Realms of Magic - Brian Thomsen King [108]
"Delightful," said Tuka. "Now how selfish can one be to hoard all these lovely baubles oneself?"
"You're not suggesting we take them?" asked Wiglaf.
"Theft? From a friend? Don't insult us. But why don't you borrvw a few things and use them to get some practical experience? Bring them back when you're through- maybe with a little something extra for interest?"
"Do you think he would mind?"
"My lord, didn't I say he was a teacher? His mission in life is to educate young mages like yourself," said Tuka. "You'll be making him a happy man-and making him happy is the least you can do to repay his immense magnanimity."
"The way you explain it, it makes sense."
"It would," said Sasha.
"Well, take what you need, and let's get out of here," Tuka said.
Wiglaf paused to think. A few spellbooks, some components-what harm could it do? It wasn't as if anyone else was using them. And he wouldn't disturb the very rarest items. He scooped up his choices, stuffed them into his pack, and stepped out into the night. The robe had become such a comfortable part of him that he didn't realize he was still wearing it.
As the others came out of the magician's studio, fiddling with their pockets, a soft growling sound made the hairs on the back of Wiglaf s head rise. "Wh-What was that?" he whimpered.
"Wild dog," said Sasha. "They're everywhere at night. Hell taste steel if he gets closer."
"Just so long as he doesn't taste as," said Tuka.
The growl was punctuated by a piercing basso bark, and then the single sound became a din. Two, three, a whole pack of feral hounds rushed into the clearing and faced the adventurers, showing teeth, drooling with famished anticipation. There were more than ten of the huge, menacing beasts, and although Sasha and the others quickly had weapons drawn, they were clearly outnumbered. The largest of the pack, the leader, pawed its way slowly toward Wiglaf, snarling louder as it came, never taking its eyes off him, until it was only an arm's length away.
Wiglaf had never been in such a situation. He was frozen to the spot. It would be only a matter of time until they were overrun, and he would be the first one to go.
"Okay, Mister Magic," Sasha shouted, "here's your chance. Do something." The others laughed grimly and prepared for carnage.
Wiglaf was terrified, but he forced himself to move. He reached into his battered pack and felt for his well-thumbed spellbook. There wasn't much of value written down, since study had always been difficult for him. Mostly drawings and doodles. Wiglaf had "studied" spells of alteration-the most impressive kind of magic, he'd always felt-and collected the requisite components, but the only spell he'd ever managed to memorize and use with any slight authority was one for burning hands, and it had never really worked properly; on his most successful practice run, he had only singed his fingers. But with no time to think about it, this was his best shot. If he didn't try now, he would become not a magician but an entree.
Wiglaf pulled back the sleeves of the robe, held his hands palms down, thumbs together, spread his fingers into a fan shape, and mumbled both an incantation and a quick prayer for good measure, just as the salivating hound tensed its legs and leaned back to spring.
FOOM! A jet of superheated flame shot out from his fingertips and roared toward the dog. The startled animal leapt backward away from the magical fire, yelping and howling, spots of fur smoking as it retreated. The other dogs matched their leader's howls, eyes wide with panic and confusion. Wiglaf turned at the sound, his arms still extended, but the flame remained, pouring in an arc toward the other dogs. The area was lit as brightly as if it were noon. The lead dog was already darting away, tail between its legs, and the