Realms of Magic - Brian Thomsen King [20]
Ladislau the giff finished the first small barrel and picked up the second and, finishing that, the third. Jehan wondered if he could make the spell last long enough for all six barrels, and redoubled his concentration as Ladislau started on the fourth barrel. By the fifth barrel, perspiration dripped from the young mage's brow, and by the sixth, small stars were dancing at the edge of his vision.
The giff poured the last of the barrel into the container, and Jehan tied off the end of the incantation. He took a deep breath and blinked back the dizziness he felt. The back of his head ached, and Jehan realized he had sweated off the effects of the ale, spellcasting himself into a mild hangover.
He looked at the others. The dust in the air had yet to fully settle, giving the entire warehouse a fog-enshrouded look in the moonlight. The great giff s nostrils twitched, and he scratched his snout with a heavy hand. The merchant was positively radiant, and pulled up a handful of the smoke powder, letting the rough nodules slip between his fingers. Then he grabbed the barrel's lid and slipped it into place.
Jehan cleared his throat softly. Then, afraid his interruption might be merely interpreted as a reaction to the dust, cleared it again. The merchant scowled at the young mage.
"Before you close the barrel," said Jehan levelly, "about my fee."
"Your fee?" said Khanos. The smile returned to his face. "I had quite forgotten. Ladislau, can you give the young man his fee?"
The giff pulled the arquebuses from his belt-sash and leveled them on Jehan.
The last of the little stars plaguing Jehan's vision evaporated, and the mage's attention was fully riveted on the ends of the gun barrels.
"Good-bye, groundling," said the giff. "We couldn't leave you alive to tell your superiors." His inhuman face was illuminated by the twin fires of the exploding smoke powder as he pulled the triggers.
Jehan dropped an instant before the guns fired, turn-bling forward. Even so, he felt something hot plow a grazing path along his left shoulder.
The pain roused him to action. When he struck the hard, cool floor, Jehan immediately scrambled on his hands and feet, trying to put as much distance between himself and the giffs weapons. He half ran and half crawled away from the pair, deeper into the dusty darkness of the warehouse. Behind him he heard Khanos cursing at his companion.
Jehan's shoulder burned as if someone had dripped acid on it. Now scared, wounded, and sober, the young mage cursed himself for being so stupid, so trusting. He should have left a message at the tavern, or contacted Gerald or Anton at the very least. But no, he was so sure he could handle this little bit of magic, this little bit of free-staff spellcasting, this independent study. He was so sure that his little magics could handle anything a mere merchant could throw at him.
But could he handle enemies armed with smoke powder, bringing them to the level of wizards themselves?
Jehan leaned against a stack of boxes and tried to contain his breathing. His wounded shoulder held a coldness that was beginning to spread down his arm, and his shirt clung to him stickily there. He would have to escape this place and be pretty quick about it. His opponents were somewhere in the dusty darkness between him and the only door.
Jehan mentally cursed Maskar the Mummy as well, for not teaching him any useful spells for such a situation. One more example of the Old Hounds keeping their knowledge to themselves.
Jehan was suddenly aware of a tall humanoid near him and started, almost crying out. It was only the ugly deva statue he had noted before. Beneath spread wings, its angelic face was impassive to Jehan's plight, its features practically glittering in the moon's radiance through