell, Josidiah spun about, swords slashing across and behind. Ahead charged the bladesinger, a sudden rush of overwhelming fury that broke apart the orcish line and gave Josidiah several openings in the defensive posture of his enemies.
A surge of adrenalin kept the bladesinger moving, dancing and cutting down ores with a fury. He thought of the panther again, and her undeserved fate, and focused his blame for that act upon these very ores.
Another fell dead, another atop that one, and many went scrambling down the hill, wanting no part of this mighty warrior.
Soon Josidiah stood quiet, at the ready, a handful of ores about him, staying out of his reach. But there was something else, the elf sensed, something more evil, more powerful. Something calmed these ores, lending them confidence, though more than a score of their kin lay dead and another dozen wounded.
The elf sucked in his breath as the newest foes came out onto the open grass. Josidiah realized then his folly. He could defeat a score of ores, two-score, if he got his spells away first, but these three were not ores.
These were giants.
*****
The cat was restless, pacing and growling; Anders wondered if she knew what was to come, knew that this was her last night as a mortal creature. The thought that she might indeed understand shook the old mage profoundly, made all of Josidiah's arguments against this magical transformation echo again in his mind.
The panther roared, and threw herself against the cage door, bouncing back and pacing, growling.
"What are you about?" the old mage asked, but the cat only roared again, angrily, desperately. Anders looked around; what did the cat know? What was going on?
The panther leapt again for the cage door, slamming hard and bouncing away. Anders shook his head, thoroughly confused, for he had never seen the panther like this before-not at all.
"To the Nine Hells with you, elf," the wizard grumbled, wishing he had not revealed Whiskers to Josidiah until the transformation had been completed. He took a deep breath, yelled at the cat to calm down, and drew out a slender wand.
"It will not hurt," Anders promised apologetically. He spoke a word of command, and a greenish ray shot forth from the wand, striking the panther squarely. The cat stopped her pacing, stopped everything, just stood perfectly still, immobilized by the magic of the wand.
Anders took up the figurine and the specially prepared knife, and opened the cage door. He had known from the very start that this was not going to be easy.
He was at the cat's side, the figurine in hand, the knife moving slowly for the creature's throat.
Anders hesitated. "Am I presuming to play the role of a god?" he asked aloud. He looked into those marvelous, intelligent eyes; he thought of Josidiah, who was indeed much like a ranger, much like Anders had been before devoting his life to ways magical.
Then he looked to the knife, the knife that his hand, his ranger hand, was about to plunge into the neck of this most magnificent creature.
"Oh, damn you, elf!" the mage cried out, and threw the knife across the cage. He began a spell then, one that came to his lips without conscious thought. He hadn't used this incantation in months, and how he recalled it then, Anders would never know. He cast it forth, powerfully, and all the cabinet doors in his shop, and the door