Realms of Magic - Brian Thomsen King [22]
Jehan was not thinking of the advancements to Water-deep, but rather the distance between the two of them. Four steps. More than enough distance for the merchant to get off a shot before Jehan could get the gun. And from the easy way he held the weapon, Khanos seemed a better marksman than the giff had been. Still, it was move and die, or stay and perish just as surely.
Jehan started to move forward when the door behind him rolled aside on its squeaking runners. A fresh breeze blew aside the dust still hanging in the air. Khanos pointed his gun at the doorway as a new figure entered the warehouse.
Jehan gasped. The new arrival was himself, or rather an unwounded, unbloodied Jehan, dressed as he had been when he left the tavern, unblemished and unarmed. No, this Jehan was a little taller, perhaps a little fiercer, but otherwise it was he.
"Another wizard?" spat Khanos. "You'll come no closer?"
"I don't think so," said the other Jehan, using Jehan's voice and mannerisms. "I think it's time to wrap this little play up, eh?"
"I'll shoot?" said the merchant.
"Be my guest," said the other Jehan, striding forward and in front of the young wounded mage. Jehan saw that magical energy was already dancing at the ends of his duplicate's fingertips.
The other Jehan took two steps forward, and Khanos fired, the thunder of the gun echoing through the warehouse. The other Jehan did not flinch or fall. The bullet struck him with a metallic splang, then rebounded in the darkness.
The other Jehan took another two steps and reached up, grasping the merchant by the forehead. Yellow lances of energy raced across Khanos's face, and the foreign merchant screamed, his skull shuddering under the other Jehan's grip. After a few moments, the merchant toppled forward, his ears and mouth streaming with thin wisps of white smoke.
The other Jehan turned to the young mage and scowled, that serious scowl that Jehan used when listening to his master. "Now that this is all taken care of, you'd best get home. I'll see to the disposal of the powder."
The original Jehan shook his head. His voice cracked as he spoke: "There is another one here, a giff. He has a pistol, as well."
"That is true," said Ladislau, standing by the barrel of smoke powder. The giff's face and topcoat were slick with black blood, and he had lost an eye to the bronzework deva. He aimed the gun at Jehan's duplicate.
"You saw what happened to your ally," said the other Jehan. "Do you think you can hurt me with mere bullets?"
The giff gave a bloody-mouthed smile and said, "No, not with bullets." He aimed the gun at the barrel of purified smoke powder. "Not with bullets," he repeated. "But a single shot will blow us all to our respective afterlives."
The other Jehan took a step forward and snapped his fingers. A single flame appeared and danced at the tip of his index finger. "Run, boy," he said to the battered, original version.
Jehan ran, making long, limping strides. As he cleared the door, he heard the giff shout, "I'm not bluffing."
The other Jehan replied coolly, "Neither am I."
Jehan made it ten, maybe eleven steps past the door when a huge hand grabbed him and pressed him flat against the ground. Then the thunder, this time like a thousand arquebuses firing at once, swept over him and pressed him farther against the cobblestones. Then the heat washed over him in a single blast, pushing past in its rush to escape the alley.
Jehan rose slowly and saw that the warehouse was in flames, the fire already licking up through the broken skylight and setting the roof ablaze. The single entrance was an inferno, and while the walls seemed to have resisted the blast, nothing could live within it.
The other Jehan stepped out